She made it to the end without making a fool of herself. She didn’t accost him with ridiculous questions. There were no awkward interludes, between them both. In fact, she barely looked his way again after that first time. She kept her eyes to herself until everyone had filed out of the room, and even then, she only looked up so she could see where the exit was.
It wasn’t her fault that he was still in his seat.
Or that her eyes were automatically drawn to him.
He was the only person in the room now—ofcourse,she looked.
But she swore she wouldn’t say anything to him.
Only to have him fuck that vow all to hell.
“You know, if there was something you wanted to ask me, you can ask it,” he asked, so soft and abrupt at the same time that she didn’t have a choice: she had to answer.And she did. Clumsily, awkwardly, with way too much head shaking.
“Oh no. No. I didn’t have anything to ask. Not even one little thing.”
“Really? Seemed like you were trying to catch my eye.”
“Nope. Actually, I was just looking at the poster above your head.”
“All seven times you glanced over at me? Or just the first time?”
She attempted a snort. “I didn’t glance over seven times.”
“But you did glance once.”
A big part of her wanted to be mad, then. At the very least, it felt as if she should be nervous, about this strange guy trapping her into what felt like a verbal labyrinth. But somehow, neither feeling took hold. He was just too calm in his approach, too gentle about it. His hands stayed in his pockets the whole time they talked. He didn’t get up. He didn’t lean towards her aggressively.
And she noticed something else, too.
He’d switched seats somewhere between the end of the meeting and now.
As if he’d known that his former position in front of the door would have seemed suspicious. Like he was blocking her way, instead of just casually offering her what she’d wanted all along.
And shedidstill want it.“Fine. You got me. I may have hadaquestion.”
“Okay. So, hit me with it.”
“I don’t want to hit you with it.”
“Then just brush it against me gently.”
“That sounds better. But still not ideal.”
“Isthere an ideal way to do this?” he asked, in a manner that would normally be accompanied by an eyebrow raise. If it had been anyone else—Tate for example, with his constantly animated face—she would have definitely gotten one.
But this guy’s face remained as still as a stone statue of himself.
Even after she joked, “I was thinking semaphore from two separate hills.”
“Sounds good. Unfortunately, I’m shit out of flags right now. And hills.”
“Guess I’m just going to have to do it with my vocal cords then, huh?”
He didn’t say anything, then.
He just waited, as patient as he had been with that girl.
God, did he understand how good his patience was? She didn’t know.
