Page 61 of Beneath the Surface

“Princess,” he croaked.

“Did I wake you?” I asked as I looked at my clock.

Fair enough, it was still early and unlike me or Gray he didn’t have practices to keep him on an earlier schedule.

“Nah, couldn’t sleep,” he told me.

His voice still sounded a bit off.

“Are you okay?”I found myself asking.

“Peachy,” he replied, but I didn’t believe him.

“Where do you live?”As soon as I asked the question, I started to get ready, a new motivation rushing through me. If I was lucky, I could get one hour of practice.

“I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

I wasn’t fluent in macho man speak, but something told me he was full of shit and trying to save face. Every time he spoke, it sounded like he was doing it through pulled teeth.

“Either you tell me, or I call my father and ask for your address, and that will lead to uncomfortable questions for the both of us.”

He cursed, but then said he would text it.

Fifteen minutes later, I was parked in front of the apartments on the other side of town. These ones didn’t belong to the school campus. It was housing for the local townies. The grass outside was dead, not green and lush like everything around campus. There was garbage littered here and there. Some of the windows in the building didn’t have screens. I took a deep breath beforestepping outside of my car, and then made sure I locked up because my skating shoes were worth a pretty penny.

The complex door had a locking system that didn’t work anymore. The inside of the building was more eerie than the outside. I never understood why places used yellow light. It made everything seem so dull and boring. The long corridor had brown carpet that once upon a time might have been a lighter shade, and walls that were painted in a dusty yellow.

I quickly found Cruz’s apartment and knocked rapidly, waiting for him to let me in.

“Come in,” he croaked.

Tentatively, I pushed the door open.

His place was nicer than the building would suggest. His walls were white and the trim of them painted black. Instead of carpet, he had wooden floors. The inside of his apartment didn’t have the musty smell the halls did.

“Cruz,” I called out as I closed the door behind me.

His windows had the shades open, but he also had a light on, which gave me a clear view of him.

A gasp left my lips as soon as I saw him.

“I’m fine,” he lied to me.

“How is it possible you look worse than you did two days ago?”

I dropped my purse on his coffee table and rushed toward him. He was sprawled on the couch, his legs spread open. Instead of the fading shiner and cut lip he should have been sporting, now he had new bruises and cuts on his face and arms.

“Worried about me, princess?”

I stepped closer to him, aware I was now between his legs. Cruz let out a ragged breath, followed by a hiss of pain. He slumped there in black sweatpants, a light gray T-shirt, and black socks. His black hair was a bit mussed, and despite the bruising, he looked hot.

I chastised myself for even thinking that, but the way his brown eyes seemed to track my every movement since I walked in, I couldn’t exactly control my thoughts. I kept moving until I leaned over him. His eyes flashed as he noticed my hand reaching out to cup his cheek.

There was a cut on the upper left side of his forehead. A black eye on the right side, some bruising down his arms, and if I had to guess, his ribs would probably be worse than they were before.

I slowly moved my hand around the back of his head so I could scratch his nape, but as soon as I touched him there, he grunted and flinched.

“Omigod, did I hurt you?”

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