17. Reese
17
REESE
With my tutoring session done for the day, I exit the center, wedge my notebook into my backpack, and sidestep to avoid the crowd of students rushing into the nearby language lab.
Just as I reach the stairwell, a throaty grunting sound breaks the silence, and I freeze in place. My brain leaps back to that night. My hand flies to my pepper spray. My breathing runs ragged.
“Hey, wait up, Reese.” It takes a beat too long for me to realize I recognize the timbre of his voice. I know who’s calling my name.
Yet my heart remains palpitating way too fast despite the deep breaths I take. I release the death grip on my pink can of mace before peeking over my shoulder and meeting Caleb’s gaze.
“Jesus,” he stammers, his green eyes wide. “It’s just me.”
“Sorry, sorry,” I pant. Swallowing roughly, I paste a smile onto my face. Something calm and friendly to mask the overwhelming sense of panic gripping me by the throat.
Concern visibly doubles across his features. Acid churns in my stomach.
“Please, um, don’t tell Lili about this.”
“I won’t.” He mimes zipping his lips and offers me a kind smile. “So, I missed you.”
“You have?” Why do I sound so surprised ?
“I have,” he confirms. “Sucks we couldn’t hang out on Saturday?—”
“It’s all right,” I assure him, and I’m unable to fight the grin as my thoughts go to Dane. It was really sweet of him to listen to me, even though I’m certain he had no clue about half the things I brought up.
“But I’m free this Wednesday,” Caleb goes on. “Wasn’t there this farmer’s market you wanted to check out?”
Confusion knits my brows. “I told you about that?” I don’t remember mentioning it to him. Usually, we talk about whatever he brings up, so our conversations often revolve around common interests, classes, or a band he wants to see.
“Yeah.” He chuckles and rakes his fingers through his curly hair. “I’d never forget what you’ve said to me.”
“Oh.” My cheeks radiate with heat. Crap. I probably did tell him about it, and it must have slipped my mind. I have been preoccupied with a group project for my civil engineering class as of late. Maintaining my scholarships means staying on top of my assignments. “I didn’t mean to imply?—”
“It’s all good, Little Vann.” He waves me off. “I figured we could make a little date out of it. I wanted to surprise you, but I wasn’t sure how busy your schedule is.”
“That’s really sweet of you.” Realizing he’s giving me an expectant look, I release a blustery laugh. “Oh, and I am free this Wednesday.”
“Great. Shall I pick you up from the sorority?” His question is punctuated with his trademark dreamy smile, and I find myself staring at his mouth for a beat too long. Without blushing so hard that my entire body feels like it’s been set on fire. I’m not flustered at all.
“Can’t wait,” I squeak out, then duck into the stairwell before the actualization hits me. I forgot to say goodbye. Whoops. I should double back, but my self-preservation kicks in and has me sending him an apologetic text instead.
Then I reach out to my sister, because I don’t know what to make of my discovery.
Lilian: yay! this means you’re comfortable around him!
Lilian: that’s a good thing! you don’t want to be nervous around the guy you like
Okay, she has a point. I’m definitely making a mountain out of a molehill.
Reese: I can’t believe he asked me to go with him to the farmers market though
Lilian: better him than me
Reese: Aww but we talked about wanting to go to one for days
Lilian: and now you can go with Caleb instead
Reese: One of these days you and I should go
Lilian: one of these days
Emerging from the building, I immediately catch sight of Dane just a few yards away, treading across the campus walkway. With his backpack hitched over a tense shoulder. And a dark scowl etched on his face.
I’ve never seen him this pissed off—I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed anybody walking as angrily as him.
It’s as if he can sense me gawking at him, because his head whips in my direction with that hardened glare.
Instantaneously, it gentles and melts into something familiar.
“Mini Reese,” he calls out with a wild grin.
A small thrill of excitement bubbles to the surface as I beam back at him and wave, and I swear, his features soften even more. My pulse speeds up when he makes his way to me, and before I can help myself, I blurt, “Guess who has a date this Wednesday?”
“Wednesday is the unsexiest day of the week,” Dane argues and effectively ruins the shot I’m recording of the golden sunset with its pretty red hues.
A groan slips free as I stop the video and give him a sidelong glance. “The farmer’s market only occurs on Wednesday. It’s not like I can ask them to reschedule.”
“Still the least sexy day of the week.”
With an inaudible sigh, I take photos of the coastline instead and observe the glittering water as the sun sets into the horizon. After I’ve captured a dozen pictures, I roll the window up and lean back against my seat where the overwhelming scent of gasoline greets me.
Before long, the car merges into a turn lane, and I quirk my brow when it occurs to me that he’s pulling into a plaza.
“What are we doing here?” I can’t imagine him wanting to go on a shopping trip. Not when he practically wears the same threadbare shirt every time I see him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he only has three white tees on rotation.
“Finding you onion rings for your fiesta.”
The corner of my mouth sneaks up despite myself. “Finsta.”
“That.” He kills the ignition and quickly hops out of his car. I remain seated, somewhat bewildered by the last-minute plan. I thought we were just going for a ride to see if his engine was giving him any trouble.
My surprise amplifies when he opens the passenger door. Climbing out of the vehicle, I feel my cheeks go inexplicably warm. “I could have done it myself, but thanks.”
He cocks his head, but before he can give me his trademark retort, a couple of elderly men approach us with questions about the car.
Soon enough, they’re deeply engaged in a conversation about the make and model. It’s like I’m not even here. I’m just silently observing them, if anything. Well, I’m definitely paying attention to Dane as he casually displays the extent of his knowledge. While I’ve got no idea what they’re discussing, it’s obvious he knows more than I expected.
At some point, Dane mentions that it still has its original engine from the sixties, and he receives a round of whistles. Then I get to witness a group of men fawning over shiny parts when he pops the hood for them to see what’s inside.
It’s kind of cute.
Cute ?
Is that a word anybody would ever use to describe Dane Kingsley? I can hear my sister’s voice screaming no in my head.
“All right,” Dane says as he sidles to me once the car talk is over. He crams his keys into his pocket and tips his head. “Let’s fiesta.”
A challenge burns deep in his pointed gaze as if he’s daring me to correct him, and it’s so ridiculous that I huff out a snort. I’m met with what appears to be a rare smile from him, one that softens his eyes.
He clears his throat, and I realize I’m staring.
Blinking rapidly, I divert my attention to my purse as heat crawls up my neck. “Lead the way, Dane.”
We check out every restaurant at the plaza before returning to the first one and settling for a blooming onion basket when we discover none offer onion rings on their menu.
Once we’ve situated ourselves outside on the deck, my attention goes to the décor, and I take in every little detail that catches my eye. I won’t lie. It’s a bit tacky, with lots of nautical decoration eating up the space—like the giant boat helm or the life-sized Kraken—but it oddly works.
“This is nice,” I admit. Even though the temperature has dropped drastically and the marine layer has rolled in, I don’t mind the cold. For once, my coat and sweater are practical. And I like the company.
“For how much this cost,” Dane says dryly, picking up his soda, “it better be nice.”
“I can split?—”
“I’ll pay. It wasn’t a planned thing.”
“Well, I’ll tip then,” I grumble.
“Snack Mix,” he says, “don’t worry about it. Save your money for your date with Blue Balls.”
“Okay.” I try my best to stop my mouth from tightening into a frown. “Do you like lavender?”
His head tilts to the side. “The plant?”
“Would you protest me buying you some lavender soap?” I explain. “Or maybe something with honey?”
“Are you trying to tell me I smell?” he asks, arching a brow.
“ No .” Not at all. Sometimes, he reeks of the rich scent of motor oil, but usually, it’s a subtle and pleasant mix of laundry detergent and aftershave clinging to his frame. Not that I’ll say that out loud. Only a CIA agent can weasel that confession from me. “I just… If the farmer’s market has them, I’d like to get you some as a thank-you gift. For helping me get the guy.”
My embarrassment gives way to regret as I rub the back of my neck and try not to squirm underneath his inscrutable stare. Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that. What guy would want soap, anyway? He probably has one of those billion-in-one shampoo bottles that cleans you in every way imaginable.
“You’re gonna buy me a gift while you’re on a date with Blue Balls?” He whistles out a low note. “Don’t think he would appreciate you thinking of another guy while you’re out with him.”
“He won’t mind.”
“You sure about that? If I seem to recall,” he drawls, “he was mighty jealous when he saw you talking to me at the car wash.”
“Caleb doesn’t get jealous.”
“Then he’s a dumbass.” Dumbfounded, I gape at him as he continues. “Any guy with anything other than rocks for brains ought to know they should be afraid of someone better swooping in and stealing you in a heartbeat if they could.”
“There’s one problem with that.” I put on my most reassuring smile. “I wouldn’t jump ship because someone better has come along.”
“You’d rather stay on a sinking ship?” he counters.
“Well, no,” I say hastily, slightly flustered.
“With a loser?”
“No,” I splutter. “That’s not?—”
“And what if,” he continues, “Caleb keeps wasting your time?”
“I’d like to give things a shot first,” I admit softly. “And Caleb’s not wasting my time. He’s just taking things slow.” Really slow.
“Really fucking slow,” he utters, a frown flickering over his features. His mouth tugs into a hard line. His gaze burns into mine. “Why is that?”
The knot forming in my chest cinches tight. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” he says slowly, shaking his glass in a circular motion. “If I were Blue Balls, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you.” He clears his throat. “Or any girl I’m seeing—as Blue Balls.”
“He’s very respectful?”
“You can fuck someone and still treat them respectfully,” Dane says bluntly, and the tips of my ears go hot. “You can kiss someone and still treat them respectfully. You can tell them how badly you want them and it’s more fucking respectful than acting like a stranger who takes you on these dates and leaves you confused about what the fuck is going on because he won’t kiss you for what-the-fuck-ever reason that may be.”
Wordlessly, I stare at him. It’s the only reaction I’m capable of when a sudden mess of emotions unfurls deep in my belly.
“I don’t fucking get it,” he goes on, and the muscle of his jaw locks. “If I were in his fucking shoes, I would have told you from the very beginning that I’m into you and show it rather than just say it over and over and not make fucking do with my words.”
My throat feels inexplicably hoarse as I watch him bring his glass to his lips.
“He’s not like you,” I say, and he sets his soda down with an audible thunk after draining a quarter of it.
“Pity,” is his only reply, and that word seems to echo in the shocked silence blanketing us. I’m uncertain how to respond to that. Not when he refuses to meet my gaze. Finally, he pushes the basket toward me and rises from his seat.
“Where are you going?” I stumble through my words as my heart gives an unexpected lurch, and my eyes go round.
“To take a leak,” he says dryly. “Unless you need to follow me to the little boy’s room for visual confirmation.”
The edge of his voice sends a sharp pang to my chest. I sit back and quietly watch him head inside the restaurant. What just happened ?
Flummoxed, my bottom lip is pulled between my teeth. My stomach is swarmed with jitters. My appetite goes poof, and the greasy fried onions no longer look as appealing as they were just moments ago.