Wingspan(Paranormal, Young Adult) MAJOR EDITING**

twenty nine

A hand to my mouth stopped a gush of liquid from squirting on Josh. Thankfully, no one at my table noticed a dribble of water that spilled on my chin.

I cleaned my face and ignored what Mya was saying -something about trigonometry, I think- and let myself watch Toby from my spot at the table on the far side of the cafeteria hoping, rationalizing that there were too many faces in the lunchroom so of course he couldn't see me.

Toby seemed content eating by himself. Like it was a normal concurrence and if someone were to come up to him he would have no qualms about ditching that table and taking off. He had an aura that reeled people to stay back.

The strange thing was, I wanted to know who he was as a person. Did Toby always strut around with that ostentatious air of confidence or was there more to him than brash arrogance?

Maybe it was stupid of me to fantasize what kind of life Toby had off campus.

Maybe I was plain bored and to give myself something to do I was playing therapist like Dr. Cambridge did to me. Who knew?

I recognized Toby's facial expressions well enough to distinguish mild curiosity over ill tempered annoyance.

Despite better judgement and basic overall instinct that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to create attention to myself after witnessing Toby pick a fight and almost beat up Josh moments earlier in the lobby, I keep my eye on him.

Maybe I should throw my trash away because my food was cold and there was nothing worse than stale french fries. Or better yet, adopt the same attitude Toby did with me and pretend he didn't exist.

Whatever the reason, I had a self-destructive urge to give Toby another motive to give me a hard time.

Like a hophead in remission with a bad habit in the same room as them, I direct my focus straight ahead and don't flinch when our eyes locked, myself unable, unwilling to strain away even though my cover was blown and Toby knew I was gaping at him.

As if I'd found a key and heard it click as it went into the key-hole, my awareness slid downward, my focus locked on to the plastic spoon that went into Toby's mouth and I couldn't block the image if I'd wanted to. And, boy, should I have.

Instead I let my stare linger and graze over his slim, lean build.

He didn't have the necessary muscle mass that would make him an honorary athlete but his physique suggested he had the kind of body that could only come from being diligent in some kind of physical excursion to condition and tone.

Even though it was cold and we were in the middle of a snowstorm, Toby had on a plain v-neck charcoal grey tee shirt that was stretched tight over what I could see was a large broad chest and perfectly formed biceps that weren't too big to be considered thick and bulky.

A strong jaw connected to a slanted collarbone, his cool skin free of problematic blemishes or scars from what his clothes showed, other than a few tattoos. I didn't know Toby was into the mystical. The few that I could see were actually pretty awesome and badass.

My grandma was a metaphysical healer who focused on natural remedies to cure basic everyday colds and the problematic from zits to annoying toothaches, so I knew what runes were. But a particular one that involved what I called a fish with an arrow caught my attention.

I could swear that as I sat three tables from where Toby's was next to the vending machine that particular tattoo was ingrained in my mind, the black lines jumping in front of my eyes as if I were looking at it up close. Freaky.

I shook my head.

I looked up and into Toby's blue eyes. His full lips turned upward into a devious smirk and formed on one corner of his mouth, and that's when I was mortifyingly aware that he caught me checking him out.