Page 65 of Because of Dylan

His smile falters at my silent rebuttal.

He tugs at my hand, and we walk outside. “Come on, Becca, say yes. Please.” Tommy makes puppy eyes at me and holds his hands up in a begging motion. The weak sunlight makes a halo around his head and gives him an even more angelic and innocent face. My walls crack.

“I’m not much of a family-getting-together-Thanksgiving kind of person.” I hike up the straps of my backpack and quicken my pace.

“Nothing to worry, then, it’s me and my brother. And now you.”

“Just the two of you? No family or friends?”

“Just the three of us,” he corrects me.

Thanksgiving with Tommy and Professor Dick? How weird and awkward would that be after the moment we shared in his office?

“I don’t think your brother likes me very much. Not sure it would be a good idea for me to show up at your house.”

“Of course, he likes you. He always asks about you. I don’t know where you got that. It was his idea to invite you. Not that I wouldn’t suggest it, but he beat me to it.”

The concept of Professor Dick asking about me and liking me is so alien I trip on my feet. Tommy holds my arm and steadies me. “Please, don’t go breaking a leg just to avoid dinner.”

Should I? Should I accept this invitation? A part of me is screaming that I’m crazy for even considering. But another part—a bigger part is all too eager and curious. I haven't seen Professor Dick since the shooting. I want to go. I need to see if what we shared that day is still there, or if it was my imagination.

“Just the three of us?”

Tommy is bouncing on the balls of his feet, giddy like a little kid on Christmas morning. “Yes, just the three of us, I promise.”

I should say no. Why am I even considering going? This is crazy. But I need to see him again, and Tommy is so happy, I don’t want to refuse him. “Okay. I'll come.”

He throws himself at me, and we crash into a hug. I can’t help but laugh. I guess I’m getting used to his simple affections that ask for nothing in return.

This means I’ll have to say no to my father's invitation. I already said no to River's invitation. But at least now I have a real excuse.

“What can I bring? I can't really cook or bake anything, dorm life and all.”

“Nothing. Dylan's a great cook. Bring your sweet self around three o’clock.”

Three days. I have three days until Thanksgiving. Three days to change my mind and come up with an excuse that lets me get away without hurting Tommy. Or three days to push through.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

She’s leaningon the glass wall taking in the morning sun, face tilted up, eyes closed and lips barely parted. She’s partially hidden by a column and so still passersby don’t notice her presence. I may have missed Becca as well had I not been looking for her.

There’s more to Becca than meets the eye. What secrets is she keeping under her sharp tongue and abrasive demeanor? She’s so unguarded now, she looks like a different person.

Softer.

Gentler.

I want to hold her again, inhale her scent, touch her without the barrier of clothes. My fingers tingle with the need to feel her skin. I want to kiss her and find out what she tastes like. My body aches with the familiar want. My heart thunders faster as I give in to the fantasy.

“Who are you, Becca? What secrets do you guard so ferociously? And why do you act like you hate me?” I speak the words silently, hoping somehow the answers will come to me.

The ruckus of loud voices and laughter breaks the spell. Both mine and hers. She’s watching the men now. Riggins football players. If theirs faces weren’t already well known, their sizes would give them away. The four of them move together like a wall made of muscle and bones. In sync, in and out of the field.

Becca’s no longer enjoying the sun.

The closer the men get to her, the smaller she gets. Shoulders curving in, face angled down, hiding behind a curtain of hair, eyes downcast watching their feet. Her entire body rigid with tension so thick I can feel it from where I stand. The voices get louder, Becca gets smaller, her hands ball into her chest, she turns away from them, just enough to become even more invisible, but still watching their every move.

They walk by, and she freezes. As their voices fade, and each step adds distance between them, Becca unfolds. Hands open, fingers flex and arms drop, her shoulders uncurl, her face tilts up, and as she reverts to her original spot, her eyes dart around. But I’m the only one watching her, and before Becca can see me, I step back into my classroom.

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