Page 29 of Dead Pretty

It feels … significant somehow.

In a way I can’t describe.

But I also know that I have to go over and apologize because if I don’t, I’ll just annoy myself further, obsessing over this.

Just go over, say sorry for being a dick, and go.

I take a deep breath and move my feet in Jack’s direction.

I can hear “Incomplete” by Backstreet Boys playing in the background, and it sounds like the soundtrack to my life.

Jack’s eyes hold mine the whole time I walk toward him.

It’s unnerving. I feel like he can see all the thoughts in my head and all the shame in my soul. I want to cut eye contact, but I can’t seem to. Or I don’t want to. I haven’t figured out which one it is yet.

“Hi,” I say, reaching his table.

“Hello,” he says in a low, husky voice.

Shivers ripple over my skin at the sound of him.

I grit my teeth, ignoring the sensation.

It’s only been four days, and I’m getting shivery over the sound of his voice. It drives me nuts, the effect he has on me. One hello from him, and my ovaries do backflips.

“So …” I say, not really sure what to say now that I’m here, standing in front of him.

“So …” he echoes, leaning back in his chair.

What to say? What to say?

“You can still use the library, you know. You don’t have to avoid me.”

His eyes widen a fraction, like he wasn’t expecting that to come out of my mouth. Neither was I. But I’ve said it now. There’s no taking it back and going with something else.

Jack’s head tips to the side, just a fraction. His hair tumbles over his forehead. I have this sudden, weird urge to reach over and push his hair back off his face. It’s like an itch in my hand.

I grip the back of the chair in front of me to stop myself from doing it.

“Who says I’m avoiding you?” Jack says evenly.

“The fact that, before, I couldn’t turn a corner without seeing you, and now, you’re nowhere to be seen.”

He lets out a laugh, which catches the attention of a few people seated around us.

“Fair enough,” he says without seeming to notice or care that people are looking at him.

And I smile. I can’t help it.

“So, you are avoiding me?” I push.

He says nothing. Just holds my stare.

I’m the first to break it. I look down at the table, letting out a sigh. “I’m sorry that I was a bitch the other day.”

“I didn’t think you were being a bitch.”

I bring my eyes back to his. But I can’t get a read on him. There’s nothing in his expression to tell me whether he truly meant what he said or if he was just being polite.