Page 19 of Love Me Boldly

“Huh.” I shoved my fork into my mouth and chewed my salad. It was drenched in dressing, the only way I could eat a salad, but I kept forcing my body to believe salads and vegetables were good for me.

So far, I was sure my body only believed me when I used enough dip or dressing to counteract the health effects.

“You’re making a face,” Tracey said and pointed at me before taking a bite of her meat-covered, grease factory pizza.

“What face?”

“The face you make when you think I’m weird, but you’re too nice to say anything.”

“I don’t think you’re weird.” I was definitely making that face. “I think it’s weird you said you spent the night talking to a boy.”

She rolled her eyes, but a pale pink crept up her neck. “Maybe I finally found someone worth talking to.”

“Hearing this feels like I should go buy a lottery ticket,” I teased.

Tracey laughed, and then a voice next to us said, “Why? Feeling lucky you get to see me twice in one day?”

We both jumped and spun, taken off guard by Graham’s arrival. My hand flew to my chest as I huffed out a laugh. “You scared me.”

He slid into the chair next to me like he’d been invited and dropped his backpack on the floor. “What’s this about a lottery ticket?”

I glanced at Tracey. “Nothing,” we both said, staring at each other.

She gave me wide eyes. I rolled mine before turning back to Graham. “What are you doing here?”

“Stalking the most gorgeous girl at NC Western in hopes of getting another date.”

He plopped his forearms onto the table and clasped his hands together, looking so disarmingly sweet. But there was nothing sweet about the look in his eyes. Or the strength in his body.

“Oh, look at that,” Tracey sang. “I’m late for class.”

“You don’t have another class,” I drawled.

“Right. Vet appointment. For my cat.” She glanced at Graham. “Not me. My cat.”

She grabbed her tray and backpack and hurried out of there like I’d told her it was going to blow up in less than ten seconds.

When we were alone, Graham tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “I don’t really believe she has a vet appointment.”

“You shouldn’t. She doesn’t have a cat.” I stabbed the last crouton in my salad, frowning when I learned it was more soggy than crunchy. I chomped on it anyway.

He chuckled and leaned back in his chair, draping one of his arms over the back of it. The move stretched out his chest, and as he tilted his head, that same lock of hair fell over his forehead. Did he style it like that? Or was he just inept at doing his hair?

“So, I guess I’m not going to hear about your lucky day, huh?”

“She spent the night talking to a guy.”

“And that’s worthy of a lottery ticket because…?”

“Because she doesn’t usually do a lot of talking.”

“Ah.” Graham laughed, shaking his head. “I get it. And you? Do you like…talking?”

“No, actually. I prefer being alone.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I don’t?”

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