The Anatomical Shape of a Heart(9)

“Umm, you mean ‘bloom?’ I think the entire city saw it.”

Joy flashed through his eyes, but he blinked a few times with miles of dark lashes and sobered up. “You’re the only one who knows.”

“I doubt that. What about your little revolutionary art collective, Discord?”

He shook his head. “I don’t belong to Discord.”

“That’s not what people are saying online.”

“Well, they’re wrong. I work alone, and no one knows who I am.”

Huh. Funny, but I sort of believed him. Or maybe I had a case of temporary hot-boy-influenced naïveté.

“Scout’s honor,” he promised. “Only you hold my secret identity in your hands, Lois Lane.”

Do not be flattered. Do not be flattered.… “But not your real one.”

“You know more than I know about you.”

I ignored that. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“You said you had another meeting today and that it was before Dr. Sheridan’s lecture, so I checked the schedules and guessed the wrong one.” He scratched his head in a way that would’ve been adorable if he wasn’t an admitted criminal. “I’ve been waiting around here for the last two hours. But now that I see you again, it was worth it.”

Was he serious? I tried to form a snappy answer, but it came out as one long, strangled vowel. To make things worse, heat crept up my cheeks, so I turned away from him and strode down the cement walkway like I was full of Grand Purpose, not like I was running away. But it didn’t matter. Long legs always beat short legs, so it was no surprise when he caught up in a couple of steps.

“I dig the dark-rimmed glasses,” he said alongside me, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “They give you a sexy scientist vibe.”

“Artist vibe,” I countered without looking at him. And I’d only traded out my contacts that afternoon because I thought the glasses made me look older, but he didn’t need to know that. And he definitely didn’t need to know that my heart double-timed a few beats when he said “sexy.”

“Can I see what you’ve got in your portfolio?” he asked.

“Just pencil sketches.”

“That’s cool. Can I look at them?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because … your art isn’t good?”

“It’s good.”

“Prove it,” he said, taking one hand out of his pocket to tap a couple of knuckles against my portfolio as it swung between us. “You know, one artist to another. You’ve seen mine. Show me yours.”

Oh, the teasing in his voice—and oh, the places I could go with that line. The older, sophisticated Fantasy Me was completely charmed. But the real me was feeling too many pinwheeling emotions wrapped in a center of gooey nervousness. I was also having trouble tearing my gaze away from the scuff marks on the toes of his boots. They weren’t plain-old Doc Martens; they looked fancier, like Fluevogs or something.

The entrance to the building that housed the anatomy lab was only a few yards away. I checked the time on my phone. Crud. I had to hustle. Why did he have to show up right now? I needed more time to properly freak out about his being there.

“Will you at least tell me your name?” he asked as I pocketed my phone.

“Why? Afraid I’m going to snitch on you? Is that why you tracked me down?” And why was I being so defensive?

“You don’t know anything about me and have zero proof, so what’s there to snitch on? It would be smarter for me to avoid you, if you want to get right down to it. Besides, you’re the one who tracked me down first.”

I stopped in front of the building and faced him. “How so?”

“Willy said the sad girl was asking about me.”

That little panhandling ratfink. “Look, I was just curious—”

“Me, too. Since that night on the Owl, I’ve been having midnight fantasies about meeting hot girls on buses, and that’s messing up both my routine and my deep loathing of public transportation.”

Was he really saying this? Ignore! Ignore! “I asked Will about you because I wanted to find out if you were really a criminal,” I argued a little too loudly. A student exiting the building gave us a curious look. “I have to go. I’m running late.”

I tried to move around him, but he blocked me. “I’m a low-level criminal at best. Barely even a reprobate. And I’ve never been caught, so if a tree falls in the forest, does it really make a sound?”

“Don’t make me laugh. I’ve got an important meeting.”

He ducked his head to catch my eyes. “If I make you laugh, will you skip it and go have dinner with me?”

Whoa. Was that a date request? “Look, this is serious. I’m going to be late.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Please, just tell me your name. An email address, phone number—something. Come on, Sad Girl. All old Willy could tell me was that you have a sister and that your mom’s a cleaning woman at the hospital.”

“Brother and nurse,” I corrected, stifling a laugh. “He told me you’re a monk and that you have a ‘lady friend’ who works here.”