at the spot where his knees are. As if I’ll be able to tell if he’s injured or not by staring at his jeans.
“I know that you tore your knee.” I glance up to find him still looking at me with heavy, intense eyes that are wreaking havoc on my breaths. “That’s why you came back, isn’t it? You’re not finishing out the season and you said you were going back home. I saw the press conference.”
“You saw it.”
I swallow, nodding. “Yeah. O-on TV.”
I grimace slightly.
That’s a lie, of course.
I saw it on a forbidden cell phone, but he doesn’t need to know that. Somehow though, he already does and his smirk comes back.
And my breaths run away.
“So sneaking out in the middle of the night to go to a bar for dancing isn’t your only crime. I’m not sure if sending you to a reform school was a good idea. You might be a worse influence on the girls who’re already in trouble for being bad.”
My embarrassment jacks up a thousand times and I mumble, “Hey, I’m not that bad.”
He flicks his gaze all over me again and my lips part.
“I’m starting to get that,” he murmurs. “You’re worse.”
It’s not a compliment. I know that.
But the way he says it, and the way he’s staring at me with eyes that possess a shade of blue that I’ve never seen on him, it feels like it.
It feels like a compliment.
But I can’t focus on all of this.
“So?” I ask instead, keeping my control.
“So what?”
“Did you… you tore your knee, didn’t you?”
“Why?”
“Because I…” I pause to gather my thoughts.
There are many ways I can answer this. Many, many, dangerous ways.
Because I love you and I need to know you’re okay.
Because I love you and I want you to be safe.
Because I love you and I can’t see you injured.
Because I love you…
But I decide to go with the safest, the only option that I have.
Looking into his new-colored eyes that are strangely watching me in the same way that I’m watching him, I say, “Because soccer is your life and I know that it must be awful for you that you can’t finish out the season. It must hurt. It’s hurting me…”
Damn it.
I shouldn’t have said that.
That kinda slipped out, and obviously he catches it.
He catches it with both hands, his eyes narrowed and roving over my face. Curious.
“Why?” he asks again.
“Why what?” I stall, my heart in my throat, on my tongue even.
“Why is it hurting you?”
Great going, Salem.
Just fantastic.
We’ve been talking for ten minutes and I’ve already fucked up.
“Uh, because.” I look at his glinting chain, the V of his gray t-shirt. “You’re my sister’s boyfriend. She loves you very much. Of course I’m hurting. I’m worried. For her and for you. And that’s why I can’t believe she’s in LA when you’re here. Besides, why are you here? Why aren’t you resting that knee? Shouldn’t you be like, recovering instead of bar hopping or whatever? And…” I swallow, looking up from his chain. “Kissing strange girls who’re not your girlfriend.”
At this, his jaw clenches again.
“For a girl who’s just the little sister, it’s very touching. That you’re hurting and all. But I’ve got a doctor’s note that says it’s okay for me to bar hop and kiss strange girls. So you can relax.”
His voice is cutting and sarcastic. It clearly means I should back down.
But I don’t. There’s no way that I can.
“You said that my sister was in LA. Why didn’t she come with you? She would never leave you alone at a time like this.”
He pushes his tongue into his cheek before saying, “Isn’t this the first conversation we’ve had that’s lasted more than a minute?”
“I…”
“It is, isn’t it?” He lets out a mock sigh. “I think we should stop. Because I have to admit, I’m starting to miss that time.”
The time he’s referring to is the past eight years.
He’s right.
This is the first conversation we’ve had that’s lasted more than a minute. Because as an attempt to keep him safe from my witchy ways, I’ve always kept my distance from him. I’ve always kept my head down around him. I’ve never even made eye contact with him, I think.
So yeah, this is the very first time we’re talking like this.
And when he takes a step back, ready to leave, I don’t want him to go.
So I blurt out the stupidest question in the history of all questions.
The only question that I’ve been wanting to ask