Chapter 11 Bash #2
The wind kicks up worse as we reach the edge of campus, the sign for The Red Boot glows faintly through the growing fog. A buzz of excitement zips through me because I’m about to be in the same room as my girl. She won’t notice me, she won’t look me in the eyes, but none of that matters.
The pub smells like ale and fried food, which isn’t the best combination, but it’s got a homey vibe that pleases me.
I waste no time at all looking for my girl.
Livingston is at the far corner table, hunched over a stack of papers, a red mug probably filled with steaming tea in front of her.
She looks small like that. I notice right away that her hair is completely loose, and I realize that she must have lost her bow during the windy walk.
The shitty light in this place catches on the pale hollows beneath her cheekbones.
My stomach twists. She coughs once, a soft sound that shouldn’t belong to someone who otherwise looks so fucking pretty.
I watch how she leans her head, how her fingers flatten the page like she’s trying to focus.
She looks weak, like she just wants to curl up and fall asleep.
I want to hold her, to fold her in my arms and make her feel safe.
I don’t suspect she’s felt safe one time in the last decade.
I want to make her feel so comfortable that she sleeps the entire night without waking up in a panic.
Even now, pale and very clearly under the weather, Livingston Rhodes is gorgeous.
She leans her head back, pulling a tissue out of her pocket and wipes her nose.
Her eyes are closed, and I’m watching everyone around her.
I hate that she’s this vulnerable. Anyone could approach her, anyone could be watching her.
I realize that she’s had enough of the pub when she takes one last sip of her drink and then stands.
She sways, just barely, like her equilibrium is off.
I can’t let her walk back to campus like this, but I don’t get a chance to even decide what I’m going to do because she wanders toward the women’s bathroom.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Kalen at a table across the room.
He’s doing exactly what Jeremy predicted: glowering.
Juniper’s got a soft smirk on her lips like she expected him to show up exactly when he did.
He’s holding what I assume is the table’s check in one hand as he frowns down at her.
His other hand rests at the back of her neck, like touching her is his natural instinct. Possessive. Territorial.
I want to do that with Livingston. I want to touch her, comfort her.
I just fucking want her.
I don’t have to hear what’s being said between Kalen and Juniper to know the story. She’s taunting him. She broke one of his rules just to make him come after her. That’s their thing, I think. The push and pull. The game neither of them will admit they’re playing.
Juniper leans in, whispering something that makes Kalen’s jaw flex. He tightens his grip on her, and she giggles in response, reaching up with both hands to cup his face is a comforting way.
I look away when Jeremy’s voice booms through the pub. I roll my eyes when I see that he’s arguing with the gray haired bartender. They’re both pointing at the mounted TV above the bar, and I can only assume that they’re disagreeing about a play in a professional rugby match.
“I’d let him scream at me,” a redhead waiting to be seated says to her friend who just giggles, nodding her head. I stifle a laugh, because if they only knew how unhinged Jeremy is…well, they’d probably like him more now that I think of it.
My eyes instantly start tracking Livingston as she walks out of the bathroom and heads over to the bar. If she gives Jeremy heart eyes, I’ll have to kill him, and that’s unfortunate since they’ll probably name a day of mourning after him back at school.
She only gives him a look of annoyance as he swings his long arms. My girl skirts around him to find one of the girls who works here.
I watch her as Jeremy is yelling, “HOLD ON! HOLD ON!” and then proceeds to rant about the controversial ref call to the older man.
Livingston holds her purse open, gesturing for the woman to pull cash out.
I want to punch Jeremy in the fucking mouth because I can barely hear Livingston say, “I’m not contagious, but I’m feeling worse, so better safe than sorry,” as the woman takes the cash.
“Feel better, sweetie,” she tells my girl, and now I’m the one who’s glowering.
She’s not her sweetie, but I decide not to drop kick a tiny woman on the day I’m going to try and convince Livingston that I’m her fucking safe place to land.
But I imagined it, and that made me feel better.
Livingston slips outside, and I follow. I don’t know what my plan is right now, but something feels different.
My girl is walking slow, and her head is down. Her bag slides off one shoulder, and I’m just far enough behind to look like a coincidence if anyone’s paying attention.
Her steps falter once. Then again. Her legs buckle just as it starts sprinkling rain.
I don’t think about anything other than keeping her safe. I’m there before she hits the ground, my hands catching her waist. My heart jerks in my chest.
“Got you,” I breathe, the words barely making a sound.
Her head tips against my shoulder, rain collecting in her hair. The skin of her face burns against my neck. My girl has a fever. A bad one.
“You’re burning up,” I tell her. “You need a doctor.”
She shakes her head, voice thin. “Please. No doctor. Just… cold medicine, maybe. I get like this when I don’t sleep. I’m just run down.”
“Baby—” I swallow down the rest of my sentence when I realize what I’ve just said.
“I mean it,” she says, pushing at my chest. Her hand feels like nothing. Weak, trembling. “Just cold medicine.”
“Easy.” I slide an arm under her knees and lift her in my arms. She’s all warmth and stubbornness and soft breaths that keep catching in my collar. “You can argue later.”
Her lashes flutter as she looks up at me, eyes glossy, lips parted in a half-smile. “I see you watching me all the time. For such a psycho,” she murmurs, “you’re very handsome.”
That almost makes me laugh. Almost. I guess I’m not as good of a stalker as I thought. I’ve made myself known a few times, but now I’m wondering how often she knew I was following her.
She tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to see through the fog of her fever. “Sometimes I feel like I know you.”
“Yeah?” I swallow hard, but I start walking toward campus. I’ve gotta get her out of the rain and her fever down. I could see the fear in her eyes when I mentioned the doctor, so I’m going to try to do everything I can to avoid that.
“Mmhmm.” She blinks slowly. “But my memory is not great, so I’m probably imagining it.” I can tell by the tone she’s using that the fever is clouding her judgement.
I huff out a laugh because I don’t want to alarm her or tip her off that I know way more about her than she could ever anticipate. “It’s a good thing I’m not a creep. Anyone could’ve found you.”
She sighs, cheek pressing into my throat. Her voice is barely a whisper now. “But you did. You always find me.”