Page 100 of Collision
“And, as always, that seems to be reason enough for you to completely lose control,” I reply, pretending to be impassive. My response seems to irritate him because he releases my wrist entirely and lets me go.
“Do not tell me that the guy you’re avoiding is that giant hottie with all the muscles and tattoos?!” Cassie demands in a shrill voice when I join her behind the bar. I remind myself that murder is illegal in all fifty states.
“Bingo.”
“You’ve got to explain that one to me.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” I mutter.
“I just saw you two talking. One minute, I thought you were going to rip each other’s clothes off, the next minute, I thought you were going to start throwing hands. What are you two? Sworn enemies? Friends? Lovers who can only love each other under the covers and must hate each other in the light of day?” She titters.
I roll my eyes with a huff. “Friends, Cassie. Just friends.” With poor results, I might add.
“That is excellent news, because I’ve been daydreaming about biting his lips ever since he walked in here. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a perfect body. I want to taste it. How about giving me his number, eh?”
“I don’t have it.”
Her eyes bulge in disbelief. “How is that possible?”
I shrug. “We never exchanged numbers. But, if you want it so much, just ask him. He’s only a few feet away.” Cassie raises her eyebrows and laughs as though I’ve said something ridiculous.
“Babe…” She pats my back with a red-nailed hand and gives me a big smile, as if I were a child to whom an elementary concept is being explained. “I can’t just ask him for his number. It’s the second most important rule of the dating code.”
I look at her, dumbfounded. “What are you talking about?”
“Never ask a guy for his number: if you do, he’ll know you’re into him and he’ll think he’s hooked you and then—poof!—he’ll suddenly lose all interest in you.”
I frown. “And the first rule would be…?” I ask, though I’m not at all sure I want to hear the answer.
“Don’t look at him. Ever.”
“But if you never look at him, how do you let him know you’re interested?” I ask, increasingly confused.
“Yes! That’s the trick. He shouldn’t know.”
How idiotic. I don’t have time to discover any more made-up rules because Maggie interrupts to tell us that her shift is over. That means in an hour Cassie will also be gone, thank God. And, finally, in just two more hours I can get out of this place. I’m exhausted.
Twenty-Five
Half an hour before the end of my shift, I find myself in a nearly empty bar with only Thomas still sitting at his table. Matt and the others have already left and, to tell you the truth, I’m surprised that Thomas didn’t take the opportunity to go back to campus with some new bedpost-notch.
Irritated, I join him at the table. “Thomas, I’m about to close up. Go home.” I gather up the last empty glasses on the table and leave his, still full of amber liquid.
“Don’t feel like it.” He turns a cigarette over in his hands.
“Maybe you don’t know this, but a bar is really the last place you should seek refuge when you’re feeling sad.” I look at him and see nothingness in his gaze.
“This is not a real bar,” he snorts unhappily.
“Same concept.”
“What makes you think I’m sad?” he asks in a teasing tone.
Your goddamned eyes.
“Are you?”
He shrugs in response, avoiding my gaze.
