Page 20 of Love Me Boldly

“Nope.” He shook his head. “Wanna know how I know?”

This should be good. Let the gorgeous man who knew half of campus read me like a tarot card. I leaned back and crossed my arms over my chest. “Sure. Go for it.”

One edge of his lips curled up. “Youthinkyou like being alone because you spent a lot of time that way. But you don’t like it because if you did, you wouldn’t have texted me so late on a Friday. You wouldn’t have even still been thinking of our date.”

He let that linger, and I couldn’t argue. Ihadstill been thinking of our date hours after it was over, and I didn’t even realize I’d showed my hand then.

Not that I’d let him know that.

“It was impossible not to think about it when the roses took up my entire kitchen.”

“Besides,” he continued, like I hadn’t made a halfhearted attempt to prove him wrong. “I’m still not blocked, which tells me you hope to hear from me again.Andyou could have thrown away the flowers.”

Man, this guy wassmooth.

“Maybe I’m saving the texts for the police when I decide to get a restraining order.”

His laugh boomed throughout the café, causing dozens of students to glance in our direction.

“You’re something else, Spitfire. Are you going to tell me how close I was to the truth?”

“Not particularly.” But he was close. Walking the edge of it, anyway.

He slid off the chair and reached for his backpack. “Want to know how I know and can read you so well?”

As he asked, he leaned down, setting his hand at the back of my chair. His thumb brushed against my sweater, and as I glanced up at him, our gazes met.

Mine froze on him. Gone was the teasing and the flirting in his eyes. Something else had replaced it. Something that looked familiar. “I’m not sure,” I admitted.

“You’re not the only one with a closet full of secrets you’d prefer to keep locked up.” He blinked, and all the brightness returned to his eyes, and I was still frozen, stuck on what I swore I’d seen.

The haunted look of someone who had a past that could only be similar to mine. But that couldn’t be…

“Come on,” he said. “You have class.”

I shook the surprise off me and woodenly stacked my containers back into my lunch bag. When I reached for my backpack, it wasn’t on the floor next to me.

“Here.” Graham handed it out to me, holding it in his hand, the top unzipped so I could easily drop my lunch bag into it.

I did it without thought and then got to my feet.

“Wait a second.” I reached for my backpack and took it from him. “Are you ever going to tell me how you know my schedule?”

He tipped his head toward the door, giving me that smirk I knew so well I could probably draw it in my sleep.

“Are you going to block me today?”

“Haven’t decided.” I slipped my coat on, dragged my bag’s straps over my shoulders, and followed him out of the union.

“Well, when you make a decision on that one, then I’ll clue you in.”

And yet somehow, I still ended up following him, walking out of the student union where his name was called a dozen times. Where even more people seemed to know him.

He waved or smiled or said hello to most, but through it all, kept pace with me, asking about my class. If I had to work later.

He rarely took his eyes off me when someone called his name.

And for the first time in my life, I felt seen. I wasn’t an afterthought, or someone to pity, or someone to ignore. I actually felt wanted.

---