Page 35 of Never His Girl
My brow twitches when, a second after I meet his stare, he turns without speaking and heads toward the fieldhouse. Like he should’ve done in the first place.
He’s been so hard to read, I’m left wondering…did he just walk me to practice? Like, I’m his girl or something?
I look him up and down as he strolls away, his solid biceps stretching the sleeves of a fitted white tee. The muscles in his back roll beneath the fabric, too, taunting me when I remember what he feels like in my hands.
Obviously, and unfortunately for me, the attraction’s still alive and well. This becomes set in stone when he glances back and my chest rises with a deep breath. Those wild green eyes and that dark, disheveled hair acting as my kryptonite. I know his scent, and now even his touch. He’d once had me fooled into thinking I’d seen a glimpse of a heart, but that was a mistake.
A lie.
One that cost me dearly.
It’s this reminder of who I’m really dealing with that makes it easy to walk away from him now, without questioning why he seems hellbent on having me think he’s changed.
Without questioning why he’s being sohuman.
So…not West.
I let him inside my head once and it crushed me. I will not let that happen again.
Ever.
Chapter 11
WEST
“Such a stalker!”
“Are you, legit, a psychopath?”
“I swear, you’re a complete asshole.”
These are highlights from the list of insults Southside’s hurled at me this week, when that one walk to her practice turned into a habit.
The next day, I started showing up outside whatever class she was in when the bell rang, waiting to walk her to the next. She thinks I’m insane, and maybe I am, but Dane said to start small. And for me, I guess being a‘psychopath stalker asshole’is what starting small looks like.
Not sure how chivalrous it is to walk a girl to her classes when she so clearly doesn’t want that, but it’s the closest I can get, considering she won’t allow me to do more.
For three days straight, I’ve shown up, waited for her to gather her things, then I walk her wherever she has to go. My attendance is officially shot to shit, but I’d say it’s worth it.
People are starting to notice. Not only that I’m clearly trying to make a statement by not giving up, but that Southside doesn’t seem to be caving. Not even a little.
Dane, Sterling, and Joss have appointed themselves as some sort of relationship council, advising me on what to do next, and they all support the decision not to give up. Joss thinks it’s romantic, the guys think it’ll show commitment. I’m not sure aboutanyof that shit, but I know I feel compelled to keep showing up.
Something I’ve come to know about Southside is that people have bailed on her. A lot. Despite having fucked up so bad, I need her to know I’m capable of sticking around, being consistent. I need her to know I’m capable of sensing what another human needs and becoming that. Even if it goes against who I am. For her.
Pandora’s firing off updates left and right as images flood her inbox, but no one’s completely sure what to make of my behavior.
Are me and Southside still a thing?
Am I still in the doghouse?
Am I obsessed and refusing to let her go?
My pride’s taking a beating, but I’m committed to this. Plus, nothing I’m feeling compares to what she’s felt this past week. Takes a real badass to go through what she’s been through and keep showing up. If I’m being honest, watching her keep her head held high makes me admire the hell out of her, and it makes sticking with my new—and somewhat humiliating—routine a little easier.
“Anything? Has she spoken to you yet?” Joss asks, popping a chip into her mouth.
We’ve started sitting at a small, round table so the rest of the crew can’t crowd us, listening to what have become daily strategy consultations. I peer up at Southside on the other side of the cafeteria with the question, watching her and Rodriguez.