Page 49 of Under My Skin
“Sure,” Everett says, keeping his voice down. “I can do that. I’ll be there soon.”
This piques my interest, and I dare to look at him again.
He ends the call and turns to face me as he slips his phone back in his pocket. “Sorry.”
I shake my head. For some reason I feel like I’m the one who should be apologizing. It’s not like he said much during that call, but I can see how it affected him. Being in the same room while he spoke felt like invading his private moment. “Everything okay?”
He scratches the side of his head. “Uh, yeah. I just have to go help my mom with something. She saw my bike parked out front on her way home from the store.”
“Oh.” I blink. Based on his reaction to the call, I thought it was someone else. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you later?”
He nods, but he looks like his mind is somewhere else. Scanning the room, he points to my closet. “Do you need help taking anything else down before I go?”
I shake my head, my fingers absently thumbing the pages of my copy ofLooking for Alaska. “No, I’ll manage. Go help your mom.”
He blinks and some clarity returns to his eyes. Walking over to my closet, he reaches up and takes down another box sitting on the top wire rack.
“What are you doing?” I ask with a light laugh.
He sets down the box on the floor before reaching up to grab the one next to it. “Making sure you don’t stand on that chair again.”
“Spider-Man saves the day,” I mutter in amusement.
He doesn’t acknowledge my comment, but the corner of his lips lift. As soon as he’s done, he heads toward the door. “Later, Luce.”
“Later,” I say with a bemused smile. He leaves, and I can’t help shaking my head as I look at the boxes he carefully stacked on the floor for me.
Movement in the doorway catches my eye, andI look up to find Everett popping his head in, his tattooed hand resting on the frame. “If you’re free later, stop by the shop. I wanted to run a few things by you. The back door will be unlocked.”
Excitement thrums in my chest, and I hug the book like it will somehow drown out my beating heart. “Sure. Okay.”
He smiles, and I’m relieved to see it looks genuine. Whatever funk that call put him in seems to have worn off. His eyes are bright as he pats the doorframe before walking away, and I have to bite my lip to suppress a grin.
When I hear Everett’s voice again, he’s telling Simon he has to go. And when he goes downstairs, my parents sound disappointed about his leaving. By how tightly my mother hugged him this morning, I don’t think they’ve seen him in a while. Simon had to tap her on the shoulder to make her let go.
As soon as the front door closes, I rush toward my window overlooking the tree-lined street below and stay back just enough to be out of view. The last thing I need is for him to catch me watching, but I can’t miss an opportunity to take him in.
His thumbs drum against the sides of his legs as he walks toward his bike at the bottom of the driveway. The anxious rhythm has me biting my thumbnail even though I have nothing to worry about. Whatever he’s feeling is palpable, even from up here.
He reaches his bike, runs his hand over the seat, and effortlessly swings his leg over. With a turn of the key, the bike comes to life, and he reaches for his helmet. He doesn’t put it on right away, though. He pauses, his head tilting up ever so slightly as he looks directly at my bedroom window.
My breath catches in my throat. There’s no way he can see me from here. Watching the street from this room is something I have down to a science at this point. Part of me is tempted to open the window and ask him if he’s forgotten something, but I keep my feet firmly planted where theyare.
When Everett’s eyes finally pull away, he looks down at his helmet in his hands and shakes his head.
He can’t see me.
But he was staring up at my bedroom window.
And he’s smiling to himself about it.
Hope flutters in my chest. Maybe I’m not stupid for putting myself out there. Stupid because I don’t live here? Without a doubt. But stupid because he doesn’t feel the same? I don’t think so. Because I’ve seen that smile before—I’ve felt it. In fact, it’s the same smile stretching across my own lips as he rolls back the bike and heads off down the street.
“What are you doing?” Simon’s deep voice jolts me from my thoughts, and I spin on my heels.
“Going through my stuff.” My eyes narrow. “What areyoudoing?”
“Watching you stand in your secret hiding spot and stare out the window like a creep.”
