Page 21 of Because of Dylan

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I turn my phone on when I return to Riggins and find a text message from my father. I haven’t named his contact on my phone, so it still showsunknown. But I know it’s him. I tap my passcode and open Messenger.

Unknown: Hi. Can we meet? Have lunch, maybe?

Unknown: Please.

I tap the number and add his name to my contacts. A name I have known for years but never even spoke out loud before. It’s surreal.

“Robert Anderson,” I whisper to myself.

Becca: Okay. Tomorrow, at noon. Pick a place, I’ll meet you there.

His reply is immediate.

Robert: Thank you. Is The Griller, okay?

He names a burger place ten minutes away from campus.

Becca: Yes. See you tomorrow.

Robert: Thank you, Becca.

I stare at my phone until the screen goes dark, then find my way to class. It will be a long day. I have a shift at the bar tonight and still have to finish a paper for my Monday class.

My thoughts drift to Tommy again. And his evil brother, Professor Dick, who has occupied a ridiculous amount of time in my mind since that night at the bar. There’s an empty spot in my chest, and it aches. I miss Tommy.

I’m lost in thought as I follow the throng of students walking down the hall in the Maslow building.

“Miss Jones.”

My name, softly spoken near my ear, startles me. I trip on my own feet and drop my backpack to the floor. I’m halfway to a face-plant when an arm snakes around my waist and stops my fall. A few snickers and a mumbled “klutz” make my face flush. A hand at my hip steadies me, I follow it to thank my savior and find Professor Dick staring down at me. I stumble backward, to get his hands off me, and my heel catches my backpack. Now, I’m halfway to falling on my ass.

My arms reach for him, and he yanks me up. I crash into his chest.

We freeze.

He lets go of me like I’ve burned him and jumps back. He clears his throat.

My face heats.

Kill me now.

The exposed skin on my wrist, the very place he touched, tingles. Not with pain. He didn’t hurt me. But he makes me feel … something. I rub my wrist on my jeans, trying to get the sensation off my skin.

I bend and pick up my backup, killing a few precious seconds until I have to face him.

He tilts his head a smidge as he looks me over—I look down at myself and what I’m wearing. Nothing special. Jeans, sneakers, and a Riggins hoodie. But his eyes linger, like he’s looking for something or trying to solve a puzzle.

I adjust the backpack on my shoulders, pulling out a lock of hair that got caught under a strap. His eyes fall to the top of my head and narrow, and again I can see questions in his expression. I know what he sees. My real hair color peeking at the top of my head. The honey-blond hair contrasts with the brown dyed hair. I have to put a stop to his observation and gather my thoughts. It’s only us and a couple of late arrivals to classes left in the wide corridor of the bottom floor. Light shines in from the expanse of windows that face the main part of campus. There’s a riot of colors outside the windows. Oranges, yellows, reds, all a confirmation that fall is here, and winter is not far behind.

I drag in a breath, bite my lip, and finally speak. “I guess I should thank you for keeping me from falling. Twice. But then again, if you had not creeped behind me, none of it would have happened.”

“I did not creep behind you. I simply said your name when you walked past me.”

He always sounds so cold and controlled. Like a freaking robot.

“Why?”Walk away, Becca. Just walk away.

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