My lips flatten because now he’s just making fun of me. “Okay, why don’t you try this answer on for size- I don’t really want to encourage someone who might or might not be stalking me. Does that work better for you?”
“Well, that at least is a more legitimate reason for not grabbing some food with me. But still, we both know I’m not stalking you.” He looks thoughtful for a moment. “I like to think of it as actively pursuing you.”
My face clouds with a healthy dose of fear and nervousness. “And what if I don’t want to be pursued?” I whisper the question and the smile all but falls from his face as we continue holding each other’s eyes.
In the next breath, he reaches out until his large hand carefully covers mine.
My eyes drop to our hands. Normally I don’t like being touched. When he grabbed my arm at that party, everything within me had seized up in panic. But his hand lying gently over mine right now doesn’t trigger anything. Actually, that’s a lie. It does do something to me… something I really don’t want to acknowledge.
Shaking my head just a bit I focus on his words. I can’t understand why he’s doing this. “You don’t even know me.” And I don’t want him to know me either. Not the real me. Not the one who made such a mess out of her life last year.
Holding my breath, I continue waiting for the sharp knives of panic to bubble up within me.
Surprisingly they don’t.
He squeezes my hand gently before my eyes bounce back up to his. “What I already know makes me want to find out more. Is that so hard to believe?”
I gulp before dragging my eyes from his. As I do, I exhale a slow shaky breath before carefully slipping my hand out from under his larger one.
“I don’t date.” That is non-negotiable. There are rules I’ve set in place for myself this year. And from what I’ve learned, the biggest problem with rules is when you start bending or blatantly breaking them, suddenly there isn’t anything to stop you from totally disregarding them and careening out of control.
And I can’t afford to careen out of control.
Not again.
When I had started at Western a couple of weeks ago, I’d been prepared for the anxiety attacks to start back up again, but they hadn’t. In the three weeks I’ve been on campus, the only attack I’d suffered from was when Cole had grabbed my arm. And that debilitating feeling was enough to give me serious pause where he’s concerned.
“How about a non-date then?”
Lost in my thoughts, I repeat with a small frown, “A non-date?” That sounds suspiciously like a sneaky way of actually going out on a date. Does he think I’m an idiot?
“Yeah, you know, just two friends grabbing something to eat.” One of his eyebrows hikes up across his forehead. “You hang out with friends, right?”
“Of course.”
Just not very often. I’m new this year and I’m not really the type of person who goes out of her way to make new friends. Sure, I hang out with Brooklyn. And I begrudgingly go out when she needs a wingman… or wingwoman.
But as for hitting up all the fraternity and off campus parties… in other words- hanging out, drinking myself silly with a crowd of strangers, and screwing around with random guys I’ll never speak with again?
Nope. I don’t do that. Not anymore.
Blinking, I try shaking off the icy cold memories that are trying to slyly wrap themselves around me. No, I can’t go down that road again.
“Cassidy?” Cole reaches out, tentatively stroking my hand with gentle fingers. “Are you alright?” Again I wait for thin threads of panic to seize me, but for some strange reason, they don’t.
Finally I force the stiff corners of my lips upwards. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Sliding my hand out from under his, I focus on gathering up my books before shoving them haphazardly into my brown leather bag. Still not looking at him, I shoot to my feet. “Dinner sounds great but I really need to get going. Sorry. Maybe next time.”
But there isn’t going to be a next time.
For someone so large, he’s surprisingly agile as he comes to his feet before towering over me. “You need more than just a protein bar if you’re going to get any work done at the library. Come on, you’ll probably end up with a killer headache if you don’t eat a decent meal. I promise we’ll find something fast so you can hit the books.”
Biting down on my lower lip, I hastily debate what to do. My eyes slide back to his as I weigh the consequences of spending any more time alone with him. He’s dangerous, my mind whispers. He makes you feel things you aren’t ready to feel.
“Okay.” Against my better judgment, I give in before emphasizing, “But this is not a date. It’s just like you said before- we’re just two people getting something to eat.” It doesn’t mean anything. My belly rumbles again as if re-solidifying my decision.
There’s a satisfied smile curving his lips upward like he just won that round. “So, you finally admit that we’re friends?”
I glare but just can’t summon any real anger towards him. “Don’t push it,” I mutter. Because we are so not friends.
Holding the door open for me, he grins instead. “Right.”
Walking out of the math tutoring center, I say good night to Lisa. Even though she waves back at me, her eyes are crawling all over Cole. Curiously I glance out of the corner of my eye to see if he notices the effect he has on the opposite sex. I remember the girl from last Friday when we were walking to class together and then the other one who had been waving rather frantically at him.
Cole seems to be a fan favorite with the girls at Western.
Well, they can have him as far as I’m concerned because I have zero interest in starting up anything with anybody. Nope. I am totally uninterested. Even if he is dreamy looking and smells delicious and has dimples that make my panties flood with moisture.
I almost wince at that incredibly damning thought.
He smiles congenially at Lisa, giving her a polite nod but nothing more. There is absolutely nothing flirtatious about his manner. No appreciative or lingering looks that I can see. In fact, there is absolutely no checking out of any kind going on here. Which is strange because Lisa is super cute. With all that long dark hair, cool blue eyes, and boobs that look as if they belong in a different zip code other than the one she’s currently standing in, she usually has the guys who stop in here for tutoring eating out of the palm of her hand.
And Cole doesn’t even blink in her direction.
Which, judging by the slight frown marring Lisa’s normally pretty face, she doesn’t understand either.
I almost wish he had checked her out right in front of me. It would make everything so much easier. Because I don’t want to like Cole. There’s already way too much to like about him. I can literally feel myself getting sucked in by him and I’m still trying to fight against the lure of it. But it’s beginning to feel more and more like a losing battle.
Hopefully this dinner will be short and sweet because I’m already regretting my decision to grab something with him. Instead of turning towards campus, like I expect, Cole walks towards the parking lot. “Where are we going?”
“My car is parked right over here. I thought we could grab something from Leno’s.”
This has me stopping in my tracks. “We’re not going to the Union?”
“Leno’s is only a few blocks away and the sandwiches are fantastic. Not to mention fast. Much better than anything we’ll find at the Union.” As if the subject has been settled, he once again starts walking through the parking lot. Twilight has just started to fall making the shadows stretch and lengthen. “Come on, Cassidy, I promise, forty minutes tops and then I’ll drop you off at the library, okay? If we go to the Union, you would have to walk all the way across campus. So, either way, it will end up taking the same amount of time. And the food is much better at Leno’s.”
Without consciously deciding, I slowly trail after him. I mean, what he says makes sense… sort of. As soon as I’m at his side, he rea
ches out, grabbing my fingers with his own. I glance down at our clasped hands before sliding my confused gaze to his. Of course he’s grinning. Something unwanted pings at the bottom of my belly.
I wish I could just get used to the way he makes me feel. Then it would be so much easier to ignore.
“This isn’t a date,” I repeat in a voice that sounds nothing like my normal one. It sounds more high pitched and twitchy.
“Whatever you say.” But his words don’t exactly sound convincing. Which only makes me twitchier.
Suffering from major regrets, he practically tows me through the filled parking lot until we finally arrive at his car. I stop, staring at it before one of my brows slowly slides up. “A Shelby Mustang?”
I watch as surprise flares in his golden eyes before a smile slowly spreads its way across his face. “Pure Detroit muscle, baby.” He strokes a hand rather adoringly over his car. Clearly there is a real love affair going on between them. I almost smirk. Maybe I don’t have anything to be worried about after all.
Letting my eyes slide back over the car, I can’t help the soft smile that touches my own lips because she really is a beauty. Electric blue with two thick white racing stripes down the middle.
“2008?” I ask, completely taken in by the gleaming Mustang before me.
My eyes continue trailing over the car as I wait for an answer. Although honestly, I’d be surprised if I was wrong. Feeling impatient, because I’m still waiting for a response, I finally glance over at him. I’ve seen enough muscle cars to identify Mustang make and models. Attending classic car shows was something my dad and I used to do together. Corvettes and Mustangs. Those were his favorites. Don’t get me wrong, I like Mustangs too. But I really love Camaros. It’s been well over a year since I’ve been to a car show. The smile slips just a bit from my lips.
When my eyes finally meet his again, he says in a completely serious voice, “I think I might love you, Cassidy.”
I snort knowing that he’s joking because guys are so like that about their cars. Anytime a chick knows even the slightest detail about a muscle car, or cars in general for that matter, their minds literally explode. It’s totally ridiculous not to mention sexist but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I get off on it just a teeny tiny bit.
Ignoring that little bit of nonsense, I run my hand over her sleek polished lines. And yeah, even I refer to them as hers. Weird, I know, but there’s just something beautiful and sexy, not to mention hot about muscle cars, so I completely understand why guys refer to them that way.
“Five hundred and forty horses and a V-8 engine. She’s gorgeous, Cole.” Then I glare at him, “You’re an idiot for keeping her here at school.”
He blinks his golden eyes once, then twice. “Say it again,” he murmurs. His voice is all thick and gravelly.
I lower my brows in consternation. “Gladly.” Then I repeat with more emphasis than the first time, “You’re an idiot.”
He waves a hand at me. “No, the other part. Just whisper it real slow-like. Maybe lick your lips a little bit.” Raising his brows, he waits expectantly.
Alright, I just can’t help it. I start laughing before shaking my head. “Come on, let’s go. I’ve got a lot of studying to get through. I can’t stand around here all night gawking at your precious car.”
Before I can open the door for myself, Cole is there, opening it for me. Just as I slide into the soft-as-butter leather seat, he reaches across me to fasten the belt as our eyes meet. I can almost feel the heat of his gaze singeing me from the inside out. My breath catches as our eyes hold for a long drawn out moment.
“That’s twice now, Cassidy. You better watch out because I’m on a roll.”
“Twice?” The word sounds slightly breathy… even to my own ears.
He clicks the belt firmly into place, his gaze still on mine. “That I’ve managed to make you laugh.”
Dragging my eyes from his, I stare out the windshield as I inhale a deep breath of air because he’s right.
That’s twice.
Two more than usual.
Dangerous my mind echoes again. Completely dangerous.
Chapter Six
“Okay Cassidy, you can go on back now, Dr. Thompson is ready to see you.” The receptionist smiles as she shuffles around a few papers on her perfectly tidy desk.
Giving her a brief smile in return, I walk through the door into the office of the psychologist I’ve been seeing for the last three weeks. I knew when I’d been accepted at Western this past summer that I would need to continue with my therapy sessions and thankfully Dr. Thompson has turned out to be the perfect fit.
Her office is decorated in soothing tans and whites with splashes or pops of blues and oranges that catch the eye. And yes, there is actually a couch but there are comfy chairs as well. I’ve been seeing a therapist now for the last nine months and in all that time, I have never stretched out on a couch or stared at ink blots.
Although, I suppose I could have if I’d wanted to.
Being a creature of habit, I always pick the same chair. I’m sure that says something about me but I have yet to ask. Dr. Thompson usually sits directly across from me with a notebook close at hand in case she wants to jot down a few notes. In the beginning, I used to find that disconcerting- I just wanted to take a quick little peek to see what she was writing about me, but now it seems normal. Okay… I’m not going to lie, I still want to take a peek at that notebook.
Once we’re both settled, Dr. Thompson starts off our session just like she always does. There’s some measure of comfort in our established routine that instantly calms my frayed nerves.
“So, tell me how this week has been going for you.” Her kind eyes hold mine as if she is genuinely interested in my answer.
Taking a deep breath, I quietly push out the dreaded words. “I had an anxiety attack last Thursday night.”
I can tell this catches her off guard by the way her narrow brows quickly draw together. She knows this is the first episode I’ve experienced here at school. It’s actually the first one I’ve had in a really long time. Months. Another wave of apprehension washes over me because I’m absolutely terrified of backsliding. I’m terrified of tumbling back down into that yawning pit of despair I only recently crawled out of.
“Okay, so tell me exactly what happened, Cassidy.” Her words are calm, soothing. In response, I instantly feel myself begin to relax again. If there’s someone who can help me through this, it’s Dr. Thompson.
Nodding, I slowly recount everything that occurred Thursday night. I tell her about my interaction with Alex and then with Cole.
“Had you been drinking at all? Even a tiny sip?” Her words aren’t censorious, merely curious. Like me, she’s simply trying to get to the bottom of what triggered the attack.
“Just diet cola.” I haven’t had a sip of alcohol in more than nine months. Not since that night…
She gives me a small smile before jotting down a few notes. “Just making sure.”
I nod, feeling the anxiety of that night thread its way through my body before slowly rolling over me like a massive wave. I don’t want to let it suck me back under again but I don’t know how to stop it from happening.
“So, he grabbed your upper arm from behind and spun you towards him,” she clarifies quietly.
“Yes,” hearing her describe it like that has me actually feeling as if my throat is closing up, as if I can’t suck in enough oxygen. As if I’m being strangled from the inside out. Eyes widening, my hands are suddenly clawing at my neck as if that will somehow loosen the pressure.
“Cassidy, I want you to look at me,” her words are firm but still soothing. My eyes fly helplessly to hers. “You’re safe in this office. Everything is fine. We’re going to work through this together. Okay?”
Unable to utter a single word in response, I simply nod my head.
“Now, I want you to close your eyes and relax into the chair.”
When I don’t immediately co
mply, she explains, “We’re going to engage in some breathing exercises to help calm you down, alright?”
Jerking my head in response, I lean back, squeezing my eyes tightly shut as the soothing timbre of Dr. Thompson’s deep voice washes over me. Any moment I’m going to start hyperventilating and totally lose it.
“I want you to focus on taking slow deep breaths. Inhale through your nose and then breathe slowly out through your mouth. In and out. Good. You’re doing wonderfully.”
I concentrate on her words. On breathing in before slowly pushing it out. Little by little I begin to feel my body relax. First my fingers and toes. Then my arms and legs. After a while, everything feels limp as a noodle as she continues to murmur quietly. When she finally finishes, I sluggishly peel open my eyes, realizing that I no longer feel as if I’m being choked.
“Better?” She asks before sitting back and watching me closely.
“Yes, much better.” No longer does my body feel strung tight, riddled with anxiety and icy cold panic.
“Okay, good.” Then she asks rather gently, “Do you feel like you might need a prescription at this point?”
Taking another deep breath, I turn the question over in my mind. I have nothing against taking pills if they’re needed but… “No. It only happened once and I really don’t want to start taking anything again.”
I’ve been down that road before. And the last thing I need is to travel down the familiar path of it again. I want to try handling this on my own.
“Okay. I understand your feelings and I respect them but you need to promise me that if you experience another attack, you’ll call the office right away. Even though you don’t want to, we may need to revisit this subject again.”
“I will, I promise.” But my hope is that it won’t be necessary.
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