Page 40 of Stealing for Keeps
I start to smile at the idea but I catch myself. “That isn’t a terrible idea.”
Austin walks over to the bed but then hesitates before he sits as far away from me as possible. He’s so close to the edge that it’s almost laughable. But it confirms what Lacey suggested. I don’t know why I didn’t want to believe it. Maybe I hoped Austin wouldn’t be so eager to stay away from me just because of Vaughn.
He was so convincing that night we kissed, pretending like he didn’t care what Vaughn or anyone else thought. I think his exact words were “He’ll get over it.” Clearly not.
The whole thing makes me want to scream. At myself and at him. Instead, I scoot closer. I need to know for sure what’s happening here.
“You’re really good at this,” I say, forcing my voice to be much sweeter than I feel. I reach out and place a hand on his forearm. He visibly flinches at the contact but remains still. His skin is warm under my touch, and my fingertips tingle.
“Thanks.” He stands again and goes over to his backpack to retrieve his notebook and a pen. When he comes back, he doesn’t sit. Instead, he goes over to the desk and grabs the chair, pulls it a foot from the bed and then sits.
The frustration that’s been sitting on my chest all day loosens. This is ridiculous.
“It’s kind of hot in here, isn’t it?” I ask as I get to my feet and go over to my window. It isn’t. The air-conditioning is blasting so cold I put on a sweatshirt over my tank top when I got home. I open the window anyway and then turn to face Austin as I pull the sweatshirt over my head. My tank top rides up with it all the way to the band of my bra. Not planned, but it helps my plan, and Austin’s gaze gets stuck on the bare skin above my belly button. His throat works with a swallow, and his eyes widen. It would be funny if I weren’t vibrating with anger.
“Oops.” I pull the fabric down too far, and it dips at my cleavage. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. I sit back on the bed and lean forward, giving him what I am sure is an eyeful. “So…”
He says nothing for too long, and the atmosphere in the room is heavy with tension.
“Austin?”
“Hmm.” His gaze slowly moves up to my face, then he scowls and looks down at his notebook.
Okay, so he’s still into me. Or embarrassed for me because I’m all but flashing him. I want to face-palm. This is so dumb and equally infuriating. What am I trying to prove? He’s a straight teenage guy. Of course he’s going to look if I take off my clothes. That doesn’t mean he likes me.
And who cares if Vaughn told him to stay away from me or he decided on his own that he wasn’t interested in me anymore? Either way, I just want to crawl under the covers and wallow in my stupidity for thinking he was different.
“Any suggestions for the secret password?” he asks as he doodles absently, clearly avoiding looking at me.
“Boys suck,” I mutter softly.
“What’s that?” His light green eyes find mine in question.
“Nothing. I will think on it.”
For the next five minutes, we manage to talk about our project. We come up with some ideas and split the work between us. My mood has gone from annoyed to disappointed.
“I guess that’s it,” I say when we both fall silent. I get up from the bed and take my stuff over to my desk. The backs of my eyes prick with tears, and I want to cry or yell. This year is starting off all wrong. Junior year was supposed to bea new start. No skating, no boyfriend, just me and whatever I wanted it to be. The problem is I don’t know who I am without those things.
Austin is slow to get up and even slower as he grabs his backpack and walks to the door. “Well…I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sure,” I say without looking at him.
He doesn’t move, and I don’t glance his way. Instead, I walk over to my new fish and toss a few flakes of food into his bowl. He rushes to the surface, and a smile spreads across my face.
“Is that the fish from last night?” he asks.
“Yep. Captain Dash.”
“You really named him that?” Some of that easygoing friendliness I’d grown used to is back in his tone.
“Of course.” I finally glance over my shoulder.
Austin stands in the doorway, backpack over one shoulder, looking conflicted. “Wyatt will be thrilled. He asked me about a million times this morning if I knew how your fish was doing.”
“You can tell him he’s doing great.”
“Or you could tell him.”
