I also decided that I would spend today avoiding all of it, because no matter what Nico Medina felt or didn’t feel, worrying about it was starting to mess with my head.
With my equipment bags slung over my shoulder, I walk through the main doors of the school to the sound of the final ding. I don’t like being late, so I jog down the main corridor toward my ancient civilization class, my arms weighed down with my things. Two doors away from my destination, something tugs my bag loose from my right shoulder, and I stumble on my feet, trying to recover it. When I realize someone is tugging against me, I spin to look behind me.
Nico’s expression is caught somewhere between amused and hesitant. I stare at him feeling the same way, with a touch of anxiety because I do not like being late.
“I need to get to class!” I say, jerking from his hold.
His lips purse, and his head falls to the side as he takes a step back and pushes his hands into his pockets. He’s smug. I breathe out once, hard, through my nose, and he chuckles lightly under his breath.
“What?” My word echoes in the hallway, and I turn to my left and right to confirm it’s now empty. Shit! I’m late.
“You called me a dickhead,” Nico says, pulling my attention screaming back to him.
I breathe a little harder, my heart starting to pound with this nightmare. Confrontation is so much more enjoyable when it’s in a class, over some line in a book. This kind sucks ass.
I knew I’d run into him eventually, have to answer to my behavior, but I expected a little more time. My mind races through my options, and I keep my mouth shut while I think, my eyes on his, taking in the hint of a smirk while he waits for my excuse. Then it hits me. I don’t really have an excuse. I have stupid girl emotions, and a brother who is trying to take me down with him, but none of it is an excuse for how I’m treating Nico. I sure as hell don’t want to tell him that, though, so instead, I cross my arms over my chest and sway once to adjust the weight of my bags while I stare him down in that position.
Nico runs his hand over his mouth, and after a few seconds I can tell he’s laughing behind it.
“You think I’m being funny?” I ask.
“Oh, I think you’re being hilarious,” he says, letting his hand fall away and relaxing against the wall behind him. He’s so comfortable, even though he’s late for class, too.
“We’re going to be late,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“So,” he quips.
A laugh punches out from my chest.
“So, he says,” I mumble to myself.
“Yeah,” he says, drawing my eyes back to his. “So.”
I meet his stare again, and we both battle through this standoff. I’m clearly losing, and my arms start to quake with the weight they’re carrying. I shake my head at him and begin to walk away, but his hand wraps around the strap of my bag again, this time pulling me closer to him.
“Nico, I’m late for class. My things are heavy. Just…tell me what you want?”
I push my lips together tight, but can feel them twitch. I’m nervous, and I want to go back to fighting with him over ancient philosophies and the foundation of religious beliefs. That…that…is actually easier than standing here and feeling like this.
Feeling…vulnerable.
“You missed practice yesterday,” he says.
“It’s allowed to happen without me there,” I respond back quickly.
My tongue passes over my bottom lip, a move I don’t even realize I’m making until Nico’s eyes catch it. He looks at my mouth in a split second, and his chest moves with his breath. It makes my mouth dry again, and my heart beat even faster. I can feel every twitch of my nerves vibrate through my body, so I shift my weight and let my bags drop to the floor so I can flex my tired fingers. Nico grabs them in his.
I don’t meet his eyes. Instead, I stare at the way his hands are holding mine hostage. His grip is strong, a suggestion I shouldn’t try to pull away, but not so strong that I couldn’t if I wanted to. My instincts tell me I should, but I don’t.
“You’re mad at me,” he says, his fingers sliding to mine, his thumb covering the top of my knuckles while the rest of his hands hold my palms.
“I’m not mad at you, Nico. I was busy. I have things that don’t have anything to do with you,” I say, still fighting.
He chuckles.
“You’re still mad at me,” he says, and I glance up just enough to see his smile, all lopsided and perfect, the dimple that he gets when he’s right in its place. I hate him so much.
“Why would I be made at you,” I sigh, acting as best as I can while my mind races through all of the reasons I am mad at Nico Medina—not a single one of them really his fault.
I meet his challenge, staring back at him, forcing the stern expression to remain on my face, while he looks back at me with perfect lips curved up a hint on one side and unfair eyes that act as target sights. I’m caught in them, and they will not let go.
“You’re mad because you think I want to go to that homecoming dance thing with Izzy,” he says, and I laugh once because…fuck!