Then I rolled my eyes and remembered I had no idea what he looked like.
It was just my pathetic heart hoping against hope that I might have something positive at school for a change. I didn’t even know if he went to school. He was probably older and way out of my league.
I dropped my gaze again and wished for a hoodie for the millionth time that day.
As I settled into my seat for my last class, I heard it again.
I was just reaching into my bag to grab my English textbook when that voice made me pause, hunched over, my hand tightening around the book’s spine.
“Yeah, we moved to Devilbend last week,” he said. There was no mistaking it this time. It was definitely Turner, and he was definitely walking right past my desk.
“Yeah, nice.”
I clenched my teeth. Jayden. The only person who made my life hell as much as Madison.
“You gonna try out for the team?” Jayden asked.
“Which team?”
The two chairs in front of me scraped, and they sat down. I straightened and placed the book gently in front of me, keeping my eyes on the desk but straining to listen.
“Oh, yeah.” Jayden laughed. “The football team.”
“Yeah, I’ll think about it.” Turner sounded friendly, pleasant, like any guy having a normal conversation with a new person.
I chewed my lip to hold in the sigh, fighting to keep the scowl off my face.
Mr. Chen came in, demanding the class’s attention, and Turner and Jayden stopped talking. When I was certain everyone’s focus was on the front of the room, I slowly raised my eyes.
My heart thudded in my chest. He sat directly in front of me, Jayden on his left. There were those broad shoulders I’d seen only in silhouette, the white cotton of a collared T-shirt stretched over them. He had dark blond hair, cropped short at the base of his neck but wavy and growing just past his ears on the sides. He needed a haircut.
He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, and I nearly jumped as I looked away. But not before I noticed how long and strong his fingers looked, his nails square, the muscles in his arms flexing from the movement.
I made sure to look only directly at my desk and the teacher for the rest of the class, as I usually did. All I needed was for someone to notice me staring at the new guy.
It was lucky it was only the first day and we spent most of the class going over the syllabus, because I hardly heard a word Mr. Chen said.
I was in so much trouble.
I went straight to the balcony after school, but he never showed up. It was probably for the best—I had no idea what to say. I just had an irresistible urge to speak to him.
I couldn’t do it at school though—they’d find a way to ruin it. Of course, once he realized who I was, what I looked like, the flirting would stop, but I wanted to at least stay friends. That meant ignoring the fuck out of him at school and staying out of his way.
I still caught glimpses though. Anytime I heard his voice in the halls, I couldn’t help looking up. He was friendly, talkative; I saw him chatting to several seniors and even a few juniors, but I never hung around long enough to hear the conversations.
He didn’t come to the balcony for several nights, and I started to think maybe he’d already realized who I was. But that wasn’t possible.
I was so determined to avoid him at school I didn’t get a proper look at his face until my shift at the diner on Wednesday night.
He came in with his dad—a taller, frownier version of Turner with gray hair at his temples. They sat in a booth, thankfully not in my section.
Chelsea took their order while I stared at the beautiful boy so clearly out of my league. He had that defined jaw—not square exactly, but strong—and a heavy brow. Gone was the smiling, open guy who talked to everyone at school. This Turner matched his dad’s posture, leaning forward on the table with his shoulders hunched, his brow furrowed. I couldn’t even tell what color his eyes were.
As soon as Chelsea walked away, they leaned back into each other, but not before Turner cast those dark eyes about the diner, as if checking for anyone listening in, or maybe looking for someone.
I turned away to clear a table.
“Philly, can you pour table three’s coffees for me?” Chelsea caught me just as I unloaded a tray of dirty dishes. “I’m busting for the toilet.”
She ran off without waiting for a response.
Shit. I picked up the coffee pot and swallowed around the ball of anxiety lodged in my throat. My gaze stayed on the ground as I approached their table.
“. . . you sure?” Turner’s dad’s voice was as deep and gruff as it had been on the balcony the other night.
“Yeah, Dad. But it hasn’t even been a week. I’m still learning the layout—” Turner cut himself off as I poured the coffee. He glanced up at me, my every nerve aware of him in my periphery as I hoped like hell my hand wouldn’t shake and spill coffee all over them.
“Thank you, miss.” His dad gave me a small smile. I smiled back and nodded, the effort not to look at Turner directly almost crushing.
Then I walked away and avoided Chelsea until they left.
On Friday night, I walked out onto the balcony hardly even expecting him to be there. Maybe the feet smell had come back and they’d moved.
“Hello?”
His voice made me jump, my hand flying to my chest. “Fuck. You scared the crap out of me.”
He chuckled. “Hey, neighbor.”
I drew my cardigan closer, hunching against the light breeze, and smiled. “Hey, stranger.”
“How was work?”
“How’d you know I was at work?” Had he seen me? Maybe heard me talking to another customer? Fuck!
“Uh . . . lucky guess? It’s late and . . . I swear I’m not an axe murderer, Mena.”
Oh god—my name on his lips, uttered so casually and confidently. I wanted him to end every sentence he spoke to me with my name.
“No, you’re just a stalker, Turner.”
He laughed lightly and shifted, knocking the bamboo screen. It was getting a little cold, but I moved the chair out of the way and sat next to him, against the wall.
“So? How was work?” he asked again. His light was off, and I couldn’t even see his silhouette. I reached up and flicked my light off too. For some reason, it felt easier to say what I wanted to say in the dark.
“Work was fine. Same old.” I chewed on my bottom lip and blurted it before I chickened out. “How was school? It can be hard being the new kid, but I have a feeling you’re handling it just fine.”
There was a beat of silence. My heart hammered in my chest, my throat, my whole damn body.
“Now who’s the stalker?” He sounded amused, if a little wary.
“It’s not stalking if I have a legitimate reason to be there.”
“So, you go to Devilbend North High? What year are you in? Shit! Are you a teacher? I mean, not that it matters—to me. I wouldn’t care. Although that would be technically illegal, I guess. But I am eighteen, if that makes any difference.” As abruptly as he’d launched into his rambling, he cut himself off.
My head swam a little, even as the grin spread over my lips.
He cleared his throat. “Did I just make shit really awkward?”
“What would technically be illegal, Turner?” I wasn’t sure why I was making this conversation even more awkward for him. Maybe I liked seeing a hint of him being just as nervous about this as me—at least in this moment. He was so damn confident and self-assured the rest of the time.