“This doesn’t make us friends,” I inform him. Because assuming anything more from his words is far too dangerous.
Trevor’s lips twitch again, but he doesn’t respond. I snatch my phone up.
Me: We’ve got a problem.
Chapter 2
Trevor
The redhead is trying hard to focus. And failing, if his increasing huffs of frustration are any indication.
“All right?” I ask.
He startles, as if he forgot about my presence.
Which is…odd. Most people stay on guard around me. Whether it’s my size, the tattoos, or the fact that I don’t fill every silence with chatter, I’m unsure. Maybe all of those things.
But he doesn’t seem intimidated by me in the least.
“Fine,” he says, a snap to his voice I don’t take to heart.
When I say nothing more, he peers at me, his blue eyes light in the center but ringed by dark. The freckles across his cheeks and nose make him look younger than I’m sure he is. His eyebrows are expressive, even set in a frown, the copper color the same as the windblown hair on his head.
My lips twitch, and those eyebrows draw together even more.
Huffing, he turns back to his textbook, highlighting a line every so often. “Are you an English major, too?” he asks, the words almost ground out.
“No.”
His eyes return to me, his exasperation and curiosity clear as day.
“Business,” I tell him.
Those brows pull together again. “Oh.”
“Not what you were expecting,” I note.
He doesn’t deny it.
Fire, fire, licks and burns.
Your hair, your eyes, your teeth.
Be it blue or be it red.
Consume me, piece and peace.
I jot the words down by rote, saving the new document as “Red” before switching back to my project. My tablemate sips his latte, letting out a sigh that sounds as despondent as his still-damp pant leg. When his phone dings, he makes a grab for it.
“Need me to take that?” I offer. “So it doesn’t keep distracting you?”
He looks at me with incredulity written across every line of his face. “What? No. Hands off.”
I hold said hands up, even though I hadn’t even reached for him or his phone. He shoves the device face-down on the table, glances at me, and then grabs it again, tossing it into his bag where it’s out of sight.
“There,” he says. “Happy?”
“Wasn’t bothering me,” I tell him.
