Page 41 of Believing Bailey (Granton University 2)

I slowed to a stop. But then hurried back in to gear, afraid I’d be caught “hearing” them.

I knew—I knew oh-so very logically—that Paige didn’t mean anything bad by what she said. She hadn’t suggested I was a dirty, rotten voyeur or that I was purposefully out and about trying to creep in on her with her man, like all I did these days was spy on other couples having sex. Hell, for all I knew, she was trying to be considerate of my feelings because she knew I’d had a rough day and worried I’d feel worse after hearing two people being happy together and laughing.

But it still stung. Oh damn, how it stung.

I suddenly didn’t feel welcome anywhere in the world.

After all the ugly, fat cow talk, I was just too tender to take any more. Throat burning and eyes watering, I hurried into the front room until I hit the stairwell. Then I grabbed my coat off the hook as I passed and rushed down to the front door. Not even my room would provide a very good sanctuary right now. I’d only be able to hear their muffled talk more clearly through the cold lonely wall.

Thinking about the park bench across the street that I never saw anyone sitting at, I shoved my way outside with a good bit of force, wanting to be all the way removed from the apartment before I really burst forth and started shedding tears.

But a big black mass of something standing on the steps with its arm raised as if to knock blocked my path.

I shrieked but still didn’t stop in time to keep from plowing into it.

“What the…?” He tried to grab my arms to steady me, I think, but he didn’t have any kind of solid footing himself to be steadying anyone.

So we both went tumbling down, me on top, and him landing on the cold hard, solid ground.

“Holy fuck,” I groaned, feeling dazed, even though I’d had a cushiony person to land on, though he wasn’t really all that cushiony. He was a bit too hard and muscled to provide any kind of soft-padded landing. I felt jarred right down to my teeth.

Moaning, I sat up and crawled off him just as he seemed to get his wind back and let out his own chuff of pain.

Since the day had worn down to evening, and the sky was gray and muggy, I didn’t see him in crisp, bright detail. But I still knew who he was.

He wore a black hoodie with the three bright white Greek letters stretching across his chest and a ball cap over his head. His face was covered in bruises, ranging from green, dying older ones to a couple fresh deep purples beauties. He looked basically nothing like he had the one night I’d met him, and yet I still recognized him immediately. I grabbed his arm to make sure he hadn’t passed out on me, and he opened his eyes. They were still just as startling blue as they’d been before.

An instant moment of relief filled me. He was okay—well alive anyway. He was free, and out of jail, and now I could stop worrying about where he was or what he was doing. Except with that relief came a spot of irr

itation. I didn’t know this guy from Adam, why the hell had he inspired any kind of worry in me in the first place?

So I let out a groan and shook my head. “Jesus Christ, Bucket. You sure have a bad habit of loitering in doorways when I’m in a hurry to get through them, don’t you?”

Chapter 14

BECKETT

Fuck, I think I just broke one of my bruised ribs. For the longest second, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move past the pain. I could just lay on the cold, hard ground, hugging myself.

The weight on top of me shifted and scurried off, the girl babbling something that totally didn’t penetrate the agony surrounding my synapses. No idea what she said.

Then small fingers gripped my arm with a firm, sturdy pressure, and I cracked my eyes open wide enough for her entire face to flood my field of vision as she leaned down to get a look at me. She said something else that didn’t get through before she leaned in closer and said loudly enough for me to finally hear, “Holy shit, are you okay?”

“Fine,” I gasped, still clutching my ribs. Yeah, I was just dandy. Or I would be in a couple years, possibly decades.

“Well, you look like hell.” She tightened her grip and tugged me upright into a sitting position. The blood rushed from my brain, causing sharp daggers to pierce my temples.

I whimpered and wavered until the ache dulled enough for me to function. “Yeah, well I wouldn’t recommend jail for any kind of beauty regimen retreat, that’s for damn sure.”

The girl laughed, making me focus on her looks for the first time. She was a cute thing, with a round face and cheeks that had probably gotten pinched and smooshed a lot when she was young. Her eyes were big and smoky gray with these long-ass lashes that swept gracefully over them and briefly brushed the tops of her cheeks before she opened her eyes again. Her hair was shoulder-length, blonde and curly, the fun bobbing, kinky kind of curls that always made me want to play with them.

I realized I was staring when she shook her head with a baffled kind of frown, glanced around us and asked, “What’re you doing here?”

The blunt question startled me out of my daze, but it wasn’t delivered with a rude vibe or anything, it was just really direct, more direct and familiar than I was expecting. So I cleared my throat as I picked myself up off the ground, dusting dirt and leaves and grass from my ass as I went.

“Sorry,” I said. “I, uh, I just…” I glanced at the door to the apartment I’d been prepared to knock on. “Is Bailey home?”

When she didn’t answer, I turned to find her setting her hand on her cocked hip and frowning at me.

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