“That, Kyle. Thatyou and Eddie. Mark’s the one you like, yet you react way worse to him when Eddie’s there.” Tommy stops at the bottom of the steps, waiting for me to catch up with my slower pace. “Mark, I can see that you’re shy. With Eddie, it’s like you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared of Eddie,” I say. The words stick in my throat, as if I’m telling a big fat lie, but it’s true. I’m not scared of Eddie. He just drags out thousands of bad memories whenever I see him. So being around him is like someone’s pressing a finger to a raw nerve and I can’t help but flail to try to protect myself.
“What did he do?” Tommy asks. His tone is dead certain.
I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to talk about anything like it. It’s behind me. I’m over it. “He didn’t do anything. We don’t get along—but that is obviously because I’ve always treated him badly, not anything he did.”
Tommy looks unconvinced.
“Please, Tommy.” I sigh. “Just leave it. We don’t get along, that’s it. He never did anything to me, I promise.”
Chapter Eleven
A grizzled Mark waits outside my first class of the day. He leans against the wall, his long legs stretching in front of him with his gaze is fixed on the doorway I’m exiting through. Spotting me, he kicks off the wall and approaches.
I step apart from the stream of people and examine Mark. Now, on your average day, Mark is close to flawless. He dresses well, always smells good, and he’s a pleasing figure to look at. Especially when he’s been mussed up during sports and is all sweaty.
However, today?
I frown at him. “Did you get punched?” Now that he’s closer, I can see the problem. It’s a black eye and bruising along one of his cheekbones.
It’s been a few days since my failed attendance at Mark’s party, and I’ve worried about how I’ll act when I see him again. I’ve also worried about howhe’llact. I hope he’s not cross.
“No,” Mark replies. He stands in front of me, dark eyes darting over me in an assessing manner.
“I know the result of a good punch when I see it,” I remark.
Mark just grunts.
He’s not going to tell me.
“Happy birthday, by the way,” I say. “I never got the chance to say it the other night.”
“Thanks,” Mark says and continues to stare at me. I feel like he’s looking or waiting for something. Surely he knows better than to be awaiting an apology? I’d probably insult his bruised eye if I tried to force one out.
“Do you want to join me for coffee?” I ask. My voice comes out normaland I’m so damn pleased with myself that I miss the start of Mark’s answer.
“—class?” he asks.
“You’ve got class?”
“No.” His brow creases. “You’ve got double accounting now, right? And the professor doesn’t appreciate people coming in late.”
I’m glad that Mark doesn’t seem to realise the heroic effort it took to invite him to coffee. Even though I am disappointed at his response, I’m still pleased that I managed to ask. If I keep this up, I might be able to sneak the word datein at some point. I shrug. “Never mind, then.”
“Whoa, no, no, wait,” Mark says, flustered. “Don’t ‘never mind’ me—I wasn’t saying no. I’m just making sure you’re not missing anything important.”
“I wouldn’t have invited you if that was the case.”
“Good. Okay. Let’s get coffee.”
I think for a moment. “Do you want to go into the city?” If we sit down in the cafeteria, there’s a good chance one of my friends—or one of his—will spot and join us. And then I’ll probably be mean.
“Sounds good.” Mark grins. “What about the cat cafe downtown?”
We start walking, Mark setting his hand on my lower back to guide me in the direction of his car. I cast him a curious look. “Do you like cats?”
Mark nods. “I’ve wanted to check the place out for a while. How about you?”
