She Dims the Stars(6)

“See ya around, Elliot.” Audrey’s cheeks push her sunglasses up higher on her face when she grins, and then she turns around to go back inside her house.

The taste of grape lingers in my mouth for the entire ride back to college.





“So, you’re good?”

My weekly call with Cara usually includes this phrase, and it’s been a while since I’ve answered it honestly. She knows when I’m lying anyway, but when I tell her that I actually am fine today, I can hear the hint of surprise in her otherwise flat tone. I’m itching to get off the phone by the time she asks the next question. There’s music pouring from an open door as I pass by, and I know she can tell I’m not at home.

“Where are you going?”

“Crazy. Wanna come?”

She doesn’t laugh at the joke. I don’t expect her to. She just continues with her rundown.

“How are your impulses?”

I cringe and rest the phone between my cheek and shoulder so I can wipe my palms on my back pockets. “Great. Everything is great. Actually, I have to go, so … talk next Tuesday?” She agrees and hangs up, but I’m left feeling anxious as I stare at the brick building in front of me and try to get the nerve to dial another number. It only rings once before he answers.

“Audrey?”

“Hey. Yeah. I mean, yeah, it’s Audrey. Hey. What are you doing?”

There’s some movement behind the curtain as I’m looking up at it, and I can see his shadow rise from what I assume is a chair by the window.

“Getting some stuff together for a project. What are you doing?”

I take a deep breath and expel it with a laugh. “I think I’m standing outside your place. Wave at the window.” The shadow moves closer to the curtain, and I can see five fingers spread as he waves. “Yup. That’s definitely you. Unless this call is being tapped, then that’s not cool at all, and this is how a horror movie would start.”

Elliot moves the material aside and opens the window, peering out at me from above. “Do you always communicate through windows?”

The smile on my face could shatter my lips. “Not always. Just on special occasions. Let’s run away. Come on.”

He leans on his elbows and cradles his face in his hands, his adorable brown eyes looking me over. “I have a project.”

“You’re no fun, Elliot Clark.”

Lips pursed and eyes narrowed, he nods. “Where were you thinking?”

I shrug and hold my arms out like we have the entire world at our fingertips. “Honestly, I just want some pancakes. And that’s maybe a five-minute walk. I’d settle for that.”

Not once has he asked how I knew where he lived. Or how I found out what his last name is. I don’t know if that should put me at ease or make me more nervous, so I try to shut the thoughts down altogether. Which is hard, because sometimes I think all I’m made up of is a constant train of thoughts.

We don’t talk much on the way, and that suits me just fine. He’s a watcher, and I stare at his profile as he takes in the other students walking by us or hanging around in groups. They’re drinking or smoking or talking too loudly. His face is an open book, and it’s like I can see inside his head exactly what he’s thinking about all of them as we pass by. His eyes roam some of them from top to bottom, and I wonder if he’s putting their physical attributes somewhere in a file in his brain for later use.

When we reach the diner, he seems to snap out of his little people watching trance and finally acknowledges that I’m by his side. Elliot’s smile is endearing and a little shy as he holds the door open for me, his height so much greater than mine that I don’t even have to duck beneath his arm to enter. Not that this is much of a feat. At five foot three, I can walk under most guys’ arms. I’d bet Elliot stands just under six foot, though. Still much shorter than his roommate.

His fingers fidget as he scans the crowd before resting his hand gently on my lower back and leading us to a booth in the middle of the restaurant. The table is sticky with syrup and the air is thick with the smell of bacon and eggs. His lips press into a thin line while he pretends to read the menu, but his eyes are wandering elsewhere, and I sit back to watch him some more. He’s wearing contacts again, his dark brown eyes peering across the top of the menu and looking beyond my shoulder.

“Do you have a huge bacon boner right now, or is there someone behind me that you’re freaked out about? I can’t tell if you’re scared or horny.”

His eyes flick to mine and a look of terror crosses his face. “I assure you, the two are not mutually exclusive. Sometimes they go hand in hand, but right now, my ex is sitting two tables to the left, facing me.” He raises the menu a little higher and tries to shift down in his seat.

“Huh.” I try to play it cool, but I fail at that kind of stuff, so I just end up turning around and looking for whoever this girl must be. There are three of them, and two are exceptionally pretty. One is average. I assume with the way he’s about to lose his shit, he dated one of the hot ones. I turn back around, and his face is completely obscured by the menu now. “Blonde or super blonde?”

“What?” His eyes reappear and he blinks a bunch of times.

“Is it the hot blonde one or the hot super blonde one? Because I’m assuming that the third wheel is only there to make the other two feel secure about themselves, right? And that can’t possibly be your Kelsey-Chelsea.”