Page 11 of Love in Development

“No.”I ripped my gaze from his own, and it fell to the books in his arms.It was easier to avoid those penetrating gray eyes.I froze.He had a copy ofthebook.Ni was the one holding onto a past-due book?Maybe he wasn’t so perfect after all.Yet now I had to talk to him, and not just so I could get past him.Awkward.

The book.I needed to get the conversation back on track.

“So, you like English etymology too?”Brilliant.Stellar conversational skills.

“The teacher gave us only a few choices this time.It seemed the most interesting.”His gaze lingered on my own.

Why wasn’t he moving?Or speaking?Why wasn’t I?I tried to swallow, but my throat was too dry.“Are you done?Could I—I mean, if you don’t need it anymore, I’d like to check it out?”

Why had that come out like a question?I sounded like an idiot.

“Oh, this copy is actually mine,” he said.

So he wasn’t a book-hoarding troll.I suddenly became very interested in the industrial carpet and the snag that needed to be cut off so no one tripped on it.Move out of the way so I can get past...I was trapped and making a complete fool out of myself.

“But if you want—”

My head popped up as if I’d taken a speed potion.

“I uh...I just finished my rough draft.So, I don’t need the book.I could let you borrow it?”He held it out to me.

But did I really want to owe him?On the other hand, if I had the book now, I could spend time polishing my essay into an “A” paper.The temptation was too great.

I ignored the puppy-dog eyes.He was the type who would give another person the shirt off his back.I wasn’t special.And why was that even a saying?

Now I was picturing something I definitely shouldn’t be.Alone.In the middle of the stacks.With a handsome quarterback...Breathe...Breathe, Molly.Oxygen good.

“Thanks.”Luckily, I didn’t trip on the snag and fall straight into his arms, though I did practically rip the proffered book out of his hands before barreling past as ifIwere the football player.

ISPENT THE NIGHT INmy room with Ni’s book.I read it from cover to cover.It was filled with sticky notes of beautifully cramped writing on each of the main points.I read his thoughts.They were carefully laid out in a logical fashion that was simple and easy to follow—like his programming code.

Sometimes I agreed, and other times I disagreed.My frustration bled through into my own sticky notes, packed with evidence to support my rebuttals.

I’m not sure why I did it.He certainly didn’t want to see my thoughts.He had lent me the book out of kindness.But I couldn’t seem to help myself.I stayed up late that night.Out of the three days I had set aside to complete the essay, I used just the one night.Part of it was the information he had highlighted.Part of it was the excitement that filled my blood at the miniature debate.I was pathetic.

I had taken the book to school the next day.I wanted to return it and thank him.But each time I saw him, I hesitated.It was only then I realized we had only spoken when it was just the two of us.He’d only approached me when people’s attention had been elsewhere.Was he ashamed of talking to me?He wanted to be nice, but not at the expense of his reputation?

By the time I started work at DragonByte, the book still hid in my backpack along with last night’s elation.I needed a plan to return it or the perfect opportunity to drop in my lap.Work was busy.There were constant requests for snacks, drinks, and the normal complaints of lagging and other things that showed how good a sportsman the player really was.I pretended to repair the lag, and things were magically fixed the moment the player began winning.

I didn’t know if the pressure of the end of the semester coming up was affecting our DragonByte patrons too, but the spacious room was packed.The smell of stress among unwashed bodies was palpable.The opening-door bell beeped.I looked up to see another group of guys entering.I swallowed.Ni stood out, leaner than the rest of his bulky team.They scattered, managing to find enough computers and the noise level spiked as they yelled into their mics while they played an FPS.

Just like during football practice, he was the strategist.I was nearby cleaning up the trash around a few customers, and I could hear him coordinating them.He must have been good at it because more often than not, they broke out in shouts of triumph.I was quickly distracted by requests for pizza and more drinks.Then number fifty-eight went down thanks to someone downloading something they shouldn’t.Buzz took care of the expulsion, while I got the system cleaned of viruses.

By the time I was done, things had settled down a bit.The jocks appeared to have gone, but luck was with me because Ni remained.He was typing, the light of the computer screen weirdly highlighting the angles of his face.He must have been concentrating.My fingers tingled when he bit his lip.I checked the time and discovered that I had a break coming to me.It was now or never.

“Buzz, number fifty-eight is back up.I’m taking thirty.”

He nodded and wound his way toward the machine for a last check.Not because he didn’t trust me, but because he was the boss and everything rested on him.

I grabbed a pack of snack cakes and retrieved the book from my backpack, then headed straight for Ni.My heart started pounding faster as I got closer to him, and I had to juggle the items in my hands to wipe each sweaty palm on my jeans.Calm down.He’s just a person.Two legs, two arms, two large hands...probably great for handling a football.

“Hi.”My amazing conversationalist skills came back into play when I reached his station.

It looked like he was editing his own essay.

He scooted back and stood too, standing over me.Why did I always end up so close to him?

“Hey.What’s up?”he asked.