Still, I feel him on my heels, hear his heavy footsteps each day as we cross the covered bridge that stretches over West Street. I’m pretty sure he watches me. It’s only fair. In one of my classes last year, he sat a few seats in front of me; I passed the time admiring his broad back and shoulders. Really all of him. Because he’s beautiful.
Luca Galante. I’ve always thought it sounded like a villain’s name. But he’s the hero of my story today.
He’s still standing close enough to make my heart pound. I don’t want him knowing that, so I narrow my eyes as I look at him. “How did you know?”
“Those fucks were so loud I heard them out in the hall. Rainer is a piece of shit.”
I nod. It’s harsh, but it’s accurate. Rainer and I went to the same elementary school. When we were in fourth grade, he found a nest of baby birds that fell out of a tree at recess. He stepped on it.
“He plays football, but I think he’s quitting,” Luca tells me. “Doesn’t like to run.” He gives a little shake of his head, as if football is all about running and Rainer is the biggest dumbass.
Maybe football does entail a lot of running. I don’t really know.
I nod, since my voice seems to be gone.
“Elise O’Hara, right?” he asks.
“You should know if you’re my boyfriend.”
He gives me a smirky grin. “What’s my name?”
“Luca Galante.”
His thick, dark brows lift, making his gemstone blue eyes seem even bluer. Then he winces—probably because of that black eye he has.
“How do you know?” I can tell he’s teasing, but I don’t tease back. I guess my brain can’t switch gears that fast.
“We had a class, you know.” My voice is too high.
“Yeah?” A little smile twists his mouth. “Which one?”
“You know which one.”
“What makes you think I do?” Again, the grinning. He has a radiant smile. I knew he was gorgeous, but up close, he’s kind of stupid hot.
“I know you know.” I give a calculated eyeroll. “You walk behind me every morning going into school. You must live around here.”
I’m impressed when he shrugs off my accusation. “You think so?”
“Well, you’re walking. And you don’t look sweaty, like you’ve walked a thousand blocks.” Crap—and now he knows I have, in fact, graced him with a few glances.
He smirks and tilts his head, like he’s trying to read my face but he can’t. I smirk back.
“So you’re watching me, huh?” God, he’s got a cocky smile.
“You must be joking,” I scoff.
“Why?”
“You’ve been my shadow every morning for months now.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t help it we have the same route.”
“Yeah right.”
He shrugs. “All I know is, you check to see if I’m sweaty.”
I narrow my eyes at him again. “Only when you grab my things.”
His gaze falls to the bear in my hands, and his features soften. “Your beary best friend.”
For some reason, that makes me laugh, even as I clutch my sister’s dirty bear to my chest. But now I have tears welling in my eyes, and his face twists in alarm. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t—I, uh, honestly don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry.”
I clutch Pandy and wipe my eyes with my free hand. Then I turn around and fiddle with the sink’s knob, refusing to look at myself in the mirror, or at him as more tears drip down my cheeks.
“Hey…” His voice is soft and raspy. I can feel the heat of him beside me, which makes chills bloom on my skin. “What’s the matter?” When I don’t take the bait, he murmurs, “You can tell me.”
I laugh. It’s a hiccup sound, but there’s a harsh edge to it. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does. I mean, what if a photographer from The Talon is outside? How am I going to play your boyfriend if I don’t know the whole story?”
I want to say “you wouldn’t understand,” but it sounds cheesy—even though it’s absolutely true. This guy would never understand my problems. Almost no one would.
Instead I say, “You’re not my boyfriend.”
“I’m not?” He feigns surprise. “What a way to tell me.”
I try not to roll my eyes, but fail. He grins a bit. “Okay, so maybe I’m not your boyfriend. But…I could be your friend.”
It’s the last thing I expect him to say. For a long moment, I can’t get my throat to work. But my tear ducts seem to be operating at max efficiency.
“Ahh, hell.” His hand is on my back now, rubbing circles, and it’s so gentle. “We don’t have to be friends. Being friends can be…too much. We can just be bathroom buddies.”
That almost makes me smile. I lift my head and our eyes lock in the mirror; his lips twitch at one corner.
“What do you think?” he asks.