Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe what I needed was a stupid party. Maybe I’d do something reckless; give in to the wild energy that more often than not took the form of rage, boiling deep in my stomach. Maybe I could let it all out for one night.
As the bell rang, I spotted Adrian ahead of us in the crowd, but again, his back was to me. Just as well. I had no idea what to say to someone who had apparently saved my life. Although really, who says he’d saved me? I probably would have been just fine out there. Might’ve taken a while to get back, but I would have been fine. Saved my life, my ass.
Fifth period passed with Mr. Warren again; he doubled as the history teacher. Sixth was music with Mrs. Leckenby and seventh period was study hall. It was weird because it was the end of the day and I felt I might as well go back to the ranch, except I didn’t have a way to get there. Trish made herself my tour guide, dropping me off at the library. There were maybe a dozen shelves full of books, half a dozen mismatched tables, an ancient row of computers lining one wall, and a desk for the librarian. Most people had study hall at other hours, but there were a few kids scattered around. As I made my way to the nearest table, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I looked up slowly and to the left—
And there was Adrian.
Alone at a table, face stuck behind a really giant book.
Totally ignoring me.
The goose bumps on my arms faded as I took a few deep breaths. Just say thank you, I told myself. I could be nice to one person. I had the energy for that.
I found myself walking toward him. He must’ve heard me because he lowered his book as I stopped a few feet away, and for the first time, I got a good look at him.
Holy mother of God.
Now I understood why there was a bet going on. It wasn’t so much that he was attractive—which he was—or flawless (this was a face that had never known acne or chicken pox or sunburn), as that he had a sort of presence. I could tell he was tall, but he also felt tall—like he was the archetype for all tall men, the original upon which the idea of tallness was built. His shoulders and arms were muscled, and I wondered what he did to look like that because he was sure as hell no farm boy.
He was currently leaning back in his chair, one arm flung casually around the back of the seat next to him, one boot resting on the table leg. He wore a cowl-neck sweater and expensive jeans—I could tell, because they were the type of jeans I would design if I were a menswear designer. Which I wasn’t, but still, I had an eye for these things. The charcoal sweater had to be cashmere it looked soft as butter, and was beautiful against his slightly olive skin. There was some sort of hemp bracelet on his left wrist and an antique silver ring on his hand. It was tasteful, masculine, and confident.
Trish was right—he was totally gay.
“Hi,” I said, but my throat was all froggy. I cleared it, awkwardly. “I’m Caitlin. Holte,” I added, as if that would make a difference.
The librarian chose that moment to knock a stack of books to the floor, which startled me. When I turned back to Adrian, he was rubbing his forehead like he had a headache—or maybe he was irritated that his reading had been interrupted. I couldn’t help but notice that his eyes seemed to be a dozen different shades of gray—darker on the edges and almost white near the center, with charcoals and silvers snaking back and forth. I’d had words that I’d intended to speak out loud, but my mind stuttered to a halt. In the awkward silence that followed, he remained leaning back in his chair, book open, obviously waiting for me to finish whatever I had to say so he could go back to what looked like very serious literature.
Finally, he filled the silence with a prompting “hi.”
I snapped back, embarrassed. “Right. Hi. I just wanted to thank you, for the other night. The rescue and whatnot. I don’t really remember much of it, but thanks.”
Before he could respond, I nodded good-bye, mentally smacked myself for nodding, and turned to go hide behind a giant shelf of books—but his voice caught me before I made it two steps.
“You have a ride home?”
Surprised, I turned back. “Yeah, my aunt’s going to pick us up. For today, at least—I’m supposed to take a bike from now on.”
For an eight-mile ride, each way. And the way back was purely uphill. With a backpack full of books. The last time I’d ridden a bike, I was eight years old with a scratched white helmet decorated in pink sticker flowers. Apparently Rachel and Joe needed the truck in the afternoons for the ranch, and there was no bus system to speak of. Norah was in good-enough shape, and the community was safe enough, that she’d been biking the route since she was ten, which made me feel like the laziest person on the planet.
Adrian regarded me for a long moment. “I can give you a lift to and from school,” he said finally. “You’re on my way.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it, then opened it. “Sorry, what?”