Scaring a young barista with a flyby anxiety attack wasn’t on my new leaf bingo card, so I cleared my throat and forced my face to slacken.
“Sorry,” I said, shakily. “I would prefer it if you held the whip.”
That seemed to disturb her even more, her eyes bulging as she glanced behind the counter as if she might need to seek help.
Ineeded to seek help.
But for now, a hasty exit would have to do.
My brain produced nothing that would fix this situation, so I muttered something unintelligible, waved my hand in the air for reasons unknown, and fled.
I made it out the heavy door just in time to see a half-naked Liem Lott cruise by on a fucking golf cart of all things, his long, dark hair blowing in the wind and the tattoos on his arm lit by the late afternoon sun.
Was this all… a dream?
MyGod,that would be such a relief.
Alas, the swampy air of Mississippi filled my lungs and the heavy door of Bay Hall slammed behind me just as Liem completed his circuit of the town square and parked his cart in a spot just across the way. My legs seemed to move of their own volition, shockingly similar to how my mind had just moved without permission to one of the most complicated memories of my adolescence.
I cut across the green space that surrounded the aging gazebo, hardly breathing until I stood beside a pierced, tattooed guy who had his head resting back against the top of the seat and his eyes closed, wearing something that really did not suit him—a deep, troubled frown.
That wasn’t an expression I associated with either Liem or LL.
I rounded the cart quietly and eased into the seat beside him, jostling it just enough that I thought he would open his eyes.
But, as usual with both Liem and LL, he didn’t react as anticipated.
Instead, his expression smoothed as he spoke with a tired, drawn-out cadence. “I hope you aren’t here to burgle me. I’m afraid I haven’t anything worthwhile on my person.”
The tension I’d been unwittingly holding in my shoulders loosened as I investigated that.
Wind-tousled hair, flushed cheeks, bare chest.
Sweatpants.
Then a brief detour over the small, intricate tattoos on his arms.
A glint.
Two glints.
I zeroed in on those.
The new piercings.
In his nipples.
Staring at me.
Those must be the other ones he was referring to when I asked about the one in his eyebrow. Forcing my gaze away from them took the two nerves I had left, but I succeeded as I slumped down in the seat and mirrored his position.
“I didn’t even know our virtual school had apparel.” I directed the statement toward the cart’s roof in a hushed tone that matched the current atmosphere.
He rolled his head toward me, and I did the same, an automatic smile parting my lips as he cracked one eye open, studying me before he answered.
“They don’t, which was a point of extreme disappointment for me.” He opened his other eye, and the full force of his quiet, intense attention washed over me. “I was tired of feeling that way, so I made my own.”
His dark-brown stare held me, and I swallowed hard. This was not so much a staring contest as it was a siege.
