Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

It isn’t until I spin around in the dining area, wondering if I’ve stepped inside some alternate dimension, do I notice Frankie’s tiny frame curled up on the couch. With her hands clasped together and situated under her chin, she looks like she fell asleep praying.

The very same eyelashes that grew damp with unshed tears earlier in my truck rest softly against her cheeks. Her lips are puckered and parted slightly as she breathes, and it’s easy for me to admit that she’s the picture of utter perfection. That is until she snores loud enough to startle a deaf person.

I chuckle at the sound, the imperfection not really registering as a flaw. If anything, it’s endearing, keeping it clear that no matter how pretty she is, no matter how perfect her body is to me, she’s still human.

Without a second thought, I close the distance between us, take a seat on the coffee table and watch her sleep. I fight the urge to lift her up and carry her to my bed. No doubt she’d be unimpressed with my closet of a bedroom. Instead of picking her up, I let myself enjoy the sight of her for just a few moments longer.

Needing to feel the warmth of her again, I push a strand of hair from her face and trace her jawline with the tip of one finger.

I wonder what I could feel for this girl if she wasn’t being thrust at me like she’s my only option. She’s beautiful. There’s no doubt about that. She’s kind, cleaning the mess in the kitchen without expectation, and even after I treated her like crap earlier, after the way I’ve been treating her for weeks. She loves animals, and going by the fun she had on the four-wheeler before I ruined it, she has a sense of adventure. She’s quick to smile. With as many chances she’s given me, she’s either forgiving or desperate, and I don’t think for a minute, despite what I said to her earlier in my truck that she’s desperate for me to like her.

Mom was right earlier this evening.

Frances Young is perfect for me.

If only I could accept it.

Her eyelashes flutter, and once again I’m trapped in her steel-gray gaze.

“Hey.” She licks her lips as she sits up. “Is everything okay?”

Things haven’t been okay for a long time.

“Zeke?” She reaches her hand out to touch my leg, but at the last minute she pulls it back, resting it on her own lap.

Please touch me.

“I shouldn’t have invaded your space.” She looks around the room, nervous tension filling her muscles.

I love you in my home.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Just being here helps.

“I should go.”

Please don’t leave me.

When she leans forward to stand, I grip her neck the same way I did in the truck, only this time she doesn’t freeze like she did then. She pulls back, breaking our connection before I can even get my lips on hers.

“I’m here if you need help or if you need someone to talk to, but don’t ever try to kiss me again. I’m not falling for that shit again. If you need a friend, I can be that for you, but quit manipulating me.”

I lean in closer, clamping her neck in my palm and drawing her near. Her breath hitches, and even after her words and bravado, her eyes still dart to my mouth.

“Get out of my house and don’t ever come back.”

She’s pulling away from me with such strength that she falls against the back of the couch when I release her.

I don’t watch her as she leaves. I don’t offer her a ride even though it’s the middle of the night and pitch-black outside. I can’t look at her. I can’t look at myself.

As I climb into my bed, too tired to even bother kicking my boots off, I vow that I’m keeping my distance from that girl.

I made my issues her issues, and there’s nothing fair about it. I hate her, but I hate myself even more for despising a girl that has done nothing to deserve my wrath. I can’t seem to stop myself, so there’s only one way to solve the problem, and that’s keeping my distance. I won’t talk to her. I won’t accept another offer for supper no matter how hard Mrs. Jacobson insists. I won’t look in her direction.

I know I don’t have to worry about her approaching me. She only does it when we’re forced into each other’s presence. She’s never sought me out on her own. What a joke, me wondering if she’s felt need for me. Frankie doesn’t need anyone.

Liar.

She was here tonight, and I know that was all her doing.

I shake my head, rubbing my face on my too thin pillow. I can keep my distance. I’m certain of it.