“Yes, someone who studies something, trying to figure out what makes it work, makes it tick,” he said, looking like he was lost in the recesses of his thoughts. “So they can best manipulate it to achieve a desired outcome.”
“Are we still talking about science here?”
His mouth softened in the corners. “My favorite kind,” he said, staring down at me. “Chemistry.”
I didn’t look away, despite the color I could feel rushing into my cheeks. I should have, I knew that, but somewhere in between being bloodied to the present moment, we’d crossed a line. Unlike other lines, there was no retreating back to the other side now. Whatever fate, destiny . . . or my bad luck had in store for us.
“So this is the reason you didn’t wait for me?” A voice that was familiar, and incredulous, sounded from behind us.
William’s arms tightened around me.
Paul came up beside us, screeching to a stop. He crossed his arms, his narrowed eyes rotating between William and me. After a few repeats, they narrowed in on my head.
“What the heck happened?” he hollered.
“Nothing,” I said instantly.
“It doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, walking towards me.
“Okay, someone decided to toss me against a brick wall,” I said, glaring at him. “Happy now?”
“You were attacked?” Paul shouted, his voice cracking.
“Paul, it’s been a really long, crazy night”—that was an understatement—“I’ll explain later. Right now I need some alone time.”
“Does alone time involve him?” he said, waving his head at William.
“That,” I warned him, “is none of your business.” He wasn’t my dad, brother, or boyfriend—that line of questioning was in off-limits territory.
He cocked his head back. “It kind-of is since we were suppose to go out tonight.”
I felt another flush burning its way to my cheeks, although this time it was from my anger igniting it. “Really?” I asked incredulously, forming my expression into a you really don’t want to go there one.
“Really.” He looked me straight in the eyes, not backing down.
I shifted, trying to get out of William’s arms so I could give Paul a piece of my mind standing up . . . the palm of my hand leading.
“Why don’t you make yourself helpful,” William burst in, thwarting my escape by pressing me harder against him. “Since making her upset isn’t helping anyone.”
Paul’s mouth curled on one side, and turned his focus on William. He opened his mouth, looking like something would spill out so filthy it would take a bar of soap to clean it out, right as William tossed a set of keys at his chest.
Paul snagged them before they fell to the ground, looking like he was ready to torpedo them right back.
“I’ve got a first aid kit in the back of my car,” William said calmly. “Think you could retrieve it and bring it back to us?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m going to get her inside.”
Paul’s fist closed around the keys, all the answer William needed.
“Good,” he said, stepping around Paul and striding towards the entrance. “It’s the navy blue Bronco three rows back,” he hollered over his shoulder.
I rose a brow at him as he headed for the front entrance. “Parked car right outside living quarters, not too close to be conspicuous, not too far so as not to be able to make a quick escape,” I listed off. “Classic stalker behavior.”
He laughed a couple notes. The kind of laugh that made me wish I could bottle it so I could put it on a shelf and save it for a later time. “I suppose you’re right. It is borderline stalker behavior.”
I heard Paul making his way back into the parking lot, grumbling to himself, but just loud enough for us to hear.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re too nice?” I asked, trying to speak up to drown out Paul’s continued tirade.
He looked puzzled. “No. Never. Why do you say that?”
“Because I could barely contain slapping him straight across the face,” I said.
“Oh,” he said. “Under any other circumstances I probably wouldn’t have remained so calm.”
“Other circumstances?”
“I wouldn’t want you to witness two idiots brawling for your attention,” he said. “And despite what you want to think, Paul is just concerned because he cares for you.” His face was unconvincingly flat. He pulled the door open with one hand, managing to keep me firmly rooted where I was.
“I think you’re giving him way too much credit,” I said, taking an internal sigh as the warmed air blanketed around me.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he allowed, steering into the empty common’s area. Every other night it was bursting at the seams with students, but tonight, following a basketball game, there were more parties taking place than students enrolled. “But I would have had to let you down to teach him a lesson, and I wasn’t ready for that yet.”
He cleared his throat, distracting his attention to the square room that screamed utilitarian . . . seventies-era style. Table lamps that were tall, ugly, and topped by even taller and uglier lampshades, orange and mustard yellow was dosed over everything that would hold still, and olive-colored carpet that had at one time been shag before several decades of passage had smashed it into a bad looking toupee. Curling his nose, he looked between the two threadbare, stain-ridden couches as if trying to decide between the lesser of two evils.