Page 39 of Wristlocked
“Iamstaying away from him. And it’s your turn for toe torture. Give me your feet.”
“Bluey, I find you outside our door at least twice a week. That’s not staying away.”
“At least I don’t yell at him or bang on the door anymore.”
“Nope, you’re totally pathetic. Harder.” He wiggles his toes against my palms, and I lean in. “Seriously, Bluey, you need to figure out what the hell you actually want or leave it alone.”
“I know,” I sigh. “But even if I figure it out, how can I tell him if he won’t talk to me?”
“Get lost, Campbell.”
Ren and I both look up to see Gale standing over us, scowling. “I need to talk to Smalls.” He holds out a hand to help me up.
“If you’re leaving anyway, what’re you telling me to get lost for?” Ren asks, leaning back on his elbows and decidedly not getting lost. I give him a kick, hiding my smile.
“Gia.”
At the sound of my actual name, I look up and notice something like panic hidden in the depths of those forest eyes. I give Ren’s ankle one last squeeze, then grab Gale’s hand and let him pull me to my feet.
“What’s going on?”
He drops my hand, his fists restlessly clenching and unclenching as we start across the gym floor.
“We’re going out to dinner.”
“Is this your psycho way of asking me out on a date?”
“With Celeste.”
I stop cold.
“What?”
He reaches the door and pulls it open, turning and waiting for me to follow.
“She says she wants to check in on our progress for the showcase. Since we’re her big risk this year.” His lips twist in the barest hint of a wry smile.
“Well, I guess that kind of makes sense.” I squint into the sharp glare of the late-October sunset and shiver in the wind that gusts around the corner from the parking lot. “I need to go back and grab my hoodie.”
“Here.” He strips his over his head and hands it to me before taking off in the direction of the dorm. I pull the thick cotton over my head, warm from his body and musky with his saltwater scent.
“Why dinner?” I ask, catching up to him. “Why not come to one of our rehearsals?” My blood runs cold at the thought of her invading our studio, but it couldn’t be worse than sitting in a restaurant alone with her and Gale.
“I asked.” He shrugs. “She didn’t tell me.”
“But you must know what she wants.”
“I have some ideas. You’re not going to enjoy any of them.”
“Then why are we going?” I drag him to a stop as he shakes his head and turn him to face me.
“Because we have to.Ihave to.” The unspoken plea hangs between us, and he won’t meet my eyes, helpless and haunted in his beautiful despair. Something fierce and possessive wells in my chest, and I take his face in my hands and force his eyes to mine.
“It’s okay,” I promise. “We’ll go together.”
Celeste sends a car to pick us up, a sleek back Audi with tinted glass and smoke-gray leather seats. Gale sits silently beside me, picking at a loose thread on his ripped Diesel jeans.
I can’t keep my eyes off him. Each passing streetlight throws the sharp shadows of his cheekbones into stark relief, and his eyes glow like the aurora over the Arctic. I hardly ever see him dressed in anything but gym clothes, and the crisp lines of his black button-down, open at the throat and rolled up to expose his corded forearms, have me squirming in my seat. He gives me a tight smile when my bare thighs squeak against the leather but makes no move to touch me. The driver, Omar, tells me stories of his family in Mexico and his childhood in LA while giving me curious, friendly glances in the rearview mirror.
