Chapter Ten
CHAPTER TEN
BEAUTIFULLY
PAST
“ F uck.”
My angry outburst startles the few people standing around me as I rifle through my canvas bag, searching for the cellphone that I know isn’t in there. This is what I get for rushing out of that damn classroom, trying to get as far away from Professor Pugliesi as possible.
Now it’s the end of my school day and I doubt the classroom is unlocked. But I know it’s in there. I haven’t used it since I read a text from Miley just before he’d started speaking. I remember shoving it away quickly and I guess it must’ve missed my bag and fell on the floor instead.
I stand there in the hallway a moment, debating on trying to see if the classroom is open. And then I think about yiayia and Denise and how I haven’t spoken to either of them all day and I start the trek toward the other side of campus. The sun is still out but the sky is getting that cotton candy effect, pink fluffy clouds rolling over the city sky, and the campus is less populated, making it quicker to maneuver through.
I find myself outside the building and I take a deep breath before I push the door open and head in. What if he’s with a female student again? What if I walked all this way for nothing?
Maybe there’ll be a janitor around who can help me. I try to be optimistic as I reach the door of the auditorium. My hand shakes as I try the doorknob and it’s locked. I glance down at my feet, wondering how I hadn’t realized my phone was missing all this time.
Probably because I’m trying to do way too fucking much.
“Miss Milas?”
I don’t lift my head when I hear his voice, opting to squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. Because the jolt of my skipped heartbeat and the way my body stiffens at the soft timbre of his voice forces me to take a second to reorient myself.
I open my eyes before I turn my head to look at him.
He’s wearing a T-shirt instead of the button-up he’d had on in class today. More of his golden skin is on display and I’m taken back to the night we met, when I knew this version of him; relaxed and open.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, and the softness of his tone does wonders to the curl of his accent.
“I lost my phone,” I offer, lifting my hands in defeat before they drop, my palms hitting my thighs. “I’m pretty sure it’s in there.”
He tilts his head back just a little, his lips part in a silent, “ah,” and I press mine together.
“Let me,” he starts, stepping toward me and leaning against the door to unlock it.
He isn’t too far that I can’t smell him; that strange scent that I can’t quite pin, as confusing as it is intoxicating. I try not to inhale him, try not to stare at the stubble that adorns his neck, wondering how it would feel under my tongue.
What is wrong with me?
He shoves the door open and straightens.
“After you,” he tells me, and I clear my throat before crossing the threshold. I make a beeline toward the seat I’d been sitting in earlier and glance around, finally setting my bag down with a huff to get on my knees. I’m sinking down, pulling my wide leg pants up to accommodate the movement when he speaks.
“No, no. Let me call it for you.” He’s holding his phone up as if to show that he means well.
I glance up toward him, sitting back on my feet, my hands on my thighs. He’s still by the door and I wonder if he doesn’t trust himself near me the same way I don’t trust myself.
“Sure…” I trail off, uncertain of how I feel, giving this man my phone number. But it seems innocent enough. I rattle off my number, staring down at my hands as I do.
“It’s ringing,” he announces, just as I hear the chime from a few feet away. I wear a frown as I lean forward to see it under the third seat.
“That’s strange,” I murmur, crawling toward it and wincing as I stretch awkwardly to grab it. The unknown number staring back at me disappears from the home screen as he ends the call.
He now has my number.
I now have his number.
I sit there for a second, trying not to feel anything about it.
“Are you okay?” he asks and I jump when I realize he’s right behind me. “Let me help you up.”
I stare at his open hand before me for a beat before I set my free hand in it, marveling at its warmth. And then I remember I was crawling on the floor and my hands are probably gross. With a grimace, I pull my hand out of his and wipe it on my pants. Staring down at them, I notice the dirt marks on my knees.
Well, shit .
“My hands are dirty,” is all I manage to offer him as I skirt around him to grab my bag. But once I’m pressed against him, he places his hand on my wrist .
We’re both silent as I stare at the physical contact, afraid to look up into his eyes. Afraid of what the deep brown would reflect back to me.
Afraid that I’d be more than willing to throw caution to the wind and become another student caught up in his charismatic charm.
“Why don’t you look at me, Stellina ?”
It sounds so close to my first name that I almost don’t notice that he’s called me something else entirely.
“Why do you continue to put me in these compromising positions?” I ask his chest.
“I could make a very inappropriate joke, but I think you will take me for a pervert, no?”
My brain flits through potential responses, about positions and what it would be like to be touched by him and the edge of my lips quirk in response.
I know how to flirt and I’m good at it. But I don’t know how to not flirt with Professor Pugliesi. I don’t know how to walk away from this game he’s forcing me to participate in.
“I’m flattered that you value my opinion of you,” I challenge, finally meeting his eyes. “’My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.’”
“Ah,” he starts, a smile spreading over his dark features, painting him beautiful. “There’s the romantic I know.”
“Why do you insist on flirting with me?” I lean back, awkwardly perched on the seat behind me, eyeing him as he processes my question, still wearing the remnants of his grin.
“You fight it. It makes me want to see how beautifully you’ll crack.”
“You’re so sure.”
“It’s my nature when I want something badly enough. I can never seem to let go.”
I don’t say anything now, watching his expressions morph; gone are the lines around his eyes when he smiles and the tilt of amusement kissing his lips. His lips are parted, his eyes unblinking.
“Tell me, what has dating been like here for you, hm?” He lowers his chin, keeping his eyes directly on mine. “Full of disappointment, if the night we met is any indication.”
“And you think you’re different?”
His smirk returns, this time backed by a chuckle.
“Time will tell, I suppose.”
He steps away, lifting my bag and holding it out toward me. I watch as he walks away once it’s in my hold, the sound of the door closing behind him making me jump into action.
I place the strap of my bag onto my shoulder and glance down at my phone just as it pings with a message.
Save my number
Despite the worry pitting in my stomach, mixed with the high of the potency of his energy, I do just as he says.
I save his number under the name Abraham and tuck my phone back in my purse, leaving the auditorium with my head held high.
If I’m going to crack for him, I’m going to do it beautifully.