I walk to them with a bit of hope mixed with wariness.
A tall blonde girl, I think her name is Tillie, has her hand on Eric’s arm and laughs up at him. She’s pretty. Athletic. A volleyball player. Just his type.
“Hey,” I say as I reach them. There’s a big smile pasted on my face.
Eric turns to me and blinks as if he didn’t expect to see me on campus.
“Hey,” Boone and Reece reply, then ask me about classes. We chit-chat for a few minutes and I keep glancing at Eric, meeting his stare.
I fidget as I turn to him. He’s wearing jeans and a white HU shirt that stretches across his muscled chest. His hair falls around his face in dark red waves. There’s scruff on his jawline.
“Um, it was good to see you the other night,” I say.
“Where did ya’ll go?” Tillie asks as she sizes me up. I can tell she finds me wanting by the way she sniffs.
“Platinum Nights.” I smile without warmth, giving her the same level of greeting she gave me.
She grimaces. “Oh. Gross. You went together?” Her eyes dart between us.
I ignore her and direct my question to him. “Maybe we could get coffee later?”
Oh, hell. Why did I say that?
Tillie twines her arm through his and gazes up at him adoringly. “He’s busy.”
Ah. She’s staking a claim.
I wait for him to reply, to maybe say he isn’t busy, but Eric just looks at me, his expression blank.
Use your words, jerk.
I’m not the innocent girl from before.
My armor is thick, built of solid steel, impenetrable from a year of living on the edge.
Rejection bounces off the fortress that is my heart.
There are no cracks. No flaws.
I can handle your rejection—even in front of your friends.
Tillie breaks the moment by tapping Boone on the arm playfully as if she’s been part of their group for a while. “We should go to that new pizza place on Brooks Lane tonight. They’ve been getting rave reviews.”
Reece throws an arm around me and gives me a squeeze. He’s always been a great guy. “I’m up for coffee. Text me. You have our digits?”
Yeah. Sugar made sure I had all the numbers once she and Z got serious.
I nod at Reece, wave bye to them, then walk off.
Heat rushes up my face. Eric basically ignored me. Why?
Is he ashamed to be seen with me?
Steel walls, remember?
“His loss,” I mutter as I trudge up a hill to class. “It was just freaking coffee, not a prom date.”
I wind up ten minutes late. When I pull open the door and try to sneak in, it makes a horrible screeching noise, the sound echoing in the packed auditorium. Every eye turns to look, and the professor, who according to my schedule is Dr. Fillmore, stops mid-sentence and glares.
Wincing, I close the door as quietly as possible, but it makes another terrible screech.
“Sorry,” I whisper, hoping the professor will continue on, but she doesn’t.
She—and two hundred other students—watch as I look for an empty seat.
I take the first one I see in the back, which, unfortunately means I have to climb over a girl at the end of the aisle. I step on her toe.
“Sorry,” I whisper again, slipping into the seat next to her.
She’s typing notes on her laptop and already has a page of them. What are the chances I can make friends and we can share?
From the way she shifts her body away from me, I’m guessing that’s a big nope.
I pull out my laptop and get situated. As I follow along with the syllabus, I hear whispering a few rows ahead.
I look up to see a few familiar faces.
I see Scott’s red-haired girlfriend and her brunette friend. They look gorgeous and fresh-faced, as if they spent hours getting ready for class. Sitting with them are a couple of familiar looking guys with backwards Kappa hats.
Red looks over her shoulder at me and mouths, Whore.
I glare right back. Then I catch sight of one of the guys. Channing. I’ve seen him around. He’s not smirking like I expected. Instead, he frowns and nudges Red with his elbow. She looks a little embarrassed and turns back around.
Sorry, he mouths to me.
A few moments later, a phone dings in the auditorium.
Then it starts to ring, and I realize the sound is coming from my bag.
As mortified as I am, that drains away the second I read the message on the display.
I NEED YOUR HELP
Mom.
I close up my laptop and shove it in my backpack and ease my way around my none-too-happy neighbor.
The professor pauses mid-sentence as I rush to the doors, typing out a message to my mom.