The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(46)
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I say finally, glancing up at him. His eyes are soft, and the way he looks down at me is different from the way the guys on the porch looked at me. Those guys liked what they saw, but Houston, he actually sees me.
“It’s okay. You’re…stressed,” he says, making quote marks with his fingers in the air around the word. I laugh at my own expense, but not in agreement. “You maybe want to tell me a little more about it?”
I think about his offer, and I actually consider it. Those two weeks that I spent talking to Houston on the phone—me in California, him in Oklahoma—were nice. They were more than nice, they were the first time I’ve actually talked to a guy and had him listen. There wasn’t some pretense about parties or getting laid. He asked me questions, and I answered. He listened. The more I consider his offer, the stronger this feeling is that’s washing over me—it’s a comfort level, and maybe something else.
When I part my lips to speak, I peer up, and his eyes are intent on me, his focus is there, and it feels nice. “I caught one of the Delta girls…” I start to say, but am interrupted by deep moaning sounds coming from behind us.
We both look over our shoulders. The frat guys who watched me walk by before are now following us. They’re several feet back, and when we look at them, they turn their focus to the side. Houston thinks nothing of it, turning around and looking back at me. “You caught someone doing what?” he asks. I barely hear him because I’m still looking over my shoulder. Now that Houston isn’t looking, they aren’t pretending any longer, their eyes on me again.
The one in the middle, the largest of the three, moans again, making the other two laugh. The heavier guy on the right covers his mouth, saying something that only makes them all laugh harder. I glare at them, and even though I can barely make out the shapes of their eyes, I can tell they’re glaring back, mocking me. I face our direction again, doing my best to shake them off.
“I’m sorry, where was I?” I say, knowing exactly where I was. The comfort from before is gone now, though.
“Mmmmmmmmm, oh yeah. Oh yeah, baby. Like that,” a voice says behind me. My body shivers, and my fingertips and toes feel numb, the blood retreating, leaving me feeling helpless—weak.
“Ah! Ah! Ah!” I hear again. They’re making sex noises, and I know why. My entire body is flushed, my head is furious, and my heart is dead. They’ve seen it—they’ve seen it! Which means it’s out there, somewhere, where people are able to see it.
My mind is racing, my heart is thumping, and my back is sweating—even though it’s only fifty degrees outside. I need to solve this. Houston—he can’t know! I’m about to come up with an excuse, to lie to him and just tell him to ignore those guys…when he stops me, his hand hard on my arm as he turns me to face him. He doesn’t ask me a question, but only looks at me, his eyes penetrating mine, searching deep inside me for a truth to understand what this scenario is all about. My strength fades, if only for a second, and I lose my breath, my body shaking twice as I gasp. The sting in my eyes is instant, and I know they’re on the verge of crying, so I squeeze them shut, which only makes a tear fall down my cheek. Steadying myself, I take a deep breath, then reopen my eyes to look at Houston.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice once again strong, my bluff good. He holds his hand in place on my arm, his eyes still boring through me, his mouth in a firm line and his jaw flexing as he considers everything—what he saw, what he heard, what I said, and the way I look now. I’m fine, Houston. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I don’t need rescuing!
“Like hell you are,” he grits, and he leaves me, charging the few steps behind us toward the trio of guys who are suddenly speechless. Within seconds, Houston’s fist slams into the face of the one in the middle, and his friends take wide steps back, not wanting to be the next one getting Houston’s attention.
Houston doesn’t say anything as he pummels the guy, his knuckles ricocheting off the side of his head until he drops to his knees unable to hold his balance any longer. Houston reaches down to grab the collar of the guy’s shirt, lifting him back to a stand, and stares him down, his lips moving to say something. I can’t hear him, but I see the fear in the faces of the others. I know Houston must have said something threatening. With one thrust of his arm, he pushes him off balance again, then flexes his hand at the one now bleeding from punches and walks back to me.
“Let’s go,” he says, and I pick up my steps to keep up.
We walk in silence until we’re close to home. The blood on his knuckles is leaving a trail of drops on the sidewalk, and when he reaches into his pocket for his keys not thinking, he winces.
“Fuck,” he says under his breath, reaching around with his other arm instead, protecting his hurt hand.
“Yeah, well that’s what you get,” I say, shaking my head, folding my arms and waiting for him to unlock the door for me, reminding me that I still need a key of my own.
Houston stops abruptly, leaning away from the door and letting the screen slam to a close. “Excuse me?” he asks.
“When you go all Neanderthal for no reason, then I’m not going to feel bad for you when you’re hurt,” I say, glancing at his eyes, then back down at the lock on the door. I jerk my head toward it, willing him to hurry up.