“Honey, why are you sitting on the curb? Are you hurt?”
Sighing, I raise my head. “I was just walking home and needed to take a break. I’m good, though. Totally refreshed and ready to go.”
Refusing to set the book down, I attempt to stand without using my hands, but end up falling right back down on my ass.
“Oh, my goodness.” She flails her hand around, waving at someone in the parking lot. “Luca, come help me get Annabella up.”
Oh, my God, no way is that about to happen. Walking with a limp is bad enough.
Gritting through the pain, I shift forward, and putting way too much weight on my bad leg, trip to my feet. Searing pain clenches in my muscles and tears sting at my eyes, but I’m standing and that’s all that matters.
Tammy looks back at me with pity in her eyes. “Let me give you a ride home, okay.” Her gaze falls to my leg.
She knows what happened to me.
“It’s only a couple more miles.” I lift my foot to walk away, but the blinding pain shifts to full-on, knock-my-breath-out-of me throbbing. My jaw clenches, and I end up biting my tongue. The foul taste of rust fills my mouth, and my eyes water.
Gripping onto the post of a street sign, I inhale deeply and force the waterworks to stay put. When Tammy answers her phone, I breathe in relief. Now’s my chance to get away.
“Here, let me help you.” Luca steps in front of me and blocks my escape. He isn’t wearing his glasses, and his hair is sticking up all over the place. I have the silly urge again to run my fingers through it and fix it back into place.
I shuffle away from him. “I said I’m fine. Yeah, I have a messed up leg, but I know how to walk.”
He freezes, his hands suspended in midair. “I was actually going to offer to carry the book for you.”
I try to decipher if he’s for real or not. “What is this? 1950? Guys don’t carry books for girls anymore.”
His lips tug into a lopsided grin. “This guy does.”
I bite down on my lip, resisting back a smile. “That was really lame.”
He chuckles, his cheeks tinting pink. “I know. Sorry. I’m blaming it on the move here. It’s thrown me off my game.”
I tuck the book underneath my arm. “Sounds like an excuse to me. Maybe you never really had any game to begin with.” I internally cringe at the playful edge in my voice.
“Maybe you’re right.” He massages the back of his neck as he stares at the ground. “Now everything’s suddenly making sense. No wonder every girl I tried to talk to ran off.” A smile rises as his hands drop to his sides. “Just like you did earlier.”
I remember how he called me pretty. How he assumed that I like sweet, nice guys. “I wasn’t running away from you. Just something you said.” I instantly replay my words. Why am I being so honest?
“It was the cocky, douche bag remark, wasn’t it?”
“Kind of.”
“I’m really not a douche bag. I promise.”
“But you’re cocky,” I speculate.
He wavers, pulling a reluctant face. “I have my moments sometimes, but I also have my un-cocky moments, too.”
“What kind of word is un-cocky?”
“The super cool kind.”
“So, let me get this straight. You’re a sometimes cocky, sometimes un-cocky, book carrying, awkward phase loving kind of guy that makes up his own words.”
He points a finger at me. “You’ve been paying attention.”
“No, you’ve made me pay attention by refusing to leave me alone.” I aim to sound annoyed but come off more amused than anything.
“I know. It’s kind of a defense mechanism when I get really nervous,” he says with a sigh. A pucker forms at his brows. “Usually, it doesn’t work, though, and people end up running in the other direction.” He glances over my shoulder at something. “Like that girl over there. I tried to charm her with my awesome social skills, but either she’s blind
Sighing, I raise my head. “I was just walking home and needed to take a break. I’m good, though. Totally refreshed and ready to go.”
Refusing to set the book down, I attempt to stand without using my hands, but end up falling right back down on my ass.
“Oh, my goodness.” She flails her hand around, waving at someone in the parking lot. “Luca, come help me get Annabella up.”
Oh, my God, no way is that about to happen. Walking with a limp is bad enough.
Gritting through the pain, I shift forward, and putting way too much weight on my bad leg, trip to my feet. Searing pain clenches in my muscles and tears sting at my eyes, but I’m standing and that’s all that matters.
Tammy looks back at me with pity in her eyes. “Let me give you a ride home, okay.” Her gaze falls to my leg.
She knows what happened to me.
“It’s only a couple more miles.” I lift my foot to walk away, but the blinding pain shifts to full-on, knock-my-breath-out-of me throbbing. My jaw clenches, and I end up biting my tongue. The foul taste of rust fills my mouth, and my eyes water.
Gripping onto the post of a street sign, I inhale deeply and force the waterworks to stay put. When Tammy answers her phone, I breathe in relief. Now’s my chance to get away.
“Here, let me help you.” Luca steps in front of me and blocks my escape. He isn’t wearing his glasses, and his hair is sticking up all over the place. I have the silly urge again to run my fingers through it and fix it back into place.
I shuffle away from him. “I said I’m fine. Yeah, I have a messed up leg, but I know how to walk.”
He freezes, his hands suspended in midair. “I was actually going to offer to carry the book for you.”
I try to decipher if he’s for real or not. “What is this? 1950? Guys don’t carry books for girls anymore.”
His lips tug into a lopsided grin. “This guy does.”
I bite down on my lip, resisting back a smile. “That was really lame.”
He chuckles, his cheeks tinting pink. “I know. Sorry. I’m blaming it on the move here. It’s thrown me off my game.”
I tuck the book underneath my arm. “Sounds like an excuse to me. Maybe you never really had any game to begin with.” I internally cringe at the playful edge in my voice.
“Maybe you’re right.” He massages the back of his neck as he stares at the ground. “Now everything’s suddenly making sense. No wonder every girl I tried to talk to ran off.” A smile rises as his hands drop to his sides. “Just like you did earlier.”
I remember how he called me pretty. How he assumed that I like sweet, nice guys. “I wasn’t running away from you. Just something you said.” I instantly replay my words. Why am I being so honest?
“It was the cocky, douche bag remark, wasn’t it?”
“Kind of.”
“I’m really not a douche bag. I promise.”
“But you’re cocky,” I speculate.
He wavers, pulling a reluctant face. “I have my moments sometimes, but I also have my un-cocky moments, too.”
“What kind of word is un-cocky?”
“The super cool kind.”
“So, let me get this straight. You’re a sometimes cocky, sometimes un-cocky, book carrying, awkward phase loving kind of guy that makes up his own words.”
He points a finger at me. “You’ve been paying attention.”
“No, you’ve made me pay attention by refusing to leave me alone.” I aim to sound annoyed but come off more amused than anything.
“I know. It’s kind of a defense mechanism when I get really nervous,” he says with a sigh. A pucker forms at his brows. “Usually, it doesn’t work, though, and people end up running in the other direction.” He glances over my shoulder at something. “Like that girl over there. I tried to charm her with my awesome social skills, but either she’s blind
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