Page 35 of Unexpected Hero

“James, you’ve done enough. You’re not responsible for me. I’m already indebted to you as it is.”

Indebted? Does she think that?

“Is that why you’re agreeing to see me again? Because you think you owe me something?”

The idea of her owing me anything sits heavy against my midsection like a medicine ball tossed at my gut.

She scrunches her full lips over to one side. “Let me answer that by asking you a question.”

My eyes flitter to the ceiling before falling back to hers. “That’s not how answering questions works, but go ahead.”

Her answering laugh has a melodic quality, reminding me of her singing voice.

“James, are you asking to see me again so you can make sure I have food?”

That I can answer honestly. “No. Not at all. I want to see you.”

Now, whether or not I should want to see her is a different story.

She shoots me a toothy smile. “Then same here.”

I hate not knowing if she’s lying. As much as I’ve been trained to read people, I’m shitty at it. The simplest things go right over my head despite years of being a people watcher. When you’re always on the outside, there’s often nothing else to do besides study others. But that doesn’t mean I understand them.

And when I’m forced to deal with people, like I am with Lettie, there’s far too much to think about to decipher their probable intentions. Things like... don’t be creepy. Be sure not to stare. Pay attention. Be ready to respond. And again, don’t be creepy.

I try to banish that thought at least five hundred times a day, but it’s always there in the back of my mind and occasionally front and center.

And it always sounds like my father’s disappointed voice.

Stand up straight, boy.

Look at me when I’m talking to you, or I’ll tan your hide.

Why can’t you be a normal kid?

Are you a damn robot?

Stop staring like that, you little freak.

Don’t be so damn creepy.

With a shake of my head, I bring myself to my feet and begin clearing the table. Lettie rises and assists me.

She polished off both sandwiches in short order, which leaves me with a mix of emotions to sort out later. I hate that she was hungry, but I loved being able to care for her.

“Let me get your bag of snacks from the cooler. I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks, James.”

Although I go by that name when I’m at the club to protect my anonymity, I don’t want her to call me that. It sounds wrong, leaving me feeling unsettled.

More to unpack later.

In fact, there’s a whole file named Violet Holt in my HHD — Human Hard Drive — that needs processing.

When I get to the counter, the barista wears a big grin. “Ready for the bag?”

“Yes, please.”

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