I snort.
“If it’s at a restaurant,” he goes on, “that means food. And if it’s back at your place…”
He peters out, but the insinuation is clear.
“Food,” I clarify. “Sunset Sandwiches. What time?”
“Um. One-thirty?”
“That works. You’ll be there?”
“Apparently,” he says, trying and failing to look indignant. “Although when I actually agreed, I’m not sure.”
“I think it was right around the time you started staring at my mouth.”
His eyes fly back up to mine.
“For the record, Red? I’m very good with my mouth.”
He swallows hard enough for me to follow the motion, but he doesn’t say a word.
I lean closer, putting us a couple inches apart. “I’m talking about my conversational skills.”
“Right,” he says roughly. “So about that muzzle.”
My laugh has Isaac’s eyes dipping to my lips again before he glances quickly away. “Tomorrow, Red. See you at one-thirty.”
Isaac mutters a quiet goodbye as I swing my bag over my shoulder and stand. I can feel his stare on my person until I turn the corner out of sight.
It feels like stepping outside of a bubble as I pass into the main area of the library, the quiet din of conversation steady here. Students are clustered in study groups or working on their own, but it’s nothing like the quiet corner Isaac and I have claimed.
If I’d never encountered him past that first day, I might feel guilty for unintentionally invading his solitude when we met. As is, I can’t find it in me to regret a single thing. Not that encounter. Not the days since.
I have to hustle to get to my class on time, having spent an extra few minutes securing a date with Isaac. I make it before the metaphorical bell, finding a seat in my usual area of the lecture hall, my mood high until my professor takes one look at my face and scowls.
I almost forgot about the massive bruise beside my eye.
Keeping my head down is par for the course. But today, my focus wanders away from financial management and risk-return trade-offs. Instead, I see two halos of burning blue.
And I welcome the blaze.
Chapter 7
Isaac
“Why, oh why, is it so loud in here?”
My question goes unanswered, the music blaring through the walls of the house drowning out all other noise. A few plastic cups litter the banged-up table, evidence of my housemates’ pre-gaming activities at…
“Five-twenty?” I ask the empty room. “Who parties this early on a goddamn Monday?”
Todd saunters into view, his head moving along to the thumping bass. He mouths what might be, “Oh, hey.”
“The fuck?” I mouth back.
Todd shrugs. He then proceeds to act something out which Ithinkis supposed to be him eating with chopsticks, followed by a questioning flourish of his hands.
I nod, and he disappears up the stairs. I take a minute to drop off my bag inside my own room, a headache forming at my temples. Todd meets me back downstairs, shoes on and a happy grin on his face.
