Besides, somebody needs to help her get the stick out of her ass. Maybe if the rumors are true and she’s really dating Coa—”
The words die on my tongue when I see Yasmin’s eyes grow wide. It takes me a moment to register what I said that could tick her off.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Yasmin, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking…” But she isn’t listening. She’s already closing her books with more force than necessary, putting them in a pile one on top of the other.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” she says coolly, not even looking at me.
I wince when she shuts her laptop. She looks around for her backpack and when she finally sees it, she picks it up and starts shoving what she can into the already-full space. Seriously, it’s no wonder the thing almost broke my toe when I hit it.
“It was insensitive, and I shouldn’t have said it.”
“There is no reason you should have known.”
I put my hand over hers, needing her to stop moving, to just look at me. “But I do know.”
Yasmin’s head snaps up, her wild eyes meeting mine. It’s like the air has been sucked out of the room from that one touch. Both of us, this moment, frozen in time.
My throat bobs as I swallow, prickles of awareness rushing just underneath my skin.
Her gaze falls down on our clasped hands. She doesn’t say anything, but she also doesn’t try to pull away. Her shoulders lift as she inhales deeply, as if to calm herself.
What is she thinking?
I want to know, but it also scares the shit out of me.
Wetting my lips, I force the words out. “I do know, and I should have known better.”
“I don’t like to talk about him,” Yasmin says quietly, still refusing to meet my gaze. “Hell, I don’t even like to think about him.”
“Did you ever try?” I ask before I can think better of it. Seriously, will I ever learn? But she surprises me when she answers my question.
“No, it was just my mom and I for as long as I can remember, and she didn’t like to mention him at all. Can’t say I blame her, not now at least.”
“Then how did you find out about him?”
Yasmin pulls her hand out of mine. I don’t try to reach back for her, no matter how much I crave to do just that. Losing her touch is like I’ve lost the air to breathe. It rattles me, but she seems to be doing just fine because she goes right back to packing her things like nothing happened.
“There was this expression on her face. It would appear every time she saw him on TV when he was still playing. Not quite sad, not quite angry, not quite longing, but a little bit of all three? She’d look at him for just a few moments before switching the channel or turning off the TV, until one day I asked her about it.”
“And she told you? She told you who he is to you?”
“We don’t lie to each other.” She snorts, looking away. “At least we didn’t use to.”
I mull over her explanation, trying to understand. How would it be? Having just one parent? Wondering what happened to the other? Looking for answers so you can understand who you are and where you come from?
Yes, my dad is a piece of shit who left us, but he was there. Before. For years. He was there when I was growing up, and I never had to wonder about those things. Never had to question who I am and where I come from.
I want to ask Yasmin more about it, about her mom and her life before she came here, but I feel like I’ve already crossed some line I shouldn’t have. Yasmin and I, regardless of our strange relationship, are doing better, and the last thing I want is to go back to the beginning.
Yasmin looks around, as if to confirm she got all of her things before putting on her jacket. “I should go.”
“Fine, just give me a second to pick up my things.”
“You don’t have to…”
“Ah, ah, ah.” I lift my finger and press it to her mouth. I can feel her soft gasp underneath my fingertip. The softness of her lips, the warmth of her breath, feel the zap of current shoot from her body straight into mine. I pull back, but even without our skin connecting I can still feel the burn. “Do we really have to go