Strength (Mark of Nexus #1) (12 page)

Talk about a load of crap.
I plastered on a fake smile and stuck out my hand. “Let me read yours.”

“Okay!” She handed the magazine over and pulled her legs up to her chest eagerly.

“Let’s see, Gemini…” I covered my face with the pages, not bothering to actually read them. “You will meddle in the affairs of others and be punished as a result.” Before she could say anything, I pitched the magazine across the room. “Oh my gosh! It was right!”

Gabby’s face contorted into something murderous as she hauled herself up and stomped after it.

“Are you guys always like this?” Wallace asked.

“Huh?” I tilted my head back to find his face bent over mine, blue eyes amused. A familiar heat torched my skin as I struggled to form coherent thoughts. “T-That’s just how we...roll.”
Look away. Look away!

Something cracked against my knee, and I let out a yelp, averting my gaze.

Gabby stood over me with the rolled up magazine. “
So
not cool.” She shook it a few times for threatening emphasis.

I laughed. Who would have ever thought I’d spend a Thursday night in the basement with these two? Better yet, who would’ve thought I’d enjoy it?

Fifty-some minutes passed in a leisurely stream of conversation. The only interruption came when Gabby got a call. She finished up and tapped something on the phone’s screen. “Okay, gotta jet.” She pocketed the device, sprang from the floor, and dropped my magazine on the bench. “Mavey’s taking me to The Drag.” She wrenched her dryer open and tossed the nearly dried garments into her basket. “You guys want to come with?”

I shook my head. The Drag was a seedy bar on the corner of Lenox St. and Drake Ave. There was no way in hell Wallace would be up for going to a place like that. “He goes to church,” I explained, dismissing the invitation.

“Oh, okay.” She accepted the excuse easily enough, and I was proud of her for internalizing whatever had gone on inside that warped brain of hers. She bent down to grab her basket. “You up for it?”

“Nah, I think I’ve sworn off socializing for a while.” Socializing, of course, meant drinking—or anything else that made me feel like death warmed over.

She shrugged and sauntered toward the door. “Suit yourself.”

“Wait.” I cocked my head to the side. “Did you say Mavey, as in Maverick? You’re seeing him again?”

It was practically unheard of. Only once before had I seen her encourage any kind of follow-up communication with one of her bed buddies, and that was the D-bag who ended up cheating on her freshman year. She’d acted indifferent, but I knew it really messed with her head.

“Yeah, I guess.” She jerked on the door handle. “Is that a problem?”

“No.” It wasn’t like I wanted to call her out on it. If anything, it was a good sign. Unless…“Hey, make sure you take it back to
his
room this time.”

One of the dryers buzzed as her lips pulled back into a wicked curve.

“I’m serious!” I didn’t care if Jinx was in Maverick’s room or not. I was
not
getting kicked out of my room overnight again.

“I hear ya.” She laughed, bumping the door back with her rear end. “Catch you guys later. It was nice to see you, Ace!”

The door clicked shut, and another dryer buzzed.

Wallace looked a little confused, hesitating before he moved to get his clothes from the dryer.

“Sorry about that.” I got up and pulled my own dryer door open, reveling in the heat that swirled out to greet me. It smelled like fields in bloom, and I inhaled deeply. “She has a thing for giving people nicknames.” I glanced around the door. “Sometimes she calls me Ree.”

“It’s fine.” He shook his head and went about his business, not bothering to look at me.

An awkward silence settled between us as I folded my clothes, laid his on the bench, and cleaned out the lint trap.
Gross.
The muted rainbow of fuzz definitely belonged to more people than just me. I shuddered, flinging it into the trashcan.

“So, I’m a church guy?” His voice startled me as it echoed around the empty room. “That’s my new category?”

I stopped gathering my things to look at him. “What?”

“Well, you spoke for me and used it as an excuse, so I assumed it was my new title. I guess I should be happy I’m not the crazy guy anymore.”

My nerves twitched. I did say that, didn’t I? It hadn’t even occurred to me that he might’ve taken offense. “I’m sorry. Did you want to go? I can call her or some—”

“I didn’t want to go.” He crossed the space between us in two long strides, laying my clothes in a neat pile atop my basket. “I was just wondering what one had to do with the other.”

I felt sick to my stomach, realizing how I’d come across. “I just figured, since you’re so religious, you wouldn’t want to go bar hopping with people. I really didn’t mean to insinuate anything.”

When he didn’t reply, I grabbed his clothes from the bench and folded them. “Sorry, uh, here. Thanks for letting me borrow them.”

He took them, and his hands brushed mine for the briefest of seconds. “You’re welcome.”

We stood there for a moment, both hesitating, and I couldn’t look away. Sometimes he just stared at me, like he could see into the depths of my soul or something. It was unnerving, but at the same time, stirred some kind of response in me. Time hung in the air around us…

Until the door screeched open and a girl barged in, toting a massive laundry bag.

He cleared his throat and shut both dryer doors before turning his back to me. With quick, fluid movements, he grabbed his basket and set it on the bench. Before I could say anything, he took mine and set it on top of his.

“What are y—”

“C’mon.” He hefted them both without so much as an awkward grimace, making the act look effortless as he strode past, eyes locked on the door.

It irked me a little.

“Aww! My boyfriend never carries my laundry.” The girl stared at us with googly eyes, her lips tilted in a wistful smile.

“Oh…no. He’s not my…we’re not…” I shook my head and waved her off. “Not my boyfriend, sorry.” My face burned as I ducked my head down and trotted past him. With a quick twist of the handle, I opened the door and jerked my chin for him to slip past.

“Thanks.”

“You too, Hercules
.”
I followed him into the hall and pushed the call button for the elevator. “You really don’t have to do that, you know. I’m fully capable of carrying my own basket.”

He leveled me with a heavy gaze. “It’s fine.”

“Are you mad at me?”
Did I just say that out loud?

One dark eyebrow lifted. “What?”

“Nothing,” I muttered, looking down at my shoes. “You’re not just some church guy, okay?”
Not just some church guy?
What was wrong with me tonight? The semi-truck of failure had rounded the corner, and I was caught in its headlights.

Ding!

I leapt at the chance to escape the conversation, even though it meant having to hold the doors open. For once, my fear of looking stupid outweighed my fear that the elevator would chomp on my arm. Saving face was more important.

“Don’t worry about it.” He maneuvered around me to stand in the middle of the small compartment. “It’s fine.”

I drew in a deep breath and slowly released it, stepping back to press the buttons for the fourth and seventh floors. “I’m just trying to say I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about you or your church, and it was stupid of me to assume.”

“Do you want to?”

I leaned back against the metal bar, eyeing him. “Want to what?”

“Know.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, keeping a firm grip on the baskets. “You can come check it out, if you want. Maybe it’ll convince you I haven’t taken some monk oath.”

“Um…” I looked up and watched the floor numbers change. “Sure, I guess that would be cool.” Claustrophobic thoughts of a stuffy sanctuary sprang to mind, and I did my best not to shudder. I wanted to spend time with him, but church was so…

“Hey,” he spoke up as the doors chimed open on the fourth floor. “You don’t have to. I’m just giving you an open invitation.” He stepped out into the hallway. “I’d even give you a ride.”

I opened and shut my mouth, following after him. “You’re going to miss your elevator.”

He fixed me with another look—only this time, his eyes softened with the slightest bit of understanding. “Point taken.”

“Wait!” I waved my hands out, blocking the doors “No. I mean, sure. What else am I doing Sunday morning? Well, not to say that it’s unimportant. I…I will go. Yes.” With frazzled nerves, I marched around the corner, toward my suite door. If he’d come off the elevator, he was obviously willing to carry the thing to my room.

A chill shot down my spine. Was he going to come in? Had I left the place dirty? I wrenched the suite door open and bumped it back with my hip. When he caught it, I set to work on the lock, hoping to get in first to make a quick sweep.

“Sounds good.” He set the baskets down on the couch and pulled mine off the top. “Want to just meet me in the lobby around quarter ‘til nine?”

“That’s fine,” I said as he loaded the basket into my arms. “Thanks again.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The corners of his lips lifted, and I felt a little lighter. “I guess I’ll see you then.”

I watched as he grabbed his own basket and shifted it to open the door. “Y-Yeah, okay. See ya.” I couldn’t help but smile back as he gave me a quick, departing nod and disappeared into the hallway.

He never had any intention of using the neo-chivalry bit to wedge himself into my room. That, alone, could’ve separated him from half of the male population at Wilcox. Now he was taking me to church? I gave the door a shove and finagled my way inside. That man definitely kept me on my toes.

And I was starting to like it.

Chapter Thirteen

By the time Sunday morning rolled around, I’d already talked myself out of a dress. It was just a small chapel outside of campus. Would they really get that bent out of shape over something as stupid as dress code?

Maybe.

I didn’t care, though. After much deliberation, I’d paired my dark, silk blouse with an ash gray skirt, and a pair of black tights. If that wasn’t conservative, I didn’t know what was.
Now who’s rockin’ the winter tights, Cafeteria Girl?
I grinned.

As soon as the elevator arrived on the ground floor, I headed straight for the lobby. For whatever reason, I couldn’t stand the thought of Wallace having to wait for me. He’d probably be scorned for dragging in a heathen as it was. I wasn’t going to add tardiness to his charges.

“Wow.”

I recognized his voice before I spotted him leaning against the wall, one leg bent in a casual stance, looking handsome as ever. I flicked a glance over my shoulder, trying to find the source of his praise. “What?”

“You…” He pushed off the wall and turned his head, carefully avoiding my eyes. “You look good. Not that you don’t always…look good. You look great.” He forged ahead, pushing the door open. “We should go.”

My heart gave a squeeze as I slipped past him. That
was
a compliment, wasn’t it? “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he muttered, shoving his hands down into his pockets as we made for the parking lot. The sun was bright against the snow, and I immediately missed my sunglasses. Thankfully, the one thing I’d gotten right had been my choice of footwear. From the knees down, I was all snug and warm in my gray boots. No heel.

He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and strode ahead to a black, salt-covered Ford F-150. “Sorry, I should’ve had it warming up.” He unlocked the passenger door and held it open, offering me a hand up. “I guess I’m not used to having someone with me.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” I reached up to get a good grip and grasped his hand. The contact, though brief, burned amid the icy temperatures, and I struggled to find the foothold before he hoisted me into the cabin. “Th-Thanks.”

He nodded, checking again to make sure I was clear before he shut the door.

I buckled my seatbelt while he walked around the truck. The seat’s chill was already starting to seep through my skirt, but it didn’t matter. With us being on our way to church, it was probably best to ice downstairs anyway.

He climbed inside. “Ready?”

“Mhmm,” I managed, watching as he fastened his own seatbelt. vzyl

A low buzz pulsed from his pocket, and he pulled his phone out just enough to see the caller ID. “Ugh.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, cramming it back down in his pocket. “It wasn’t anyone important.”

The chapel was at least three minutes away and I had, at best, two minutes of small talk prepared. I ran my palms down the front of my skirt as the truck rumbled to life. What else could we possibly talk about?

As if reading my mind, Wallace reached over and twisted a knob on the dash. Familiar music pounded through the speakers, and the tension inside the cabin melted away.
My hero.