Mind Games (Mind Games, #1)(52)

“I was wondering if I could…well.” He reaches up and runs his long fingers through his hair. “This is more awkward than I thought it would be. But I was wondering if I could get an MRI of your brain and also draw some blood.”

No. No no no. Never let them do that. Never let them find anyone else like you, not ever, not ever. I smile and shake my head. “I never let a boy see my brain until the third date.”

His eyes go wide and then he laughs. “Sorry. I guess that was too forward.”

“You at least owe me dinner and a movie first.”

His smile hits me straight through, breaks my heart. “I’d like that.”

Oh, I wish. I wish I were a girl for this boy to take to dinner and a movie. I could be, still. I could have that life. I could earn the way he looks at me. I glance at the clock. Almost time. Can’t think. I pull out the tiny, pay-as-you-go phone I asked Sarah to buy for me. “Do you have a phone?”

He nods. “Are you going to throw it out another window?”

“No phones out windows today. Maybe something else. I need you to do me a favor. I need you to call this phone at 12:20.” I give him the number. He’ll do it, of course.

I slip the phone into my pocket next to my stolen one, then sit on the edge of the bed, pat the spot next to me. He sits. His feet stretch out onto the floor. “Adam, listen to me. I know about working for people who think they know more than you do. Promise me that whatever you do here, you’ll be careful. Promise me you’ll always listen to that thing deep inside you that tells you whether something is right or wrong. Even if it’s just a twinge. Even if it’s just a hint of a hint of a feeling. Because you could save—or destroy—a lot of lives. You’re going to have help, though. Someone who really does know more than you do.”

He smiles and looks at me with hope in his gray eyes. This boy is built of hope. What does that feel like? “I’m so glad you’re staying.”

“Thanks for looking at me like…like I could be whole. You have no idea what it means to me.” I lean in to kiss him on the cheek and he surprises me by turning his head and our lips connect and he is soft and sweet and true, true, true.

I could have kisses like that for the rest of my life. Kisses that don’t know who I am. Kisses that make me feel more and less than what I am. But my finger tap tap taps on my leg and reminds me that I am not who Adam thinks I am, and it makes me want to cry. It’s not that I don’t deserve his kiss. It’s that the person I am can never really share a life, a soul, with the person he is.

He pulls back, looks down at the bed with a semicircle sweep of his lashes. “I’m sorry, I know we don’t really know each other, but I’ve wanted to do that.”

I sigh and glance at the clock; it’s time. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not. Thanks again. And don’t forget to call.”

He feels right for this. It’ll be okay. I stand and walk out of the room, jog down the hall. Back to the lobby area. I’m in luck, Sarah and Cole and, oh, even better, Sandy blond who had the gun (he has no gun today) are all in there. Sandy blond looks at me with barely disguised anger. His knee is in a brace.

Sarah smiles. “There you are. We were just talking about you.”

“I’m sure you were.” (Freestanding chair still next to the window, which is not plate glass nor does it have mesh wiring in it to prevent shattering.)

“I was wondering if you might be willing to give us a better idea of what you did for the school and why they were so invested in you. You said you were ‘hands’?”

“Hands, yes. Also stock predictor, corporate espionage specialist, fight picker, and resident scary psychotic chick.”

Sarah looks sad. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through. Would you like to talk about it?”

I stretch both shoulders, crack my neck, crack my knuckles. This is going to hurt. Nothing to be done for it. “Nope, don’t want to talk about anything. You were using past tense to describe my work with Keane. You should use present tense. I am their hands.”

“But—” Sarah looks confused. More evidence she shouldn’t be doing this. She should look scared.

Cole understands. He quickly rises from the couch, puts himself between Sarah and me. Sandy blond is slower but he, too, stands, limps closer. I smile and hold both of my hands out wide.

“I really am sorry about this. But a girl’s gotta do…” I lower my head and charge into Sandy blond, catching him around the middle and knocking him to the floor with a loud oof.

Cole picks me up and throws me off Sandy blond. I roll; my face smacks into the floor, hard. It will bruise. Good. I stand, shaking off the daze.

“I won’t let you destroy this,” Cole says. They need him. I’m so glad he’s here.

“I’m not going to breathe a word about you.” I swing at his head, making my movements obvious and wide. He ducks under my fist, slams his own into my face where I already hit it on the floor. I spin, hit the wall, use it to hold myself up.

Pain, pain, pain.

“I really am sorry.” I look at Sarah, who is watching all this in horror. “And I promise not to tell them anything. But I’ve got to go.”

I run for the window, twisting out of Cole’s reach, then throw the chair through the glass with a resounding crash. Duck down, fist over my head again, kick out, Cole goes down, I see a knife on his belt.