Even the one she might have chosen was out of bounds. He had already paired up with some other person—though she doubted it would have mattered if he hadn’t. He was still a man. He was still tall and broad and probably aggressive, no matter how much he disguised it behind all of that soothing stillness.
The soothing stillness was probably just a front.
Though fuck, it really didn’t look like it.
The girl he was with seemed as nervous as a bird—more nervous than her, in truth. But that didn’t appear to faze him in the slightest. She accidentally threw the talking stick that Gray Plait handed out, and he just caught it effortlessly. As if the throw had been intentional, instead of a clumsy mistake.
At the very least, he made it seem like no big deal.
And the way she was chewing her hair—that was no big deal either.
He didn’t look at it. He didn’t draw attention to it. He didn’t ask her to stop. Instead, he waited patiently for her to relax enough to let it go.
But it was something else she really noticed.
He kept his hands in his pockets, the whole time. Other guys in the room—they touched arms and shoulders and gestured wildly in the air. They invaded space, in a way they didn’t even seem aware of. Hell, she hadn’t been aware of something like that, before The Incident.
Now, it was all she could see or think about or feel.
And he didn’t do it one single goddamn time.
It was like he not only created his own forcefield, but somehow built one around the girl, too. And oh, it was a sight to see. For a full minute, Lydia just watched him dance around that invisible barrier, always careful to avoid every possible arm brush or accidental touch.
Until finally, the girl tried to cross to him.
She was the one who put a hand out. She was the one who leaned forward. She even went to touch his arm in a way that made Lydia hold her breath.
But the breath holding was for him.
It was all for him, somehow.
Not that he really needed it.
He was ready for that hand. He seemed to know it was coming—as if his awareness of everything around him was always turned up to eleven. And when it got within an inch of him, he did something so awesome it almost made her laugh.
He turned into that touch, so that it just sort of glanced by him. Then he made the girl look at something else, instead of focusing on the hand he’d just avoided. And he did it so effortlessly, so perfectly, so seamlessly that she could hardly stand it. To be so cool about it, to be so kind at the same time, to not compromise himself or offend her in one glorious move…
God, it made her gnash her teeth with envy.
* * *
She found her best friend asleep on the couch, in pajamas three hundred sizes too big for her. Her boyfriend Tate’s pajamas, Lydia guessed, but Tate himself was nowhere to be seen. Most likely, Letty had sent him to bed, so it could just be them. So they could talk, over the two mugs of cocoa Letty had already prepared. And sure enough, within moments, Letty was up, all sleepy eyed and big curls, questions at the ready.
“So how did it go?” she asked, as she handed Lydia a mug.
Though, it was obvious her friend already knew.
Letty’s left leg was jiggling like crazy.
Lydia had to force a laugh into her voice just to stop said leg from flying off.
“About as well as I imagined in all of my worst nightmares.”
“So as bad as the counsellor who made you listen to Enya, then.”
“Worse. There was a circle of plastic chairs.”
Now the horror on Letty’s face was only pretend, thank god.
And it was accompanied by eye rolling of the highest order.
“Oh god, the dreaded circle of plastic chairs.”
“And the group leader wore socks with sandals.”
“Lord, why do they always have to wear socks with sandals?”
“Plus, of course, every single person stared at me, throughout,” Lydia said.
Then immediately wanted to take it back. That was way too close to her real feelings. In fact, when she said the words the sense of everyone watching her came flooding back.
But luckily, Letty didn’t notice. Or, at least, she pretended not to.
She just sipped her cocoa and shook her head, then said in that withering tone Lydia liked best, “I can’t imagine anything else in this hellish nightmare, to be honest.”
“Then to cap it off, the coffee was pure evil.”
“Well, to be fair, I did warn you about the coffee.”
Lydia nudged her friend, with the tip of her sneaker. “You said it was usually weak and too bitter at group therapy things. You didn’t say it would taste like milk from a zombie’s tit.”
“Yeah, but that’s because only you could come up with such a majestic description.”
Lydia laughed, at that. A real laugh, too.
Or at least, as real as her laughs got, now.
“Confession: I did spend the bus ride across campus trying to think it up.”
“And that is the main reason why I adore you.”
“Thank god. Because I think the other reasons are all gone.”
Silence fell, then. A thick silence that made her want to take back the words.
But Letty swooped in before she could. ”They’re not really gone at all—they’re just buried. Something will help you find those parts of yourself again,” she said, and the strangest thing happened when she did. For once, Lydia didn’t feel like rolling her eyes. She didn’t want to tell Letty no, or maybe disappear before frustration made her cry. Instead, she thought of one thing.
The guy from the meeting.
The one with the forcefield.
He was the something, she knew.
Now she just had to work up the courage to ask.
Chapter Two
Lydia fully intended to go up to him, the second she got to the meeting. But then she actually saw him across the already crowded room, and the sheer stupidity of the idea smacked her clean in the face. They were total strangers. He literally did not know her from Adam.
She could have been a complete psycho, for all he knew.
And even if he—by some miracle—welcomed her questions, right now, she couldn’t think of a single reasonable one. I was wondering if you could tell me how you dodged that girl’s hand so effortlessly seemed intrusive. Could you possibly share forcefield tips sounded insane.
There was no way she could do this.
She couldn’t even meet his gaze, truth be told. He turned his head just as she found him amongst the crowd, and she immediately pretended something else had caught her eye. There was a sign above his head about good oral hygiene, of all things, and she focused on that, instead. She focused on everything and anything in the room, except for him.
And it worked.
She made it to the end without making a fool of herself. She didn’t accost him with ridiculous questions. There were no awkward interludes, between them both. In fact, she barely looked his way again after that first time. She kept her eyes to herself until everyone had filed out of the room, and even then, she only looked up so she could see where the exit was.
It wasn’t her fault that he was still in his seat.
Or that her eyes were automatically drawn to him.
He was the only person in the room now—of course, she looked.
But she swore she wouldn’t say anything to him.
Only to have him fuck that vow all to hell.
“You know, if there was something you wanted to ask me, you can ask it,” he asked, so soft and abrupt at the same time that she didn’t have a choice: she had to answer. And she did. Clumsily, awkwardly, with way too much head shaking.
“Oh no. No. I didn’t have anything to ask. Not even one little thing.”
“Really? Seemed like you were trying to catch my eye.”
“Nope. Actually, I was just looking at the poster above your head.”
/> “All seven times you glanced over at me? Or just the first time?”
She attempted a snort. “I didn’t glance over seven times.”
“But you did glance once.”
A big part of her wanted to be mad, then. At the very least, it felt as if she should be nervous, about this strange guy trapping her into what felt like a verbal labyrinth. But somehow, neither feeling took hold. He was just too calm in his approach, too gentle about it. His hands stayed in his pockets the whole time they talked. He didn’t get up. He didn’t lean towards her aggressively.
And she noticed something else, too.
He’d switched seats somewhere between the end of the meeting and now.
As if he’d known that his former position in front of the door would have seemed suspicious. Like he was blocking her way, instead of just casually offering her what she’d wanted all along.
And she did still want it. “Fine. You got me. I may have had a question.”
“Okay. So, hit me with it.”
“I don’t want to hit you with it.”
“Then just brush it against me gently.”
“That sounds better. But still not ideal.”
“Is there an ideal way to do this?” he asked, in a manner that would normally be accompanied by an eyebrow raise. If it had been anyone else—Tate for example, with his constantly animated face—she would have definitely gotten one.
But this guy’s face remained as still as a stone statue of himself.
Even after she joked, “I was thinking semaphore from two separate hills.”
“Sounds good. Unfortunately, I’m shit out of flags right now. And hills.”
“Guess I’m just going to have to do it with my vocal cords then, huh?”
He didn’t say anything, then.
He just waited, as patient as he had been with that girl.
God, did he understand how good his patience was? She didn’t know.
But she knew she could tell him things, at the very least. “That girl you were paired up with. It was really cool how you were with her.”
“Not sure that was really a question. Though it was a lot gentler than I’d imagined.”
“What were you imagining, exactly? Me demanding all the intimate details of your life?”
“Something like that.” He paused, in a way that reminded her of the smile he’d given at the very beginning. That same sense of measuring something out, followed by well-considered words. “It usually goes that way.”
“Not with me. I can’t even ask you how you got so good at guarding yourself.”
“Oh, I don’t know. That seemed like a pretty skillful way to bring it up.”
She tried not to grin, at those words. And failed, completely. “Yeah I was pretty proud of myself for that. Seemed more like the real me.”
“I take it the real you was good at talking to total strangers.”
“The real me was amazing at talking to strangers.”
“And now you think that ability’s gone.”
“I know it has. I mean, just check out this stilted conversation.”
She spread her hands, as if to demonstrate.
But he wasn’t biting. “The last thing I’d call this is stilted. In fact, for me, this is practically the Algonquin Round Table.”
“So, full of angry depressed people bitching at each other.”
Something happened with his face then—a twitch of his cheek, a hint of curl at the corner of his mouth. But whatever it was, he tamped it down as soon as it began. He kept his expression neutral, and his words even. “I meant in terms of the amount of talking going on.”
“So, usually you just grunt something noncommittal and cut out.”
“Even the word grunting is a little generous for what I prefer to do.”
“Well, you don’t seem to be doing to be doing so badly here.”
He regarded her steadily, then. The way people do when they try to work out if you’re lying, her mind said—but she couldn’t tell if that was true or not. His eyes were too black, his face too impassive.
And when he spoke, he still seemed so casual. “Yeah, I think that’s all on you. Nothing to do with me.”
“So if I was a different person, you’d be silent now?”
“Probably. At the very least, I’d be grunting noncommittally.”
“Guess I haven’t lost it as hard as I thought.”
“I’d say you haven’t lost it at all,” he said, after which she tried to respond right away. But as a gushing thank you was the only thing that came to mind, she found herself struggling. It was a full minute before she managed to speak, after which there was only one thing to say.
“And then, an ironic silence fell.”
“I don’t think that really counted as a silence.”
“No? What would you call it then?”
“A comfortable pause.”
“I wouldn’t have called it comfortable.”
“Oh believe me, in my world, that was comfortable.”
“So, usually your silences are agonizing?”
The question was out before she could stop it.
But he didn’t seem to mind. Or, at least, he didn’t let it show in his expression. And it wasn’t in his suddenly wry tone, either. “I’d sooner sit through a root canal than go through them.”
“It didn’t seem that way with the girl. Or rather, you didn’t let her feel it.”
“I’m bad at doing stuff like that. But I’m good at hiding it.”
“I’d say excellent at hiding it. I almost went out of my mind with envy when you dodged her hand without her even seeming like she was aware.”
“I don’t think that’s anything to be envious of.”
His voice dipped a little, in a way that should have been imperceptible. Probably it would have been, to anyone else. But he had been right—she hadn’t lost her knack for interacting with strangers. She was already starting to notice tiny differences in his tone and his expressions, when he said certain things or made an effort not to react to others. And she could use it too, to reassure him.
“Sure it is,” she said. “If you don’t want people to invade your space but have no idea how to be polite and normal about it. You know how many drinks I’ve spilt down the front of people who just wanted to shake my hand? The answer is a lot.”
“So maybe they shouldn’t be jabbing their hands at you.”
“People do jab way too much.”
“An obscene amount.”
“It’s ridiculous, really.”
“Why can’t people keep their hands to themselves?”
“I don’t know. But I do know that your attempt at make me feel better about it is really top notch. Just first rate,” she said, and knew it was true for two reasons: actual laughter was threaded through her words…
And somewhere in middle of that quick parry exchange she’d sat down.
She’d actually sat down in an empty room with a strange man.
Plus, she had no urge to get back up again.
“Well, I sure am glad I’m doing something right here,” he said.
“You’re doing a ton of things right. In fact, I’m not even sure what you think you’re doing wrong.”
“Everything. Always. Though, I’m doing my best to be cool.”
“To tell you the truth, the coolness is the only thing that’s bothering me. It’s like someone spliced the Fonz with the guy from Drive and then stuck him in a freezer for a thousand years. Just looking at you is giving my eyeballs chilblains.”
That steady gaze again. The sense of him carefully considering his words. Then an extra tiny bit of casualness, when he said, “Oh, I dunno. You seem to be holding your own on the coolness front.”
“Probably because some of your immense cool is rubbing off on me. I accidentally sniffed your leather jacket and immediately became ten percent less awkward.”
“You like the jacket, huh?”
“The jacket is fucking amazing.”
He checked it out, as if seeing it with new eyes. “I don’t see how. I got it at Goodwill.”
“You realize that only makes it more amazing, right? Now you’re not only cool, you’re effortlessly cool. You don’t even try. It’s just there.”
“If it’s any consolation, it doesn’t feel there.”
She tried not to roll her eyes. And failed. “Oh, I suppose now you’re going to tell me that you’re sweating bullets underneath that amazingly icy and stoic veneer.”
“I hadn’t planned on telling you that, no. But as you brought it up…”
“Man, now I’m even more envious. You would never guess. Never.”
“It just takes practice. All of it just takes practice.”
“Even the stuff that seems effortless?”
He paused. Then, “Especially, the stuff that seems effortless.”
“So, I guess you just stab yourself in the thigh until you can do it with a straight face.”
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly put it like that.”
“Then how would you put it?”
“Stand up, and I’ll show you.”
She wasn’t sure what was more remarkable: that he offered, or that she didn’t think twice about doing what he said. She just stood the second he said the words, then waited patiently for whatever he was going to do—as if she knew, somehow, that he wouldn’t make her regret it.
Though she was right to believe that.
He stood, but he didn’t come near her. He stayed a good five feet away, as if his forcefield protected her as much as it did him. And when he finally spoke, he just sounded so damned practical. “Okay I think the handshake thing is best to demonstrate. Sound good?”
“That sounds perfect, to be honest.”
“Good. Then you need to watch my shoulders.”
Her gaze flicked to them, automatically.
Though she couldn’t see exactly what he wanted her to.
Beyond their general broadness and solidity.
“Okay I’m watching them,” she said.
“Don’t look at my hands.”
“Got it. No hands.”
“You’ll want to look.”
“I do already.”
“But you’ve no need to. I’m not going to touch you.”
“I get that. I believe you on that.”
Never Better: A Dark Obsession Novel Page 2