Page 6 of Fall From Grace
I grind my jaw. Is this chick trying to insult me? “Give me the book.”
“But I need it, too.”
“I don’t care.” The words are out of me in the blink of an eye, out of habit. Caring about others isn’t a specialty of mine. Never has been, never will be.
The girl’s gaze falls to nothing in particular. Just like I’m not wowed by her, she doesn’t seem wowed by my appearance—which I also find insulting, because even without the mask and the body paint, I know I’m a good-looking guy. Tall, about six foot, with messy black hair and bright green eyes, and tanned skin that sets me apart from the rest.
“Fine.” I hardly hear her say it as she shoves the book at me and then turns to hurry away.
I’m so caught off-guard by her giving it up that I don’t know what to think. On one hand, the book is rightfully mine, since I was there first… but she’s right. I was slow about it. Her hand touched it first, which means some would probably think she should get it.
I don’t know what makes me say it, but I call out to her, “Wait.”
She stops, but she doesn’t turn around to face me, so I walk around her and offer the damn book back. “Just fucking take it,” I mutter with a frown. “You seem like a nerd. You’ll probably get more use out of it than I will.”
“I’m not a nerd,” she huffs, clearly offended by my choice of words.
I make a big show of checking her out—her clothes, her lack of makeup, her hair—and then I say, “Uh-huh. Sure.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Thank fuck for that.”
That’s the last straw, apparently. She snatches the book out of my hand, grinds her jaw, and holds her head high as she marches around me to go pay for it at the register near the entrance to the shop. I watch her go, hoping whatever class she needs that book for isn’t the same one I’m in.
I return to the aisles of books and get what I can. Strangely enough, I find my thoughts returning to the nerd who took my book. I mean, this is a big campus. There are lots of similar classes. What are the odds we’ll be put together?
Chapter Four – Wren
I’m so flustered after that weird encounter in the bookstore that I don’t pay attention to where I’m walking as I round the sidewalk directly outside of the student union, and I walk into someone carrying what looks like an ungodly amount of papers. I ram into them hard, and before I know it, papers go flying everywhere.
And it’s my fault, completely.
“I’m sorry,” I quickly say, hurrying to help the person pick up the scattered papers. I have to set down the book I carry to grab at the papers with both hands. The breeze picks up, of freaking course, which makes them scatter even more.
The guy I ran into seems easygoing, immediately telling me, “It’s no problem. I got it. You can go.”
“No.” It’s all I say as I help him pick all his papers up. They must’ve been in a folder, and when I rammed into him, that folder went flying, as did all the papers in it. Together, the man and I manage to pick everything up, and it’s only when I hand him the papers in a messy stack that I finally meet his eyes.
And the moment I do, I’m struck by just how crisp and blue they are. The color is warm, like the waters in the Caribbean, and I imagine just as easy to get lost in. Surely the prettiest set of eyes I’ve ever seen, to the point where I’m jealous of them and wish my brown eyes were more like his.
“Thank you. You really didn’t have to help,” he says with a dimpled smile, and I’m so lost in his eyes that it takes me a while to realize he’s an attractive guy. Older than me, definitely, somewhere in his upper twenties, if I have to guess, but the kind of drop-dead gorgeous that makes him worthy of modeling. Flawless white skin, a chiseled square jaw with no hint of stubble to be seen, and a thick head of dark brown hair, cut short on thesides. We’re both kneeling, but based on his size next to mine, I have to assume he’s on the tall side.
“It was my fault,” I say, trying hard not to outright stare at him, slack-jawed. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“No, you weren’t.” Now that his papers are all back in their folder, tucked away as neatly as they can be after that, the man’s smile widens at me—and then he reaches for the book I set down. He studies the title as he stands, and I’m slow in standing with him.
Yep. Just as I suspected. The guy is easily a foot taller than me. It’s not that hard to do, since I’m short as heck. Any guy six feet or over makes me feel like I’m invisible.
“Intro to psychology, huh?” he asks, offering me the book, which I measuredly take. “Whose class you taking?”
I have absolutely no clue why he’s asking me that question, so it takes me a few seconds to tell him. “Uh, I think the professor’s name is Scott?”
The man nods. “I hear the guy’s a total hard-ass.” My eyes must widen in horror, because he quickly says, “I’m kidding. I haven’t heard that.”
“Oh.” It then occurs to me the guy was trying to make a joke, and then I smile and shake my head—mostly at myself and how stupid I am for not realizing he was attempting to be funny. I tuck some of my hair behind an ear before meeting those beautiful blue eyes once again.
“A bad joke, apparently,” he says, still grinning down at me.
