I wet my lips, trying to buy myself some time. I need to figure out how to respond. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, dragging a hand across my face.
“You should be,” she asserts. “Admit it’s an act, and I’ll forgive you.”
I lean back and seriously think about her request. It is all an act, and though I don’t want her pissed at me, I have no intention of admitting a damn thing. “There’s not a second that goes by that I’m not thinking about you,” I hear myself say. In an instant, my throat seizes up, and I want to slam my head into the fucking wall.
Lips mashed together, Amber’s shocked attention wanders over my face. She remains silent, which causes my suddenly fried brain to continue spilling the truth.
“I didn’t know how to handle you,” I say, remembering the second I set eyes on her.
I knew she was cut from a different cloth from all the rest. I felt it in my bones, in the hollow of my chest. Completely rocked, I felt it in the way my lungs burned, making it hard as fuck to breathe. I don’t believe in premonitions and stupid shit like that, but I saw it all the day she fell into my lap. I saw her not only in my bed but as a permanent fixture in my life. I saw her wrapped in my arms after a long day, felt her lips on mine before I kissed her. It was as if I knew she was supposed to be mine. But I fucked it up, and the only place she wound up, other than hanging out with Brock, was in every waking thought I’ve had ever since.
I shrug. “To be honest, I’m still not sure how to handle you.”
“Why do you feel like you have to handle me?” she whispers, pain evident in her confused expression.
“I don’t know,” I mutter, wishing I did. “Look, I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m an asshole, and I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, Ryder. Not about your feelings.” With a sigh, she pitches her head to the side, her sympathetic gaze and tone burning a hole in my skull. “They are what they are. But stop feeling like you have to handle me, okay? Brock told me that you know what’s up with me, but I’m only human. A fucked-up human with a fucked-up past, but still, you get what I mean.”
I nod, wanting to unfuck her spirit, open it up, and release the girl I know resides beneath the steel she’s wrapped around her heart. She slides a hand through her thick mane and gives me a small smile. Sweet Christ, her smile is the most goddamned beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Pure fucking candy to each and every single one of my senses.
“So tell me something about yourself that I don’t know,” she says, her voice light and airy.
For good measure, I check her eyes for any signs of drug or alcohol use. “It was my fault you tripped,” I confess, inwardly telling myself to shut the fuck up already.
What is this? Spill-your-secrets day? Show-and-tell? I toss another dollar into the jukebox, this time going with “Bleeding Out” by Imagine Dragons since that’s what I seem to be doing. Though I’m not shocked, because I knew she had it in her, this girl has me bleeding out everything I had no intention of ever revealing to her.
Her brows pull together. “What do you mean?”
“When you walked into the cafeteria the first day of the semester,” I say, remembering how I got her in my lap. I chuckle to myself. I had to do it.
“It’s called a dining hall,” she corrects, “but how was it your fault I tripped?”
“Who the hell calls it a dining hall?”
“The intelligent people do.” A smart-ass smile wavers the corner of her mouth.
I lift a brow. “Are you saying I’m not intelligent?”
“Maybe,” she answers with a giggle.
God, now I really want to bury myself inside her.
“But, seriously, it’s not called a cafeteria in college,” she says.
I rest my elbows on the table, a grin sliding across my face. “If you want to get technical, no, it’s not. But only when I’m ninety, need Viagra, and my teeth have fallen out will I ever call anywhere I eat a dining hall.”
She purses her lips in thought. “It does sound kind of . . .”
“Senior citizen-ish.”
Nodding, she giggles again. “Okay, you win. Now, getting back to the whole cafeteria thing and me tripping”—her eyes narrow slightly—“what exactly do you mean?”
“It was my duffel bag you tripped over,” I state simply, trying to conceal a smile.
“Big deal.” She shrugs. “It could’ve been anyone’s duffel bag.”
“True.” I lean over the table, no longer concealing my smile. It’s huge, like the Cheshire cat on crack. “But I purposely tossed mine in front of you when I saw ya walk into the . . . dining hall.”
A long second passes, and her face drops. I stiffen, preparing for one of her infamous slaps.
Another second passes, but this time I’m rewarded with laughter pealing from her gorgeous mouth. “Such a prick.”
Her hand darts out to cup my chin. She gives it a soft, reprimanding shake that not only makes my fucking chest burn from her touch, but has my heart negotiating its next goddamn beat. She must notice the look in my eyes, because as though my flesh singes her fingers, she quickly removes them.
She clears her throat. “You made me fall, Ryder.”
I send her an unpretentious smile. “Did I not catch you, Amber?”
“You did,” she says with an agreeing smile to match mine.
“Were you harmed?” I press.
“Not physically,” she returns, her smile melting into a sexy smirk. “I won’t get into the mental part, though.”