My eyes widen. “My nose?”

  I’ve never had a bloody nose.

  He nods. “I’m so sorry. Hold on.”

  “It was my…”

  I was planning to say fault. Because it was my fault, not his. We both know it. But I can’t finish my sentence because he’s let go of me and is now reaching up under the hem of his jersey.

  Is he going to take his shirt off?

  There’s a tearing sound, and then his hands reappear with a strip of gray cotton.

  Did he…?

  His eyes meet mine again. “I’m sorry,” he says again. His frown deepens as he lifts his hand back to my cheek, only this time to wipe away a tear.

  “Did you just rip off a piece of your shirt?” I’m practically whispering, and I don’t know why.

  He nods like it’s perfectly normal to be able to rip a shirt to shreds when I know damn well I’d need some scissors to do what he just did.

  “There’s just a little…” He leans closer, stopping with his face inches from mine.

  “I’m okay. I swear.” I blink a few more times and reach up to brush away the lingering tears before he can. “I’m not crying.”

  The side of his mouth pulls up as he lifts the strip of shirt and dabs at the blood under my nose.

  “I’m not.” I catch another teardrop. “It just stings, is all.”

  His partial smile drops. “I’m really fucking sorry.”

  I huff, then wince. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have stopped like that. I just… got turned around.”

  “Yeah, well, if I hadn’t been right behind you like I was, we wouldn’t have collided.”

  I shake my head the smallest bit. He’s being nice, but he’s wrong.

  “Hold still.” He grips my chin again, and I still. Even hold my breath.

  He swipes below my nose once more. “I think it stopped. It was just a little bit.”

  The thumb against my cheek softly slides back and forth.

  “Thanks.” My lungs burn as I exhale.

  He’s so close.

  “Where are you going?” His eyes hold mine.

  Where am I…

  I have to swallow before I can answer. “Work.”

  Technically, I spun around because I was going to go to the cafeteria, but now, I want to hide in a dark corner until my shift starts.

  “Do you work in a restaurant?”

  I slowly shake my head. “No, why?”

  He grimaces. “I didn’t mean for that to come off stalker-y or anything. Just that—” He gently brushes his thumb over my cheek once more before lowering his hands. “You should probably put some ice on your nose to make sure it doesn’t swell. And if you worked in a restaurant…” He shrugs.

  “Oh, uh, I work at the library.” I stumble over my words.

  It’s so hard to think with him right there and smelling so good.

  He stands up to his full height again, imposing but no longer crowding into my space, and glances over his shoulder. “I bet you could get some ice at the caf. They’d probably have a bag or something you could put it in.”

  I shake my head before he even finishes the thought. I don’t think my heart could handle walking into the main cafeteria with this man. There would be too much speculation, from too many people, wondering what the big-deal jock is doing with the nobody nerd. And I don’t want to deal with that if I don’t have to. Especially since I’d be dealing with it while holding a bag of ice on my face.

  He accepts my denial, probably thinking I don’t have time. “If there’s a vending machine at the library, get two cans of pop and press them here for a bit.” He holds his pointer fingers vertically along the sides of his nose to demonstrate. “It’ll help. Promise.”

  “If you promise.” I blush the instant I say it. I’m not trying to flirt, but that sounded pretty flirty.

  I shift my weight off my bad ankle and focus on breathing evenly.

  He smirks. “I have some experience with these things.”

  “Crashing into girls?” I ask before I can stop myself.

  His smirk turns into a smile. Like a full smile. And it’s wild how good looking he is.

  “I meant injured noses.” He grips the front of his jersey and shakes it a little. “Defensive tackle.”

  My brows lift as I admit, “I don’t know what that means.”

  He barks out a laugh, and the sound is rich and… happy.

  But when he opens his mouth to say more, he’s interrupted.

  “Lovelace, you gettin’ food with us?”

  The big man, previously known to me only as Mad Dog, turns toward the voice.

  When his attention is off me, I take a quick step back.

  I need to get out of here before I do something worse than bleed on him.

  Like drool on him.

  With his back turned, I call out a quick “bye,” then spin around and hurry down the path toward the library, cafeteria fully out of the question.

  “Wait!” he shouts after me.

  Not wanting to be rude but not wanting to stop, I lift a hand and wave over my shoulder. “Sorry!”

  I’m not sure if I’m apologizing for crashing into him or for running away from him, but I figure he can take his pick.

  SIX

  MADDOX

  For the second time today, a pretty girl runs away from me.

  The same girl.

  A girl who didn’t make any attempts to come on to me.

  Maybe she’s not interested.

  If you promise.

  The niggling feeling of rejection disappears when I think about the way she pressed her lips together after saying that to me.

  And when I think about the way her fingertips pressed into my chest as I held her to me.

  She’s attracted to me. Has to be.

  My teammate slaps his hand against my back. “You really know how to make the girls flee, don’t ya?”

  I shake my head, not answering, since he doesn’t know how true that is.

  SEVEN

  HANNAH

  I smooth my dollar bill out on the edge of the vending machine.

  “Pretty please, eat my money, you big block of parts,” I grumble as I feed the bill into the slot for the third time.

  The components whirl, and finally, my money disappears.

  Double-checking, I press the correct buttons and wait for a can of Dr Pepper to drop out the chute. Then I repeat the process for a second can, and last, I select a granola bar. The bar will probably be a hassle to consume, but if I’m going to try to eat in secret, I need something that will fit in my pocket.

  I’d roll my eyes at the irony of having a vending machine in the entryway to the library when you’re not allowed to bring food inside, but it’s coming in handy for me today, so I won’t judge the lack of reasoning.

  Slipping the bar into my jeans pocket, I tuck the two cans of pop into the crook of my arm and push the second set of heavy glass doors open.

  As you’d expect, it’s quiet.

  The rattling HVAC system acts as a sort of white noise, making the large outdated space feel safe and comfortable.

  The carpet is that thin industrial stuff that’s barely softer than concrete, but it keeps my steps silent as I make my way behind the front desk and down the little hallway leading to the staff break room.

  Inside the break room, lockers line one wall for our backpacks. A handful of tables and chairs that rarely get used litter the space, and a counter sits in the back corner with a sink, fridge, and microwave for anyone here long enough to require a lunch break.

  My shifts are only four hours long, so I don’t think I’ll ever have an actual lunch in here. But…

  I set the cans on a table and wedge my bag into my locker.

  Looking at the cans, I blow out a breath.

  This feels stupid.

  Ridiculous.

  But ending up with a pair of black eyes from walking into a man-wall would be worse than someone witnessing me holding cans to my face.

  Four minutes later, I second-guess my choice when Sissy, a tiny woman with more energy than a caffeinated squirrel, appears in the doorway.

  “Umm, what are you doing?” She half laughs.

  I sigh and give the cans a quarter turn, trying to pull the last bit of coldness out of them. “I crunched my nose on, uh, something, and supposedly, this will help stop it from swelling.”

  My face feels pretty much fine now. I don’t know if it was the cans or just time, but either way, I’m confident I won’t be left with any bruises.

  Sissy hums. “That something have anything to do with a big, hot football player?”

  I lower the cans to the table I’m sitting at and groan. “Please tell me you didn’t witness it.”

  “No idea what you’re talking about.” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder. “But there’s a ginormous football player who just walked in, asking me if the pretty girl in the white shirt” — she gestures to me — “with the long hair and freckles is feeling okay.”

  My brows raise, and I swear I can feel my eyes double in size. “He did not call me pretty.”

  Sissy nods. “He did. But I don’t talk to strange men, so I pretended I didn’t hear him and walked away.”

  A slightly manic laugh pops out of me.

  Could it really be him coming here to check on me?

  “You’re serious?” I ask, just to make sure she’s not messing with me.

  She holds up three fingers, mimicking a scout’s honor.

  I have to snort.

  Sissy works at the front desk, whereas I do book returns, but ever since I met her during the library orientation last week, I’ve liked her. She’s basically the only friend I’ve made so far.

  “So…” She twirls a finger in my direction. “I take it he has something to do with the Dr Pepper on your face?”

  I grimace. “I may have run into him on my way here.”

  “And when you say run into…?”

  “I mean, my clumsy ass literally ran straight into his body.” I clap my hands together.

  Sissy snickers. “How do you miss that guy? He’s the size of a house. And how did you not break your face?”

  I laugh. “One, I don’t know. And two, I did break my face. Or at least my nose started to bleed.”

  She makes a face, and I get it.

  On the way over here, I cut into another academic building and checked myself in a bathroom mirror, relieved to see my face was blood free.

  “Does that actually help?” She gestures to the cans in front of me.

  I lift my shoulders as I scrunch my nose up, like I’m testing it. “Maybe?” Sighing, I push away from the table and stretch out my back as I stand. “I’m gonna stick these in the fridge, but if you want a can of Dr. Face, help yourself.”

  Sissy chuckles as she leaves, and I follow her out of the break room.

  She wiggles her fingers in goodbye as she splits off to go behind the desk, and I go the other way to find my cart.

  Sitting at the front desk and getting paid to do homework would’ve been ideal, but knowing Mad Dog Lovelace came in looking for me makes me a little glad to be on book-return duty.

  It’s nice of him to want to check on me, but I don’t really know how to handle that sort of pitying attention.

  With avoidance in mind, I select the cart with the most books and wheel it out of the room.

  I’m not even halfway across the main floor — aiming for the elevators in the back — when I accept my mistake. The fullest cart is great for keeping me hidden in the stacks, but this particular cart is the one with a literal squeaky wheel. Meaning the cart is practically screaming my location as I cross the library.

  Ignoring the racket, I keep my eyes focused on the floor just ahead of my cart, using my peripheral to watch for movement.

  But I don’t notice anyone walking toward me. No one gets up from any of the seating areas to approach.

  The football player must have left.

  Good.

  But instead of feeling relieved, a tiny something pinches my heart.

  EIGHT

  MADDOX

  Damn. I didn’t even need to be watching diligently. Pretty sure that squeaky-ass cart could’ve woken me from a dead sleep.

  Instead of jumping out of my chair, I fight my chaser instincts and stay put.

  Both times I’ve seen this girl, she’s bolted. Run away like a frightened little bunny.

  And I don’t want to scare her. I want to… get to know her.

  A few people glance her way, looking for the source of the noise, but she keeps her gaze on the ground.

  I chose this spot because I can see the entirety of the long front desk. I assumed that’s what she did here. It hadn’t even occurred to me she could do something else. But this? This is perfect. Because now I can talk to her one-on-one. I don’t have to stand at the desk with all her coworkers listening to our every word.

  I look over to the desk and catch that same girl from before staring at me. The one who acted like I was invisible.

  I almost smile, betting she went and found my girl to give her a heads-up.

  But it doesn’t matter if Bunny knows I’m here. I’m not trying to be sneaky. I’m also not going to give up.

  The squeak stops, and I turn my attention back to my mystery girl.

  From twenty feet away, I watch the side of her mouth pull down into a little frown. Then she steps around her cart and presses the button to call the elevator.

  I sit forward.

  The elevator doors slide open.

  I set down the magazine I was pretending to read.

  She pushes her noisy-ass cart forward.

  I stand.

  She turns around and presses the button for the floor she wants.

  I take a step forward.

  Her eyes lift. And meet mine.

  The elevator doors slide shut.

  NINE

  HANNAH

  Oh god.

  I press my hand against my chest, over my heart.

  He’s still here.

  The floor counter ticks up slowly.

  What should I do?

  It takes me half a second before I roll my eyes at myself.

  What I should do is put books away. Because it’s my job. Because I need the money. And because I can’t let myself get distracted by the first hot guy to give me attention.

  And it’s not like he’s really giving me attention.

  He saw me staring at him.

  He was innocently walking between classes when I smashed into him.

  And his coming here to make sure I didn’t bleed to death in the last half hour doesn’t count as attention.

  The elevator cab starts to slow as it reaches the top floor.

  He’ll probably leave now that he’s seen I’m fine.

  TEN

  MADDOX

  My feet thud as I hurry up the final flight of stairs to the fourth floor.

  I might be an athlete, but I’m not exactly stealthy. So when I hear the ding of the elevator above me on the fourth floor, I slow my ascent.

  It’s not like I need to have eyes on her since I can hear her cart from here.

  At the end of last year, when my grades started to slip, I spent a fair amount of time in the study rooms on the second floor, but I also came up here a time or two to find a book for an assignment.

  It’s a mostly unused floor, so it’s quiet. But there is a pair of chairs in the far corner that I got to know fairly well.

  They’re boxy armchairs, and they aren’t the most comfortable things, but I have fallen asleep in them once or twice. And most importantly, they’re in the direction she’s heading.

  I take a sharp right — away from the squeak — and circle around the other end of the shelves. If I hurry, I can get to those chairs before she circles the last stack.

  Staying on the balls of my feet, I move as quietly as I can down the end aisle.

  I’m perpendicular to the stacks, but with the noisy wheel, I know when I’m nearly across from her. If I don’t time it right, she’ll see me through the aisle.

  Lengthening my stride, I cross the next gap in two steps.

  When she doesn’t call out, and the cart doesn’t stop moving, I let out my exhale.

  But I don’t slow down.

  ELEVEN

  HANNAH

  Note to self: don’t listen to any more of Mom’s ghost stories.

  It’s not that the library is scary. It’s just that, well, it’s a little scary.

  With the high rows of shelves… the limited sightlines… the quiet… it feels like another realm sometimes.

  I look over my shoulder.

  The feeling of being watched crawls over my skin as my heart skips a beat, but it’s just nerves after seeing him here.

  Slowing, I peek at the books on the cart to verify the number on the spines.

  The carts are stacked to match the floors. The books for the top floor on the top rack of the cart, and so on and so forth.

  I change my grip on the cart and pull it to a stop at the third row from the end, then grab the two books that need to get put away here.

  In the silence, I try to listen for any signs of someone approaching, but there’s nothing.

  Quit being a baby.

  Putting all thoughts of ghosts and football players out of my mind, I focus on the shelves and slide the first book into its spot. When I reach up to put the second book away, my pocket crinkles, and I remember the granola bar.

  I quickly shove the book into place, then pull the package out of my pants pocket.

  “Well, crap.” Through the wrapper, I can tell the crunchy bars inside have broken in half.

  These really are the worst of all the granola bars. I don’t know why I even got it.

  Then my stomach grumbles.

  Right. I got it because I missed lunch.