Chapter 11 #2
If she’d been an introvert before, maybe I’d buy into the homebody act and believe it was good for her. That she needed the time alone to get her feet under her.
But I did some digging, looked up her socials and even talked to a few people tagged in old pictures.
She was an entirely different person a few months ago.
Happy and outgoing. On the university cheer squad her freshman and sophomore years.
She was supposed to be on the team this year too, but according to her coach, she just pulled out.
Stopped showing up to practice with no explanation.
When her coach finally got a hold of her on the phone, she just quit.
Said she didn’t have time to be on the squad anymore.
Something happened. I can feel it in my gut.
She was active on social media leading into July. Her last post was on the fourteenth. A selfie with a crowd of friends that says, Life is a party #ZetaPi.
Then all of a sudden, radio silence. No more updates. No new pictures.
One girl I talked to said Cecilia was the life of the party. A total social butterfly. Her words, not mine. She had friends. Guys lined up for her attention.
No surprise there. She’s gorgeous even in the oversized sweater and baggy jeans that engulf her small frame. It makes you wonder what she’s hiding under there. Not that I’m wondering about that. My interest is strictly platonic.
I only want to help. But I can see why dudes would be interested. Her face is bare. Not a lick of makeup to be found and trust me when I say, she doesn’t need it. She’s got this girl next door vibe going for her. It’s insanely attractive.
But she stopped returning people’s calls and texts. Stopped going out with her friends. No more parties. No more anything. It’s like she’s been body-snatched and a new alien life form has taken up residence in her head.
Holt made her out to be a slut, but no one I talked to said anything of the sort. In fact, not one person had anything bad to say about her at all, which makes her sudden and complete withdrawal even more of a mystery.
One I have every intention of solving.
Cecilia will kick it with me most days after school. I haven’t explained that to my boys yet, but it won’t be a problem. They told me to handle my shit so I am.
We have practice during the week, but I can talk with our assistant coach—Jameia— if I need to miss a day or two. It all depends on whether or not Cecilia decides to be difficult.
We can hang at her place on weekends, though, eventually, I want to get her out. Maybe hit up the lake. Get some sun while the weather allows it. I’m not sure what she’s into, but I’ll figure it out.
The bell rings, announcing the end of class, and Cecilia bolts for the door. She thinks she can run away from me. It’s sorta cute.
I know where she’s parked, so at a more leisurely pace I follow behind her as she heads for the parking lot. She glances behind her more than once, and I have to smother my laugh at the look of determination on her face as she increases her steps.
She actually thinks she’s leaving.
We’re outside when she starts to dig in her bag, searching for the keys currently tucked inside my back pocket. I slow my steps, but continue to walk toward her.
She curses, dropping her bag on the ground before crouching down to give her search a real effort. She has one of those off-the-shoulder messenger bags that works as both a purse and a backpack, though from where I’m standing, it resembles a bottomless pit.
I don’t know how she finds anything in there.
“Looking for something?” I come to a stop beside her and lean against the driver’s side door of her Jeep.
“My keys,” she mutters.
Her frustration is all the more apparent when, with an exasperated breath, she dumps the entire contents of her bag on the pavement, only to realize what I already know.
Her keys aren’t in there.
She shoves everything back in her bag and with a frown, stares off in the direction we came from. She bites her bottom lip, abusing the tender flesh with her teeth and the insane urge to tug it free washes over me but I get the feeling she wouldn’t appreciate me acting on that little impulse.
“Maybe I left them in class but….” She trails off, not sounding convinced.
Saving her the trouble of walking back inside to look, I pull her keys from my pocket and dangle them between us.
“Nah. You didn’t leave them anywhere. I’ve got them for safekeeping.”
Her eyes laser in on the keys, then snap to my face.
“Give those back.” Her face is pinched in this adorable frown and I realize I like riling her up like this. It might just become my new favorite pastime. I toss the keys in the air a few times and her eyes track the movement, but not once does she try to grab them.
“I’m good. You don’t need them yet anyway. Practice starts in fifteen.” I look at my non-existent watch. “You’ve got an hour and a half before you need your keys. I’ll just hang onto them until then.”
Her nostrils flare, and the look on her face has my dick jumping to attention.
Fuck, I like that look. Yeah, it’s a little messed up, but when she’s like this, pissed off and ready to wage war, she’s alive.
Being attracted to Cecilia Russo was not in the plans but I can’t say I’m all too upset by it.
If I’m going to spend damn near every waking moment with the girl, I might as well have fun while doing it.
A little innocent flirting never hurt anyone.
“I’m not going to your stupid practice.”
I tuck her keys back in my pocket and shrug. “Unless you feel like taking a nice long walk, you are.”
Her eyes narrow, and she takes a menacing step toward me. That’s right, show me how tough you are. “Give. Me. My. Keys.” She holds her hand out. Sorry babe, no way am I making it that easy.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Gabriel!” She stomps her foot. Literally stomps it like a five year old child. Fucking adorable.
“Want me to say it in Spanish? No.” Quoting teen wolf isn’t something I should necessarily be proud of but, I’m a little disappointed when she doesn’t pick up on the pop culture reference.
“Urgh! You’re being unreasonable!” Cecilia goes for my pocket, but I twist out of reach.
“Just give them to me.” She lunges for me again, her fingers grazing over my cock.
I don’t think she notices, but I sure as hell do.
I let it slide the first time, but I’m fully erect after the second and that shit is bound to be noticed.
She fights me, trying to get to her keys. Her hair is a mess around her face, and each time she reaches for me, I swat her hand away or jerk to the side at the last possible second.
Hmm. This is fun.
At one point I race around her car and she surprises me by giving chase. I love it. Riling her up like this. Her face is flushed, eyes bright.
She manages to hook one arm around my waist from behind, not that it’ll do her much good. I let her blindly search for the seam of my pocket—and she again rubs her hand over my dick. With a muffled groan, I twist around and pin her in place against her Jeep.
My arms cage her in on either side, offering no chance of escape even though I’d been the one running.
Thrown by the move, her eyes widen, pupils dilating until black all but consumes every trace of brown that’d been there before.
Her breathing picks up speed and a look of fear flashes over her face.
I hesitate. She shouldn’t be afraid. Not of me.
Who hurt you? I want to ask, but I know she won’t tell me. Not yet. I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, hoping she’ll calm down if I give her a moment but instead she sucks in a sharp breath.
She wants me to back off. She’s all but screaming it out loud with the rigid set of her shoulders. The lines bracketing her mouth. I could make this easy on her. Step away without her having to ask. That’d be the gentlemanly thing to do.
It’s too bad I’m not in a hospitable mood.
Never in my life has someone mistaken me for a gentleman.
Which isn’t to say I’m a bad guy. I’m just not known for going out of my way for outsiders.
And, unless you’re familia or on my team, you’re an outsider.
Only maybe she isn’t. Or at least, she doesn’t have to be.
Hmm. Something to think about, not that it changes things today.
Nothing about living life is easy. It’s hard and messy and sometimes you experience uncomfortable shit.
Cecilia needs to find a way to cope. To get a handle on wherever this fear is coming from.
I won’t be like everyone else in her life and step back at the first signs of her discomfort. It doesn’t look like anyone else is going to push her, so I will.
Somebody has to.
Seconds tick by as I wait her out, holding myself impossibly still. Only a few inches of space separate us, and when the wind rustles her hair, I can’t help but breathe in the coconut scent of her shampoo. My mouth waters.
Licking my lips, I hold her gaze and lift one brow, daring her to make a move.
Her eyes flick to my mouth and back, and a pretty blush warms her cheeks.
She can push me away anytime. She can use her words.
Demand that I take a step back. If she does, I will.
This isn’t one of those gray areas I make a habit of crossing into.
If a girl doesn’t want me to touch her, I don’t.
End of story. If she was anyone else, I would have backed off by now and given her some space.
But with Cecilia, I need words or physical contact if she wants me to back away. I need more than body language.
She’s gotta take control. Make some demands.
The longer I stare into her eyes, the quicker her emotions flint across her face. Some are easy to recognize. Apprehension. Curiosity. A touch of fear. But then a new emotion bleeds into her gaze. One I not only recognize, but respond to.
Want mixed with more than a little need.
She bites her lip—we really need to work on that habit of hers—and my eyes, drawn by the action, drop to her mouth.