“Sorry,” I say again. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
He hums, rolling his head enough to look at me. His hair is falling over his forehead, and I brush the long strands to the side. It takes me a minute to realize I’ve repeated the motion several times.
“Sorry,” I repeat, pulling my hand away.
Christian sits upright. “What’d I tell you about that, Specs?”
You have my permission.
“Right,” I say, clearing my throat, forcing myself not to say sorry in response.
“Mr. Reed?” he asks, a wry twist to his lips.
I huff a laugh. “Yeah. Guess we never really exchanged last names, huh? Yours, though… Jerome said it’s Ducat.”
He gives a small nod. “My mother’s surname.”
“Right. That makes sense. Um… Your grandmother is really nice. Smart.”
“She is,” Christian says, a soft expression on his face. “She’s the most important person in my life.”
Wow. “Um…”
“I find it strange,” he says.
“What’s that?”
Christian leans forward. His eyes, so dark they look nearly black, blink at me once. The liner at the edges makes him look sharp and impossibly beautiful.
Or maybe that’s just Christian.
“I find it strange,” he repeats slowly, “that if you hadn’t moved in next door, if you hadn’t left your curtains open, if I hadn’t accepted a job at Elite 8 Studios… We still would have met. We would have met right here, right now. Don’t you find that strange?”
My heart thumps wildly.
Christian simply hums. “You have class soon.”
“I, um… Yeah, I do.”
“Which one?”
“Interpersonal Skills and Group Therapy,” I answer.
“But you don’t want to be a therapist,” he says, more statement than question.
“Still need to learn the skills.”
He nods, looking lost in thought for a moment. “Can I take you out tonight?”
“Out?” I say in surprise. “Where?”
Christian huffs a small laugh, mirth in his eyes. “Someplace quiet. Trust me?”
I do.
I nod, and Christian offers me a smile. “Six o’clock, Specs. Be ready.”
With that, Christian stands, presumably to go spend time with his grandmother. And me? I watch him until he’s out of sight, my heart continuing to race.