Campus is packed. A couple of people wave or say hi as I pass, but I’m already late for work and not really feeling like being social.
I spent way too much time in the shower, letting the hot water soak into me, as if it could heal me.
It didn’t.
My heart was still broken when I emerged, my skin pink and raw. I knew I was running late, too, but I couldn’t rush getting ready. I’d already run into Preston once before when I looked like hell. Red puffy eyes. Knotty hair. No makeup. I probably looked like I’d been hit by a bus. And the pity in his eyes was too much to handle.
So I never leave the house anymore without looking perfect. Or at least not like a homeless person.
The Cup, a coffee shop and cafe where I work, is located in the student center at the other end of the quad. I decide to take a short-cut through the Science building because there’s a bridge leading to the student center from there. Plus, it’s freezing cold outside.
I’m out of breath as I race up the stairs to the second floor. My feet hit the landing, but before I can reach for the heavy metal door, it flies open. My brain registers the danger, but I’m moving way too fast to stop myself as the door connects with my forehead.
Pain explodes behind my eye and across my cheek. I fall backward. My hands flail, searching for anything that might break my fall. Strong hands reach out and grab my arms.
“Shit, are you okay?” a guy asks.
I can’t answer. My vision blurs and the pain spreads like fire across my cheek. I keep my hold on the guy and sink toward the floor, holding both hands up to my eye. Something warm and sticky seeps from a gash above my eye. I pull my trembling hands away and force my eyes open. Bright red blood stares back at me and my stomach churns.
I close my eyes again and take a slow, deep breath in. I’m going to faint.
The guy who hit me throws his bag on the ground and unzips it quickly.
“Lean against the wall,” he says, easing me toward the cool cinder-block. He’s squatting beside me. “Watch your hands a sec. Let me clean this up so it doesn’t get infected.”
His voice is calm and soothing, but my heart is thumping and I’m close to tears. I never should have left the apartment. What if the rest of my life is just a series of painful events?
I lower my hands for him, but keep my palms up against my legs, not wanting to wipe the blood on my clean jeans.
He puts his hand under my chin and lifts my face up toward his. I feel vulnerable and exposed. Stupid. Who gets hit in the face by a door?
For the first time since I was hit, I really open my eyes and look at the guy who hit me. My mouth drops open slightly and I breathe in, a tingle spreading through my veins. He’s a few years older than me. A grad student maybe? And he’s hot as hell. I study him as he cleans my forehead with an alcohol swab.
His dark-blond hair is long and tousled, dipping down near the collar of his grey t-shirt. As he wipes the blood from my face, the muscles in his arms flex slightly and stretch the material at his bicep. His jeans are worn and his sneakers have holes in them. When he lifts his hand to my head again, I notice a tattoo on the inside of his wrist, but can’t see it well enough to make out what it says.
He looks up and sees me studying him. His eyes are hazel with flecks of bright green and something about him suddenly seems so familiar. In my daze I can’t quite place him.
He reaches back inside his bag and pulls out a bandage, placing it tenderly over the cut. His fingers linger against my cheek.
I briefly wonder what kind of guy carries alcohol swabs and bandages in his backpack, but the feel of his warm skin against mine distracts me. After being out in the cold wind, I wish I could lean into him.
“Were you a boy scout or something?” I ask, my hand fluttering up toward the bandage. When he looks confused, I add, “The bandages and alcohol.”
“Oh,” he says, smiling. “Med student.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I guess in terms of running into doors, I’m lucky there was a future doctor behind this one.”
“That was totally my fault,” he says. “I was in a hurry to get to the lab and I came barreling through the door like an asshole. You sure you’re okay? Do you feel lightheaded or anything?”
I shake my head and go to stand, but the room spins and I sink back down. “Maybe a little.”
“Hang on,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”
He stands and goes back inside to the main second-floor hallway.
I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes for a second, but everything spins and my stomach lurches. I open my eyes again and take several deep breaths. My hands are trembling.
My life is such a mess right now. I feel like I’m struggling against the tide, a strong undercurrent of sadness constantly dragging me back under. I can’t live like this.
The door behind me opens again, and I swipe at the falling tears.
Grey-shirt guy sits down beside me on the stairs. He hands me a plastic cup full of ice water. “This should help some,” he says.
“Thanks.” I take a sip of the water and hold it in my mouth for a while, letting the cold of it counteract the rolling nausea in my stomach. I swallow and feel the cold liquid make its path down my throat. “Do you need to be somewhere?”
He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I want to stay and make sure you don’t need to go to the med center.”
“I’m fine, really,” I say. I’m not even close to being fine, but he’s a stranger and he doesn’t need to know that. “You said you were rushing somewhere.”
He leans back against the stair rail. “It’s not important,” he says, his hazel eyes staring straight through me. As if he knows I’m not alright. “Were you heading to a class? I don’t think I’ve seen you in this building before.”
“No,” I say with a laugh. “I was on my way to work.”
“Just my luck,” he murmurs.
I turn my head to the side. “What does that mean?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, the smile taking over his face now.
I can’t tear my gaze away from his lips. My stomach flutters and I swallow, feeling slightly breathless.
I want to ask him more, because I feel like there’s more to it than that. But I’m crazy late for work and I can’t afford to lose my job.
“I should probably get going,” I say. I stand slowly and wait for the head rush, but I actually feel okay.
He stands and grabs my bag for me. “You sure you’re feeling up to it? I can wait with you here for a while longer if you want,” he says.
I shake my head. I have a pounding headache, but I don’t think sitting here is going to cure it. “I’m fine. I’m actually pretty late.”
“I’ll walk with you, then,” he says. He opens the door to the second floor and I walk inside. “It’s the least I can do after slamming into you like that.”
I study him for a second. He’s been so sweet and attentive and now he’s offering to walk me to work? Talk about a good bedside manner. I thought men like this only existed in fairy tales or made-for-TV movies. There’s got to be something wrong with him.
And if there’s not, he’s way too good for me anyway. Besides, my heart is too broken to even think about being attracted to someone else.
“I’m good,” I say. I hand him my empty water glass. “Thanks, though. See you around…?”
“Judd,” he says. His fingers brush mine as he takes the glass. “Judd Kohler.”
My stomach flutters again, catching me off guard. I turn fast and nearly smack into a water fountain jutting out of the wall. I stumble around it, blushing.
When I get a few steps further, he calls out to me. “Wait.”
I stop and look back at him.
“You didn’t tell me your name,” he says.
“Bailey,” I say, unable to control the smile that spreads across my face.
He raises his hand in a wave. “Be careful around doors, Bailey.” he says.
“I will.” I raise a hand in a half-wave as I disappear down the bridge toward the student center.
It doesn’t occur to me until I get all the way to the door of The Cup that I haven’t stopped smiling.