Page 48 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

I can’t say for sure, but I have a feeling the timing of Amy dropping Cam has something to do with Rachel suddenly regretting spending her day watching me sit on a bench. Granted, I think she has every right to regret watching me sulk, but not because I didn’t want her there. And not because someone I dated before I knew what I really wanted made her feel like she should.

Amy’s left side is loaded down with her travel bag, stuffed with all her cheer shit. Her joggers are sitting especially low on her hips, rolled down to expose her belly button stud, which I used to find so fucking appealing. I was so basic before I met Rachel. Superficial, just like the girl heading my way with the knowing smirk.

She bunches her hand up at her side to wave hello, and I have a choice. I can wave back and wait for her to reach me. There’s no way in hell I’m giving her a ride anywhere, though, and I’m especially not bringing her home with me. I could ask her what the hell happened with her and Cam, the guy who supposedly had it all figured out. His family is still rich as fuck, so I’m not sure why that no longer appeals to her.

Or, I can get up right now and leave.

It takes me about three seconds to play each scenario out in my head, and I’m on my feet before Amy’s within earshot. I don’t head to my truck, though. Instead, I march to the science building, where the side door is propped open and the stairwell is dimly lit.

I’m surprised how many people are using lab rooms on a Saturday afternoon, but I’m not surprised to hear the classical music spilling out of the open door at the end of the corridor. I step through the door to find her back to me as she holds up a glass tube with yellow liquid and begins to swirl it.

“Please don’t drop that,” I say in a soft voice. There isn’t really a good way to walk in on someone in this situation, and I’m not about to sit here and wait for her to turn around and drop it. Again.

Her shoulders drop, and it takes her a few seconds to speak.

“You have a thing for acid, don’t you?” She puts the tube in a rack, then glances at me over her shoulder.

“I think maybe you have a thing for acid. I’m simply the guy showing up.” I give her a half smile and raise my shoulder. Her laugh is soft—short. Courteous, but not truly amused. She’s upset about something.

“I’m sorry I made you fall so far behind.” I step fully into the lab, stopping at the first table and running my palm along the immaculately clean surface.

“You didn’t make me do anything. I wanted to spend time with you. But now I have to make up for that.” Her mouth draws in on one side, and while she’s trying to project a smile, all I see is disappointment.

It’s the words she chose. Make up for that.

“What’s going on?” I move around the table as she turns back to her workspace. She’s avoiding me. It’s obvious. I’ve always had solid instincts for other people’s emotions. I can read a room, read a face. Just like I can read her silence and lack of eye contact.

She flicks the tube with her finger and leans down, studying the light behind the liquid. Her eyes flit to my face now that I’m beside her, and she exhales before straightening her spine.

“What is this?” She glances to her side for a beat then her eyes come back to me. “Are we a fling? Or, is this all part of the plan to make exes jealous, or?—”

“Wait a second. Hold up.” I stop her with my words and an open palm in the air. She said exes. “What did Amy say to you?”

It’s the only logical reason for this sudden cold turn in her emotions. She overrode my offer for her to stay home, to choose chemistry over football, with zeal this morning. And now she’s sunk with regret. Only Amy has that power.

“She asked me if I’d seen your place yet. Your favorite place. She said it was your move.” Her mouth slips into a slight frown, her shoulders ticking up with defeat. Her eyes sunken in.

All I can do is fall into her eyes and search for an answer, a reason. Why would Amy say that?

“Rachel, I have no idea why?—”

Shit.

My face falls.

I do know why. And how. I pinch my brow as I mentally fall back in time, this month last year, in fact. It was a party her sorority threw. We weren’t even officially a couple yet, and I was trying to impress her by winning some stupid game of hide-and-seek. I knew the gallery was open late.

“It didn’t mean anything.” That’s all I can say because she doesn’t want or need the reasons that led me there. I was trying to score with a cheerleader. She doesn’t need to hear that.

“She said the painting of the trees was your favorite.” She blinks slowly, her lashes mimicking a door shutting in my face. At least, that’s how I feel it.

“Rach—”

Her head falls to the side, eyes welling up.

“It’s fine; I’ll get over it. It’s not like I thought I was anything special. You took another girl there before me. So what? It’s your move. And it’s a really good one. It just hurt hearing it from her, that’s all.” Her slight shrug cracks open my chest and I step into her, palm on the side of her face so my thumb can erase the tear that slipped out.

“That’s the thing, though, Rachel. You are special. And that’s not my move. I brought Amy there for a game. I brought you there to share a part of me. You know I called you my girlfriend today? Ironically, I said it to Cam, who I guess is now Amy’s ex. Which is probably why she’s playing games with you. But I’m not interested in games, or in Amy, or in what Cam thinks. I’m interested in how you feel, right now. It hurts me when you hurt.”

---