You and Everything After (Falling #2)(12)

“Oh,” I say, not really in the mood to play anymore. “Well, let’s start with a good upper-body combo, something that is good for leveling. We’ll see where you’re at, and then work up from there.”

I guide her through a few exercises, and every time I’m in a position to touch her, I don’t. It just feels weird now, and I don’t know why. She’s gotten serious, too, and a few times, I catch her looking at my eyes while I’m going through a motion. I’m used to people watching me lift myself from my chair, and they usually say something about how strong I am and how amazing it is that I can do things like this with only my arms. But that’s not the way Cass is looking at me. Her gaze is…different. And I’m frustrated by it.

“We should go out,” I say, overcome with this urge to get back to me, and everything I know. “Tonight. We should go out. Hang, you know?”

She stares at me, still finishing up her bench press, her lips barely moving with a silent count of each number until I barely hear her utter, “…fifteen.”

“No,” she says, standing quickly and dragging her long leg back over the bench; I swear she’s teasing me with it.

“No?” I question. I’m not used to no.

“No,” she says, picking up her small pink towel and wiping the sweat from her forehead and the back of her neck. I’m actually left speechless by her rejection.

“Well, all right then,” I say, blinking and looking out at the other students lifting around us. No. She said no.

“I just…I have a feeling about you,” she says.

“Right. A feeling,” I say, pulling myself back to my chair. “And what kind of feeling is that?”

She sighs heavily at first, then leans against the rack of weights before finally looking at me. “You’re…nice.”

I’m sure the laugh that bursts out of my mouth is jarring, but I can’t help my reaction. “I have been called a lot of things, but nice has never been one of them. Even my brother doesn’t call me nice,” I say, still laughing when I realize she’s doing that staring thing again, the kind that makes me feel uncomfortable. I quiet then, pausing while I nod, just trying to figure her out.

“Look, you’re…good company,” I say, letting my eyes settle into hers. It’s strange how natural it feels. “I was thinking it might be nice…to be friends.”

“Friends,” she repeats, her tone oozing with skepticism and her eyes studying me like she’s waiting for me to jump at her and yell, “Boo!”

“Yeah, friends,” I say again. “Your roommate seems to be into my brother, so I’m thinking you and me, we’ll be hanging out a lot, and you’re funny. I like that,” I say, not really paying attention to a damn word coming out of my mouth, but suddenly feeling desperate to make this girl my friend. What the f*ck is happening to me?

“I’m…funny?” she asks, moving closer to me and sitting back on the workout bench, her knees doing that thing where they graze against mine.

“For a girl,” I joke. Without pause, Cass pushes her hands against my chest, I’m sure her intent to chide me, but I take advantage of it and trap her fingers against my body, forcing her to stay close, in my space. Her laugh comes out nervously, and for some reason, I’m overcome with this urge to make her feel…okay. Reaching up with one hand, I tip her chin so our eyes meet. “I’d really like to be your friend,” I say, and strangely, I mean it.

For a few seconds, we are completely alone. I don’t notice the athletes starting to clank weights around us, or the people firing up the nearby treadmills. All I notice is how cold her hands are, how f*cking amazing her fingers feel, and how much I want to kiss her. And I would totally fight the urge, but goddamn it, I want to kiss her.

So I do.

One second I’m teasing her and begging her to be my friend, and the next my hands have slid up her completely perfect arms to the side of her face, and my lips are begging hers to relax. I—and my damned impulsivity—am going to blow my shot to hell in a split-second decision. At first, she’s taken off guard, and I feel her threaten to pull away. I’m pissed at myself, and my grand romantic fantasies. I should know better. I’m not the romantic one.

But then, her hands wrap around my wrists, and she’s kissing me back. Everything about her—her tongue, her soft bottom lip, the sharp edges of her teeth—is tempting me and begging me to go on. But the loud thud of the fifty-pound dumbbell dropping on the floor next to us snaps us out of whatever the hell that was. Cass’s fingers release their hold on my arms, and she pushes away from me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, just wanting the redness to leave her face, and for her to look at me again like she was before I got all impulsive and shit. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Yeah…you did,” she says, standing and moving away from me even more. Distance—so I can’t do that again.

“Yeah…I did,” I admit, giving in to the smirk threatening to take over my lips. Her chest is heaving in-and-out like she just finished running a mile, and her eyes have this frightened vibe, like they’re torn between wanting me to kiss her again and wanting to run.

“I’ll be your friend, Tyson,” she says, swinging her towel around her neck and picking up her small set of keys from the corner of the weight room. “Friends.”