Page 76 of All Your Pucking Secrets

I’ve been on my best behavior. I haven’t called or texted, even though the anticipation is driving me crazy.

I need to know how she is.

Ryan tells me she’s fine, but he can’t read her the way I can. What if she’s upset and is hiding it from him?

I’m staring at the door so intently that I don’t notice someone approaching from the other side until they’re sliding onto the chair.

I spin around. “That seat is—oh, Echo.”

She smiles and tucks an invisible piece of hair behind her ear. The force of that smile whacks me in the gut, driving the air from my lungs.

Damn, she’s beautiful. The light that shines inside her never stops glowing—not even when people have done their best to extinguish it.

“I came in the other entrance today,” she explains, opening her backpack and pulling out a notebook.

My pulse leaps. She came in when I wasn’t looking and willingly sat beside me. That’s significant. She could have easily taken a seat somewhere else, and I might not have noticed until the presentations had begun.

I grin at her like the smitten idiot I am.

“You ready?” she asks, setting her phone on the pull-out desk and scrolling through to find what look to be notes for her portion of our presentation.

“I think so.” Usually, public speaking wouldn’t bother me, but the fact that it’s in front of Echo—and that my performance will contribute to her grade—has ramped up my nerves. I want to impress her, and I don’t want to let her down. We may have handed in our essay, but the presentation is worth a significant percentage of the grade.

“You will be.” Her smile is softer than I’ve seen it in more than three years, and my tummy flips over in response. This is good, right?

The professor calls the class to order, and we focus our attention on the first group to present their findings. We know what order we’re going in because we were assigned a random number ahead of time.

The first presentation is so good that I rethink everything, but the second group clearly has only one person who put in much work, with the others hoping to ride on their coattails. Based on the professor’s expression, I can’t see that happening.

Most of the presentations are decent. A couple are snooze-worthy but still thorough. By the time we’re up, some of my nerves have dissipated. At least our entire group put an equal amount of work into our project. Because of that, we’re already head and shoulders above half of the groups we’ve seen so far.

Jin starts, outlining the methods portion of our topic. He’s a good speaker. Relaxed and confident. Elle follows next with the pros. She speaks a little too fast and laughs a bit too often, but all the content is there.

I come next, and my mouth automatically forms the words I’ve practiced so many times. I know the topic well. A lot of what we’ve covered reminds me of my dad. He basically spent years trying to condition us into behaving as he wanted. That’s why I chose to speak about the cons. I’m perfectly positioned to know what they are.

Echo brings the presentation home, and it could just be me, but I think she’s phenomenal. Afterward, we answer a few questions and return to our seats.

I’m buzzing. I’m pretty sure we knocked it out of the park, and the others seem to agree.

We sit through the remainder of the presentations, then walk together to Full of Beans to debrief. For once, Elle doesn’t make a pass at me and, as we order, it becomes clear that Jin is more interested in the tattooed male barista than he is in Echo, so I’m more relaxed than I’ve ever been around them.

We chat for a while, and then Elle says she has a class to get to. Jin leaves shortly after, citing an assignment that’s due later, but his eyes twinkle and he winks as he leaves me alone with Echo.

I like him, I decide. He’s an okay guy.

“So,” I say when Jin is out of earshot. “We did good, right?”

“Yes,” she agrees. “I’d say we’ve got at least an A minus.”

“Awesome.” I get decent grades—I have to, to stay on the team—but an A of any form is still better than my usual.

The tattooed barista delivers a caramel-shot decaf mocha, and Echo accepts it with a smile. After seeing how much she enjoyed her first coffee, I couldn’t resist ordering her another, but she insisted on decaf since she limits how much caffeine she has each day. Apparently, being too wired is bad for her anxiety.

“Thanks again for this,” she says, gesturing at the coffee.

“No problem.” I’ll buy them every day of her life if they make her happy. “Echo, you’ve had some time to think now. Where’s your head at when it comes to me?”

She purses her lips, and her expression grows serious. “You shared a lot with me, and it changed my perspective in someways, but you still really hurt me. I’m having difficulty deciding whether I should trust you.”

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