“I’d be careful then. Bad things happen to those who trespass,” he says in a voice that steals my own.
Thomas’ lips twitch with a restrained smile as his eyes rove over my face. My skin flushes, blooms in a million goose bumps. He has become the single point of my focus. He has absorbed the edges of my world, and all I see is his wind-ruffled hair, his magnificent chiseled features. I’m so engrossed in him that I don’t notice his hand reaching over and snatching the cigarette back, until it’s already gone.
“As much as I find you annoying, I’d rather you not kill yourself on my cancer stick,” he says before sucking in a drag.
“Fine. Whatever,” I grumble. “What are you doing out here in the cold, anyway? Without a jacket? Aren’t you missing the readings of your own students?”
He gives me a side glance. “You’re wearing enough clothes for the both of us, and I can ask you the same question.”
“I’m getting fresh air.”
Cigarette clenched in his teeth, he throws me a knowing look. His eyes are saying what his mouth said last week: You have a thing for me.
Like him, I let my eyes do the talking. I narrow them and cock my head to the side. You’re full of yourself.
His chuckle is soft and airy. “Yes, I was too, until you came out and ruined it.”
“You’re such a people person, aren’t you?” I shake my head. “Why did you take this job when you so clearly hate teaching and the students?”
“It’s not just students. I hate all humans, in general,” he explains. “But I still need a job, don’t I?”
“Actually, I don’t think you do. Aren’t you some big-shot award-winning poet? Shouldn’t you be working on your book somewhere? Isolated and drunk, growing out a beard or something?”
“Are you sure you’re describing a poet and not your life goals?”
“I can’t grow a beard. In case you didn’t notice, I’m a girl.”
Something changes in his demeanor. I don’t know what it is, but he seems more aware of me, like I touched him without lifting a finger. It awakens every nerve ending in my body.
“I noticed,” he murmurs.
It seems he also touched me without putting a hand on me because I feel something rustling over my skin, electric and hot, causing seismic shivers. I huddle inside my coat and rub my arms, chasing the sensation away.
Thomas flicks his finished cigarette off and crushes the butt with his boots, the wintry breeze catching his dark hair. “You should probably head back now. Your boyfriend must be looking for you.”
“What boyfriend?”
“The one you were sharing drinks with.”
It takes me a second to understand what he means. “Oh, you mean Dylan?” I chuckle. “It fooled you too? I didn’t know I was that good. I was trying to prove a point to someone.”
“And what point is that?”
“That love doesn’t always have to be one-sided.”
“What do you know about one-sided love?”
“More than you think.”
“Yeah? Did your date ditch you for prom? Or let me guess, he took you out on a date but didn’t call back the next day. Isn’t that how all high school love stories go?”
Anger, hot and fierce, burns through me. How is it that in the last however many minutes, I’ve run a gamut of emotions with him? How is it that with him, all I do is feel and feel until I’m about to burst? And none of this scares me—not his rudeness, not his callous comments. I want to give as good as I get.
“Just because you’ve got everything figured out doesn’t mean you can be an asshole, okay? And what, you can’t fall in love in high school? Is that what you’re saying to me? That age has something to do with love?” I shake my head. “God, you’re so fucking narrow-minded.”
“You think I’ve got everything figured out?”
“Haven’t you? I mean, look at you. People can’t stop talking about how much of a genius you are. The entire class wants to talk to you but you won’t give them the time of day. You’re married, and I’m assuming you got the one you wanted, so what do you know about one-sided love?”
I hate him. I hate him so much. I hate that he’s got it all. I hate that he belittled my feelings for Caleb even though he didn’t know he was doing it. I hate that he is the happiest man alive.
Although, if that’s the case, why doesn’t he look it?
Why are the lines around his mouth tight and rigid? Why is there a heartbreaking sheen in his eyes? His hands are curled in fists. In fact, his entire body is curled, drawn into itself.
“Yeah, what the fuck do I know about one-sided love?” he says at last with a humorless smile.
Oh God, did I say something wrong? Is there something wrong in his marriage?
I know firsthand that marriages aren’t always black and white. My mom is on husband number three. Over the years, I’ve realized that her marriages were convenient. No love. No passion. They were bound to fail.
But I can’t think of Thomas that way. I can’t think of this passionate, surly poet as being anything but in love with his wife, and love has to be enough, right? It has to be. Because if it isn’t, then what else is sacred in this big, bad world?
Then out of nowhere, something else strikes me.
“Hold on, you saw that? You saw that I was sharing a drink with a guy from across the room. Were you…?”
“Was I what? Watching you?” He pierces me with his stare, so intense, so serious.
“Yeah?” I lick my dry, cracked lips. Is it my imagination, or has he moved closer?
Thomas dips his head, catching my confused gaze with his, making this moment fraught with intimacy. “Yeah.” His words drag in a lazy manner. “I was. In fact, I can’t stop watching you.”
How did we get to this? From trading insults and me hating him to this…conversation. My body is going into a weird mode: panicked and aroused at the same time. Sweat runs down my spine and heat fans out in my lower body.
“Wh…?” Words are drying out on my tongue. I can’t…I can’t compute this, can’t compute that he’s been watching me, and yet it has happened twice now—once at the bookstore, and now here. A dangerous concoction of feelings is swishing around in my chest. I can’t recognize them all, but I know I’m afraid, among other things.
Thomas snorts out a chuckle. “Teenagers. I fucking hate teenagers,” he mutters to himself. “You should see your face.”
I growl, enraged. He was fucking kidding.
I growl again. We hate him, my angry heart says. Yeah, we do, I agree.
Thomas is watching me with amused eyes, and that just pisses me off even more. I take a breath, and keeping our gazes connected, lift my right leg and whip it right down on his foot. Hard.
He doesn’t even flinch. Asshole.
“How’s that for a teenager?” My harsh breaths echo around us. In the back of my mind, I know I shouldn’t have done that. This is the reason my mom sent me to therapy. I have zero impulse control.
“I’d say it’s more middle school-ish, but what do I know about what kids are doing these days?” I’m still reeling from what I did, and he takes this opportunity to inform me, “You hit like a girl, by the way.”