Brooklyn Skye

“Maybe I should know the rules,” he says softly. “Pfft. I’m not a game.” I reach out to poke his shoulder, and unexpectedly he catches my finger. “Sometimes, I’m not so sure.”

“What’s important,” I say, taking his face in mine hands, looking him in the eye, “is that all this hesitation of yours is giving me a complex. And I feel annoying, insecure thoughts threatening to infiltrate the certainty of you liking me.”

“Why do you do that?” Torrin’s voice echoes in the empty hall. His hand is holding my arm gently, not at all like Derek does. I can’t have this. I can’t. I shouldn’t have ever come here with him. I draw in a shaky breath and pull my arm away. “Do what?” “Walk away every time I ask you something personal?” I stare hard at him. “Why do you do that? He blinks. “Huh?” “Ask so many questions.” His mouth drops open and closes and five long seconds pass before he says, “It’s what people do, Quinn. When they’re getting to know each other.” I shake my head and spin toward the door. “You don’t want to get to know me.”