Page 44 of Mud, Love, and Chemistry

I frown as I slink back to my table, my gaze flicking toward the exit and, once again, a weight settles on my shoulders. My experiment didn’t go as I expected. Sure, I got Sam worked up, and it seemed like any second he was going to explode in a fit of jealousy, but then, he just left.

And did I imagine the hurt on his face?

I had to have made it up. If he felt that strongly about me, surely he would have stepped in between me and Troy. But obviously, that didn’t happen.

Sighing, I take a seat on my stool. Apparently, I’m not worth Sam’s time, either.

Chapter 14

I spend all day Friday at war with my emotions. One minute, I’m seething over what an ass Sam is, and the next minute, I’m being eaten away by the disappointment from my experiment last night. I’m distracted throughout my tutoring sessions. So much so, one of my students asks what’s wrong, but I tell her I’m frustrated about a test.

Which is sort of true.

If basically the entire class hadn’t failed, I wouldn’t be in this predicament with Sam. I could go about my days, continuing to ignore him, and be a happier person. But here I am.

When four o’clock rolls around, I pack my materials and head to the O-Chem room. A relieved breath whooshes from my lips when I walk in to find it empty. I’m here first, thank goodness. I set up the almost obsolete overhead projector and organize my transparency sheets. It may be extremely old-school, but it works for me.

The door opens, and I immediately stiffen with the way the air seems to freeze. I don’t need to look to know who walked in. I keep my focus on my materials, not bothering to acknowledge Sam, when I feel his presence near me. Then, the air changes. It thickens with tension, but also fills with his unfortunately delicious lavender scent.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Mm,” I respond, but don’t take my eyes off my work.

I hear him sigh, but he doesn’t say anything else as he walks around the desk and deposits his backpack on the floor. I keep working.

“You’re not seriously going to use this thing, are you?”

I whip my head up to see disbelief on his face as he studies the projector. I immediately frown. “Yes, I am. Problem?”

He shrugs. “I guess not. Does it even work?”

“Of course it works. And it’s reliable. I don’t have to worry about Wi-fi cutting out, or a connection being lost, or having the right cables. You just plug it in and turn it on.” With that, I go back to my organization.

“Okay, whatever you say.” Sam steps back to the desk, taking a seat in the other chair and swiveling back and forth. “Brynn, can I talk to you?” he asks, a nervousness in his voice.

With a groan, I lay my marker down and turn to face him. “About what?”

“About yesterday.”

For the first time since he walked in, I look at him. I mean, really look at him. I can tell by the creases in his forehead that he’s concerned about something, but the pain in his eyes punches me in the gut. Maybe I didn’t imagine his hurt at the bar, after all. “Okay.”

“I want to apologize.”

What? Him apologize?

“A lot of what I said to you after class was...” He runs his hand through his hair, his curls flopping back into place when he’s done. “Really mean, and I’m sorry.”

My lips part as if there are words on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to say them, so I settle for, “Thank you for saying that.” I ignore the guilt building within me and go back to my transparencies.

“That’s it? You don’t have anything to add?”

“Like what?” I ask, not looking at him.

“I don’t know, maybe an apology of your own?”

Now I look at him, but with a glare. “You want an apology? For what? You’re the one who was being nasty yesterday.”

“Hey, you dished it out, too.” He points at me. “I was just reacting.”

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