Page 18 of Stay
I shake my head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” In fact, spending more time alone with Cole is a disastrous idea. My fight or flight instincts have kicked in.
Too bad they kicked in a year too late.
“Give me one good reason why it isn’t a fantastic idea.” He sits back, crossing his arms over his wide chest as if it’s a challenge. Which it’s not. I have nothing to prove to this guy. My gaze unconsciously drops to his well-defined pecs. Even through a tight-fitting T-shirt, I’m able to make out their contour. It takes a moment to realize I’m staring before yanking my gaze back to his.
What greets me is a knowing smirk.
I clear my dry throat, needing a distraction. “Now that we have a working relationship, I shouldn’t be hanging out with you.” I wave my hand in the air. “I’m sure there are rules or something about it.”
“So, you’re telling me there are policies written down that state this? If that’s the case, I’d like to see them.”
When I remain stubbornly silent, he presses onward.
Jerk.
“I’m curious, did they make you recite a tutoring oath regarding your fraternization with the students when you began working here?”
My lips flatten, because now he’s just making fun of me.
“Okay,” I snap, “why don’t you try this answer on for size—I don’t want to encourage someone who might be stalking me. Does that answer work better for you?”
“At least it’s a more legitimate reason for not grabbing food with me. But still, we both know I’m not stalking you.” His expression turns thoughtful. “I like to think of it more as actively pursuing you.”
Fear spikes through my veins. “And what if I don’t want to be pursued?” I whisper.
The smile falls from his face as our gazes stay locked.
A heartbeat ticks by before he reaches out, his larger hand covering mine.
My attention drops to our clasped fingers. Normally, I don’t likebeing touched. When he’d grabbed my arm at the party, everything in me had seized up. But his hand lying gently over mine doesn’t trigger a response. Actually, that’s a lie. It does do something to me…something I’m unwilling to acknowledge.
“You don’t know me.” And I don’t want him to know me either. Not the real me. Not the one who made such a mess out of her life last year.
I hold my breath and wait for the familiar knives of panic to slice me up inside.
It’s a surprise when they don’t.
He squeezes my hand, and my gaze bounces up to his. “Is it so difficult to believe that what I already know makes me want to find out more?”
I gulp, breaking eye contact before carefully slipping my hand from his. “I don’t date.”
That’s non-negotiable. There are rules I’ve set in place for myself this year. And from what I’ve learned, the biggest problem with rules is when you start bending or breaking them. After that happens, there’s nothing to stop you from totally disregarding them and careening out of control.
And I can’t afford to careen out of control.
Not again.
When I had started at Western, I’d been fully prepared for the panic attacks to roar back with a vengeance. Surprisingly, they hadn’t. In the two weeks I’ve been on campus, the only one I’ve suffered from was when Cole grabbed my arm. That debilitating feeling had been enough to give me serious pause where he’s concerned.
“How about a non-date then?”
Lost in the whirl of my thoughts, I repeat, “A non-date?”
That sounds suspiciously like a way of sneaking around the rules.
“Yeah. You know, just two friends grabbing something to eat.” One of his brows hikes up across his forehead. “You hang out with friends, right?”
“Of course.”
