"Oh … "
The air in that small room went a little still, like nothing else moved around us, not the flickering of the lights overhead or Lenny's low humming a floor below where he was mopping the marble tiles around the Reference section. The sound was soft, could be plainly heard from the open balcony below.
In that moment, I could only look at Isaac, a million thoughts and wishes floating through my mind, pumping the blood thick in my ears. Hopes too, those came rushing to the surface, silly, stupid things I knew would never happen, like Isaac telling me who we were didn't matter or, better still, like him taking my face between those big palms before he moved close, close enough to level his mouth over mine.
"I know … I mean, it was rude … "
"It feels better." He stretched his fingers again, ignoring my apology as he leaned forward, sending a jolt of surprise through my body when he got close enough that I could see just how thick and long his lashes were and that he had the faintest scar along his left cheek. He reminded me of a feather floating from the sky on a still, cloudless day where no wind rustles the trees and the air is thick with heat. Isaac moved in that same, minutely still movement, fractions of inches that made up the single stroke of his thumb over my cheek and the slow, smooth sweep of him touching my face like I was something unusual-an alien he thought he'd never see up close.
I wanted to melt into that touch. I wanted him to stretch those fingers again, rest his palm against my face to have the smallest hint of what his touch would do to me; if it would cool or heat me, devour me with sensation.
"Isaac … " It was the smallest whisper of word, something that felt like a promise I wanted to make, but he blinked at the sound and his face shifted to an amazed, shocked wonder as though he'd only just realized what he was doing. When he pulled his hand away, I wanted to stop him, bring back that touch without him arguing. But Isaac was stubborn and there were those hard-lost habits he held onto like beliefs he'd never give up.
"I appreciate you helping me ease the pain and with my application essay, Miss Riley." He stood up, backed away from the table and my chest ached, Isaac's dismissal a real thud of pain inside my heart.
"Isaac, wait a second, please."
He'd nearly made it to the stairwell, tucking the rolled up Cullen paperback into his back pocket. He didn't turn, not right off and let me come a little more than ten feet from him before he faced me.
"You got a fella, don't you Miss Riley?"
That stopped me cold and I did my best to ignore the flush I felt warming my face. "How..."
"Folk talk around here. Folk who see you smiling at me, the same folk that tell me I need to steer clear of you, especially since you got that Trent fella picking you up most Saturday nights, taking you to places I could never go." He took a step closer, but if felt likes miles from me, those passive accusations that were nothing more than the truth thickening the space between us. "Lincoln ain't that big of a campus, Miss Riley. Janitors like me and the fellas who trim the hedges at your dorm, their cousins and women who clean out the bathrooms, they all talk. They all tell me about you because they know we here, all alone, so you can help me get into Lincoln."
"I … I don't care what people say."
He moved his jaw, working his teeth together so that the muscles along the side of his face flexed. "Sometimes, you got to. Sometimes what people say are the things that get the wrong people moving toward something stronger than words." Isaac tapped his finger to his temple before he frowned, making me feel, for the first time, like I was the one who needed lessons. "It's like I always say, we don't live in the same world. We won't ever." When I only stared at him, unable to keep my eyes from glassing over, Isaac lowered his shoulders, giving up something-a small, nearly insignificant thing he wouldn't be sorry to see go-that softened his features and took the snap from his tone when he spoke. "I don't say these things to be mean … "
"I know you don't." Those weren't just words spoken to ease the guilt he might have felt with his small rejection. But that didn't mean my chest had stopped aching or that I'd rush to explain myself. Trent wasn't my "fella". Not like he pretended he was, and I knew people would gossip about me and Isaac up on the fifth floor organizing his letters of recommendation, trying to make his essay seemed eloquent and appealing to the admissions board. We'd done that away from the gossip I knew circled around campus, just the two of us, cloistered from anyone who'd interrupt.