Every Little Secret (Second Chances #2) (3 page)

I stop at The Watering Hole, inside the Campus Activity Center, and order breakfast and a coffee. I pretend to study. Not sure why I care what people think. Just because I’m sitting alone doesn’t mean I’m a bitch or a loser. It shouldn’t. This is college.
 

My eyes glaze over the text of basic math. The numbers jumble up. I understood this stuff the first day of class, but I can’t focus this morning. The one good thing about my dad is that he passed his smart genes onto me. The guy behind the counter calls my number. I grab my breakfast and sit down as the door whooshes open, bringing in the smell of fall.
 

A stream of students enter. Then behind them walks in Noah. What? Immediately I duck my head and pull my hair forward. I peek through. What’s he doing here? How come I’ve never seen him on campus? He’s the last person I want to bump into.
 

He waits in line, and his eyes briefly pass over the faces of the students crowding in line as if he’s looking for someone. Probably a girlfriend. His faded jeans fit perfectly as does the green T-shirt underneath his hoodie. Feelings of annoyance rush through me. Why is he all of a sudden showing up where ever I happen to be?
 

As he waits for his food, he grips his bag and stops looking around. Not the flirt I remember. Why isn’t he playing soccer anymore? Something hush hush happened in high school but I never cared enough to find out the truth.
 

My chest tightens and something’s flittering about in my stomach when I look at Noah standing there. God. What is my problem? Forget about him! He crashed onto the beach and into my life like some kind of sea God when I don’t need anyone’s help. He looked at me with compassion, like I’m some sort of screwed up girl he needs to save. Well, screw that.
 

 
He obviously has his own problems. Before he took off, the crazy look that washed over his face made it clear he has issues. He was standing there but his mind was someplace else.

Noah waltzes out while I’m still daydreaming. Suddenly I’m cramming the rest of my egg sandwich into my mouth. I grab my bag and my coffee and I’m out the door. I bump into a few people in my rush not to lose him. I feel the dirty glances but I don’t care. Nothing I’m not used to.

I stay behind him, watching his easy gait. He stays alone, mingling, mixing with the crowds but not a part of them. But then again, he’s not making much of an effort either. From what I remember he was quite the player in high school. There were stories I heard in the girls’ bathroom. Stories that made most girls swoon. But this Noah seems different. This Noah doesn’t match those locker room tales.

He takes a seat on a bench outside the main lecture hall and eats his breakfast, alone. He doesn’t seem to mind it or feel insecure about the fact. That annoys me even more. He seems to have found that confidence I need.
 

Without realizing, I’ve drawn closer but he’s unaware of the passing students, of the girls flashing him appreciative looks. He’s not playing the game or even trying to attract their attention.
 

“Hey, babe.”
 

Chad’s words knock me from my Noah reverie and I feel a hundred degrees hotter, like I’ve been caught in some scandalous affair. I turn and pretend indifference, but I notice his humble stance. He’s not grabbing my butt or trying to act all Alpha on me. I peek past him. Noah’s melting into the crowds. That flittering starts up in my stomach again. I shake it off, even more annoyed.

“Carly?”

Right. Chad. “Um, thanks for the flowers. It was very sweet of you.” Then I’m at a loss for words, what to say to smooth over the awkwardness that’s building.

He smiles and takes that as an opening. “Why are you on this side of campus? Isn’t your first class back in the main building?” His eyes narrow with suspicion. “Thanks for the apology, but is there something you need to tell me?”

I bite my lip, cursing the nervous gesture that I’d be able to see through in a second. I make up for it by flipping my hair and acting like I have all the time in the world. “It’s a beautiful fall morning.”
 

“Hate to break it to you, but you’re going to be late.”

His simple statement knocks some sense into me. “Shit. I’m going to be late!” I hurry back in the other direction.
 

“Are you feeling okay?” Chad easily keeps up with me.
 

I sense his curiosity. And it’s not a good thing. I ramble on about classes for the day and working for my dad later all the way up to my class door. At the last second, he pulls me aside. He grabs my hand, tracing the tops of my fingers.
 

His voice drops. “I don’t know what’s happening between us.”

I pause. I’ve never seen this vulnerability in him. His dark eyes pull me in and I remember why I fell in love with this guy. Without thinking, I lean forward and peck his cheek. “We’ll talk later.”

Then I duck into class but not before catching his lopsided grin. Why doesn’t it make my stomach go all aflutter anymore? And why am I reacting to someone I don’t even like? Hopefully that would be the last I’d see of Noah.

Noah

I shove my books into my bag when the prof ends my last class of the day. The crowd of students swallows me as we pass through the doors, anxious to be done. Just for a few seconds, they bring normal to my life. While I walk with them and their chatter and laughter surrounds me, I can pretend I’m one of them. Then the moment disappears and they disperse.
 

I’m alone again. The pavement beneath my feet is cracking in tiny slivers. I keep my eyes down. Every day is the same. Every day since the start of the school year.

If Haley could move on with her life, so could I. Even though every day has been the same: running in the morning, attending classes, studying in the library, working, then home for dinner, something is missing. My parents ask the same questions, but I’m distracted. I can’t get that night out of my mind.
 

That girl imprinted on my heart. Is that even possible? Or am I just falling into the trap of wanting to take care of someone?

Every girl with brown hair who walks past me grabs my attention. Her hair is not just any color brown. It’s the color of dark chestnuts. It doesn’t matter whether I’m on campus, at home, or at work, some part of me seems to be on the lookout for her. Even if I’m scolding myself. Reminding myself of the last time I fell hard for a girl. And I mean that last time to be the last time.

But those eyes. They spoke volumes, begging, pleading with me to rescue her. Whether she meant that to come across or not. Or maybe it’s all in my imagination.

A stiff breeze picks up. I walk faster and round the corner to head toward the parking lot. And there she is, sitting on the bench. Alone. Vulnerable.

I halt. My feet take root. I watch her. So beautiful. I don’t know Carly’s story. I have a feeling it’s not good.
 

She flips her hair and glances around. I hold my breath but she doesn’t notice me. Her eyes skim right past. Like maybe she’s looking for someone. Maybe me? Hell. She doesn’t even know I go here. I take three steps forward and stop.

Shit. I promised so many people I wouldn’t fall into the trap of taking care of people, of wanting to protect every broken person. This girl can take care of herself.
 

Like she could that night in the ocean
?

What would’ve happened if I hadn’t been there? Would she have drowned? I take more steps. Small ones. Her skirt lands mid-thigh and black boots reach her knees. I see only a sliver of her leg but wish I could see more. No one’s around. It’s getting late. Why is she alone?
 

“I know you’re there.”

Her voice rings out clear and sharp. Not the vulnerable girl I saw that night. For some reason, my insides dance. I can’t shake the nerves. I step closer and finally sit next to her. Her delicate hands grip the straps of her bag. I want to pry her fingers off and hold them.
 

“Are you okay?” I ask. Man, why do I sound like such a wimp? Tiptoeing around her like some pansy.
 

“Of course I’m okay.” She fiddles with her purse. For the first time she turns and stares at me, her eyes deep and soul searching. Then, she shifts her body so she’s looking away from me. Her shoulders tense as if to form a barrier between us. Like I crossed some sort of line by asking if she was okay. She checks her phone and crosses her leg, then rubs scuff marks off her left boot.

“If you don’t remember, you almost drowned. If I hadn’t arrived…” I leave the memory of that night hanging between us.

She swallows and her words barely make it out. “Thank you. I appreciate the fact that you were there.” After one longing glance at me that I don’t think she wanted me to see, she strides away, not looking back.

***

Every day, she brushes up against me in the hall. It’s either her arm against mine or her hip against mine or her hair brushing my shoulder. I swear she does it on purpose. But each time, she doesn’t look at me. Like it’s purely an accident.

Finally, after two weeks of her games, I approach her at the end of school. I lean against her locker and trace a finger down her arm. “You know you want me.”
 

She pauses, her hand on her English lit. book. Her lips press together, her face deep in thought. Without looking, she speaks softly but with determination. “I’m not one of your groupies, Noah.”
 

My heart pounds. I can’t stop the smile from spreading. I like this girl. A challenge. Maybe just maybe she’ll make me work for the relationship instead of throwing herself at me. After a while that gets old. Every weekend, at parties, I have my pick. Girls ready and willing to be my girlfriend after only knowing the basics. That I’m a soccer star and other girls want me too.
 

I lower my voice too. “I’d never want you to be.” In that moment, I know I have to go slow. Dalia and I are playing a game, a delicate dance. My plans to ask her out for that night disappear. She doesn’t want the player and she certainly won’t fawn all over me because I ask her out. “Well, have a good night.”
 

The next day I don’t even look at her. I play her game and walk past her, brushing up against her on purpose. The next week I stop at her locker again. But this time I don’t touch her. I don’t say a thing. I study her short brown hair, wanting to tuck it behind her ears. She has a strand stuck in her lipstick again.

“How’s it going?”

“Fine,” she says, hesitating.

“That Trig test was hell, wasn’t it?”

She shrugs. “It wasn’t too bad. I’m sure I aced it.”
 

“I wish I had that confidence in my math skills.” I drum my fingers against the locker next to hers.
 

“Yeah well, just invite Mr. Cummings to a soccer game and once he realizes you’re the star maybe he’ll see your math abilities in a different light.”

That one hurt but I let her words bounce off me. I’ve already stayed too long. “Have a good night.”

This goes on for the next month. I fantasize about her at night. I stay away from girls at parties, waiting for a chance. But she never approaches me and I know she won’t at a party. That isn’t her style.
 

***

I have to keep reminding myself that Carly isn’t Dalia. That was years ago. History doesn’t repeat itself that closely, right? It can’t. The way my body responds when I’m near her is the same. The way she barely talks to me is the same.
 

So why am I even thinking about chasing her? Fuck, she’s probably got a boyfriend and while she’s banging him, she probably doesn’t give me a second thought.
 

I assume she’d been drinking at The Salty Dog, so I’ve been popping by there more often. Not only to pretend that I’m not a twenty-four-year-old loser still living at home and still in college, but to make sure Carly’s okay.
 

I sit at the bar and order a beer. No shots for me. I have no desire to get plastered. I need my wits about me. Just in case. This place is perfect. When I sit at the far end of the bar I have a full view of the tables, but the shadows keep me somewhat hidden.
 

I don’t see Carly for a couple weeks. But I still come. Toward the end, I’m there every night. And it pays off. Finally, she walks in with some guy and his friends. He’s the typical bad boy with his boots and his leather jacket. Why are girls attracted to these kinds of guys?
 

I guess the same reason they’re attracted to the soccer stars in high school. A strange melancholy falls over me. I never thought five years ago, that I’d end up here. I was supposed to be out of college, either playing for a semi-pro team or starting a career and maybe a family. But those all seem like drops in the ocean. Long ago and forgotten.

I try not to look at Carly, but I’m drawn to the blue shirt that does this scoop thing in the front, accentuating her chest. The way it clings to her curves and begs me to touch her.
 

Immediately, she finds me. Her eyes cut into me. I stiffen and grip my beer. Great. Now I look like a stalker. I keep my gaze forward and watch the bartender mix drinks, but I keep my ears open.
 

They laugh and joke. I can’t help a smug smile because her laughter, even though it fills the bar, is too high-pitched, unnatural. Everything in me fights to walk over and ask her to take a walk. Maybe go get some ice cream. I have a feeling she’ll need something bigger than that to wow her. Something creative.

Her boots clicking on the floor tell me she’s walking this way. I tense but she walks past and into the bathroom. I don’t know why I’m fantasizing about her. If she found out or remembered my past, she’d be like everyone else and assume the worst, assume the circulating rumors are the truth.

I knock down the rest of my drink. Fuck. I should leave. The dark thoughts from my past want to suck me in and I haven’t let that happen for a while. I leave some cash under the peanut dish. Before I can leave, her light-perfumed scent surrounds me and her arm brushes against mine. The ends of her hair tickle my hand. I don’t need alcohol. She intoxicates me.