Page 55 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

“No, Riggs. I deserved it. I can’t say that it doesn’t hurt to hear, but I deserved them. You were standing up for Sam.” Pride wells in me. That was the first time I could say her name without choking up. “I’ve punished myself plenty, but I still deserved it.”

“Yeah, you have. I’m sorry I misjudged you,” he admits, and a pang jabs my chest. What is up with him today? His apology shouldn’t surprise me. Riggs is as genuine as they come and if he can dish it out, I should expect him to be one to own up to his misdeeds as well.

“You did? I did those things to Sam.” I jam my thumb into my chest. “Not Jonas or anyone else. Me.”

He shrugs his shoulders and leans forward over the table as he flips through his chemistry textbook. He slips a piece of paper from his binder and when he is on the appropriate page, he lays the sheet down, shoving it all the way into the spine until it is perfectly square on all edges.

“People change,” he reminds me, but it also appears he’s reminding himself and a weight lifts from my shoulders. I’m not sure why it has always been important that Riggs sees me as someone other than the girl I was last year, but now that he has admitted he can, something in me shifts. It’s what I wanted all along. I haven’t been able to let go of what I did, how I hurt her, another person I knew little about, but his forgiveness allows me to forgive myself.

“Right.” To say I’m surprised is an understatement, and I won’t question it further. I can’t ever predict what to expect when he is around, but it sure as hell isn’t this.

“Have you made progress in your poem for creative writing?” He asks, as if we didn’t just have a hefty conversation.

“Not even close. You answered the hell out of those questions, but poetry is not my thing. Writing a book, I can do that. Poetry, not so much.” Riggs tilts his head as if he shares that sentiment, but he doesn’t look at me or say anything else.

For the next ten minutes, I watch in awe as he works his way effortlessly through his chemistry assignment. So engrossed he doesn’t notice me watching, or he does and wants to show off, so he says nothing.

By this point, studying for me is futile because I won’t remember a damn thing other than how good his tattooed hands look as he writes. He has great handwriting for a guy, much better than I do, and I imagine it has something to do with his level of organization and studiousness.

The thought of the cleanliness of his room pops into my mind. The state at which one’s room stays tells a lot about a person. Actually, I think it’s their car, but he drives a bike so not much to trash there. Given the perfect state of his textbooks and the organization of his binder and backpack, I’d say he’s a tidy person.

He glances up from his assignment, snagging my gaze. “Do you need help with something?”

“Huh?” I squint my eyes at him and blink to break myself from my trance.”

“You’re staring off into space.” Correction, I’m staring at him, but he is nice enough not to call me out on that little nugget of information.

“Oh, sorry. I guess I just spaced out.” He offers me a sexy, deep chuckle and licks his bottom lip. My eyes glue to his tongue as it glides, leaving a glistening trail. Is he aware of the effect he has on the opposite sex? Hell, even the same sex. He has to, and it can’t just be me. The attraction I feel toward him, especially now after our little heart to heart, is nearing painful. He is so damn hot it’s disgusting. The things I feel when he’s around, even when I hate him—unnatural.

Hate is a strong word… when Idislikedhim.

Does he find me attractive? I mean, I’ve caught him looking before, but I’m average and even though he’s not one of the popular crew, he’s hot as hell. Hot people deserve other hot people. I may dress like a girl, but I’m a tomboy at heart. I like some makeup and a cute outfit, but I’d rather be outside playing on the ice rather than inside painting my nails. So I don’t put a lot of time into my looks. Not like Layla. She’s just as hot as he is, the kind of girl I’d expect him to go for.

But me? Does he like what he sees?

Why do I care?My brain scoffs. Yes, you read that right. My brain scoffs at me like I’m an idiot. We had one little hurtle to get over with Riggs and now we’ve done it. We’re free to find him sexy and feel okay about it, right?

Sure, I could continue to hate him, but what is the point of apologizing if you can’t offer forgiveness and let it go?

Riggs peruses me, his irises burning me up as if he knows what I’m thinking. I’m positive he’s not a mind reader, so am I that transparent? I don’t even think I’m blushing.

His lips turn up into a delicious and dangerous smile that is the perfect mix of teeth and lips to set my heart to racing. I never took him as a flirt. Jensen, yes, but not Riggs. Is he flirting with me and does he mean it? Am I capable of flirting back?

The sharp snap of his book shutting jolts me back to reality, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say I’m panting, ready to pounce on him. My palms are sweaty, my skin tingling, and the image of him touching me sears into my mind. What the hell is wrong with me?

A series of silent chuckles that are nothing more than air shooting from his nose as he shakes his head, causing me to duck. I expect him to tell me I’m drooling like any other hot guy would when he catches a girl staring at him, but he collects his things and places them all neatly in his book bag. Earlier, when he came looking all disheveled was just a ploy because the books he carried fit just fine in the confines of his bag. Maybe he didn’t hate me if he showed up looking like a mess to make me laugh.

Heat swarms my chest, dropping straight to my belly and even lower. Am I doomed? I think I might be. “Do you want to get out of here?” he asks.

CHAPTER25

Riggs is on his bike,riding in front of me. Looking yummy. I’m following him to his apartment, secretly wishing that I don’t already know where he lives, that I hadn’t followed him home that day like the creeper I am.

He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, only that he wanted to take me on his bike. In order for that to happen, we need another helmet, which is at his place.

I back my Jeep into the visitor spots, which are the exact ones I pulled into during my stalker days, and cut the engine. I zip up the top, per his instructions, and make sure the doors are locked. By the time I’m done, Riggs is stalking toward me, all long legs and dark jeans. As usual, his hair is messy in some spots, sticking up in others, having just come out of his helmet that he clutches under his arm.

“All set?” he asks when he’s close enough. “You locked it, right?” I don’t miss the flash of shame that flicks through his eyes. I want to tell him I don’t care where he lives, that I’m not judging him, but that will bring attention to his insecurities, which I don’t want to do.

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