Page 5 of The Rebel (Looking to Score 1)
But that’s a story for another time, because Eden is perched beside me on the mattress. The scent of her shampoo is driving me fucking crazy, just like it always did whenever we worked together at the library. After we turned in our final project last year, I doubted I’d see her again. Not on a campus as big as this one.
But I did.
First, a few months ago—a fleeting glimpse of her walking across the quad, her bright, sunny smile warming me, even from a distance. And then again last month at the bar where I work, checking IDs on the weekend. She came in with her friend, the same girl she was with tonight downstairs. I kept a close eye on her that night, as best I could, to make sure she didn’t get into any trouble. But Eden is a smart girl. She knows better than to accept a drink from a stranger, or to follow some drunk douchebag home from the bar.
“Who did this?” Eden says, snapping me back to the present.
When I meet her eyes, their icy blue color nearly knocks the breath from my lungs. Her brow is creased in concern. Or frustration. I’m not sure which.
Is her frustration directed at me, at my life choices—that I always find a way to get in the middle of shit? Or is she frustrated at the situation I’ve found myself in?
“Doesn’t matter,” I grumble. “I’m fine, Eden.”
She huffs. “You’re not fine. You were in a dang fistfight.”
I chuckle under my breath, wondering if she ever curses, or if dang is the extent of it.
“What?” she says sharply.
I shrug. “Nothing. Just never seen someone so worked up over some busted knuckles.”
She gives me a pointed look, pressing those full, kissable lips together. “And a swollen lip, by the looks of it.”
“Doesn’t hurt. I swear.”
Shaking her head at me, Eden stands. She dumps the wrappers from the Band-Aids into the little trash can beside my desk.
A couple of the partygoers got a little too rowdy downstairs, and I helped them off the premises. A few punches were thrown out on the front lawn, but we’re lucky it wasn’t worse. Lucky that the cops weren’t called. At least, I don’t think they were. The last thing I need is to follow in my family’s footsteps and end up in the backseat of a police cruiser.
I take another sip of whiskey straight from the bottle she and I were sharing earlier and try not to wince, because shit, it stings my split lip. Bet that’ll look cute in the morning. But what I told Eden is the truth. It doesn’t really hurt. I’ve had much worse, and I’ll live. I always do.
She surprises me by sitting on the bed next to me again. I offer her the bottle of liquor, but she shakes her head. I’m sure she’s about to leave, about to get up and walk out of my life for good, but instead, something else happens.
Eden shifts closer and raises her chin, tilting her face toward mine. When she meets my eyes, my heart begins to hammer hard. Her eyes are such a pretty shade of blue—deep like the ocean, and filled with such intelligence and curiosity.
“Why was Alex in there with her?” She nods toward the door, and then those blue eyes are back on mine.
My heart shifts into overdrive. “Because he’s a fucking idiot. Because he takes the easy offering.”
“Always?”
“Always,” I say, my voice going soft again.
She smiles at me. “Thanks for . . . everything. For saving me from making a fool of myself. I guess it’s just as well.”
“I didn’t save you from anything, Eden. Something tells me you don’t need saving.”
I don’t miss the hint of a smile on her perfect mouth. But it’s the truth. I know she can handle herself. She’s brilliant, beautiful, and kind. A triple threat.
Eden relaxes back onto the pillows, seemingly content to stick around a while.
Meanwhile, I’m trying hard to figure out what alternate universe I’ve found myself living in, but then again, I don’t want to think too hard about why she’s here with me. Not when I could just shut off my self-doubts and enjoy it. And so I do.
As we fall into easy conversation, I decide I could listen to Eden talk for hours. I learn that she met Braun last week, that she’s not sure about her major, that her roommate leaves coffee mugs out on the counter for so long they grow mold, and it annoys Eden to no end.
I chuckle at this, and she shoots me a look of disdain.
I shrug. “If that’s the extent of your problems . . .”
She frowns at me. “It’s not.”
Somehow, I believe her. Something tells me her life isn’t as bright and shiny as she wants everyone to believe.
