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Goddamn.
Chapter Two
Manon
Honestly, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m still in shock. I almost ran over a man. Sure, the visibility was bad, and my mind was on other things.
Like my meeting with my academic advisor. Like what to do with my life now that my dream has been shattered for one last, final time. What I always wanted to do, to be… It won’t happen.
Plus, I got a text from Fred letting me know he can’t meet me tonight because he has music practice.
It just about killed me, for so many reasons. I mean, I should have practice, too—dance practice, which won’t happen, oh God… And at the very least, when I told him I needed to see him he should ask why, right?
If he really was interested in me. Like he says he is.
Like I am in him.
I stumble into my bedroom, kick off my shoes and pull off my wet clothes with angry motions. I needed to talk to him tonight, ask his opinion. Be comforted.
Irrational, I know. He has to work. And we’re not together. Not really. Not yet. I mean, he asked me out, but we’ve barely started dating. So instead, I’m here with…
Seth.
I pull on yoga leggings and a long T-shirt, thinking about what happened. How scared I was when I got out of the car and found him lying there, in the rain. How worried I was when he could barely walk.
How different he is from Fred. Rugged, where Fred is cute. Bulky where Fred is slender. Dark where Fred is pale and blond. Seth’s all dark hair, dark brows, dark stubble, dark eyes. Black studs and silver bars in his ears. Tanned skin. Big shoulders, huge biceps.
Frowning, I rummage through my closet for men’s clothes. Not Fred’s, of course. We haven’t even kissed yet, let alone leave clothes at each other’s place. But my dad left some old clothes here when he helped me move in and paint the apartment, and I think…
Ah, there. Grabbing the old draw-string pants and T-shirt with paint stains on it, and a towel from the bathroom, I hurry back to the living room.
I stop. He’s sprawled on the sofa, head propped on the backrest, eyes closed. With his broad cheekbones and that strong jaw, the full, soft mouth, he’s sort of… handsome.
…Nah. Stop the crazy thinking, Manon. He’s just a stranger on your couch, a stranger you almost hit with your car.
Not handsome. Not at all. Nope.
No way.
Shaking my head at myself, I drop the clothes on the sofa, startling him. He jerks away from me and knocks his elbow into the back of the sofa.
Ow.
Crap, he really was asleep. He looks tired, and this is all my fault. Guilt is eating away at me. Poor guy.
“Found some clothes,” I say when he blinks blearily at me and rubs both hands over his eyes. “I hope they fit. They’re my dad’s. He won’t mind.”
He takes the towel and starts rubbing his hair. I lay out the clothes meanwhile, trying not to look at the way his dark hair is getting all messy and spiky, and…
“Your dad living around here?”
“No. Not that far, though. Davenport.” I sense the weight of his questioning gaze, and I force a smile as I look up from straightening the T-shirt as best I can. “My mom is French. She lives in France.”
Both his dark brows shoot up, and he opens his mouth to say something, but I beat him to it.
“Let me help you get out of those clothes.”
His mouth flaps. He snaps it closed, but his eyes go round. “Help me?”
