Broken Beautiful Hearts

23. Killer Smiles and Almost Kisses

Chemistry passes in a blur of periodic table elements and unbalanced equations. I can't stop thinking about the novel stuffed in my backpack.

Reading it isn't an option. I'll have to find a summary online and hope Miss Ives doesn't come up with lots of in-class activities that leave me feeling like a gutted fish.

I catch myself picturing Owen's lopsided smile instead of copying the homework written on the board and I kill the thought.

He's off limits.

One hundred percent not an option.

But if things were different and Owen wasn't a fighter... who knows?

The bell rings.

Books slam shut and chair legs scrape across the floor. I ease out of the chair quickly and try to keep up with everyone else, but I'm still the last person out of the classroom.

The moment I step into the hallway, I stop short.

Owen is standing next to the wall, thumbs tucked in the pocket of his jeans. He turns as if he senses me watching him.

"Ready?" Owen asks, pushing away from the wall.

Whatever he is referring to, I'm not ready for it. "For what?"

He falls in step beside me. "Lunch. I hear you haven't had the pleasure of eating in our one star cafeteria yet."

How would he know that? Did the Twins tell him? Or did he ask?

"I'm not a fan of school cafeterias. We're allowed to eat off campus at my school."

"Isn't this your school now?"

"Only until March. Then I'm going home." I steal a glance at him. "I have to be ready to play by then, remember?"

"Right." Owen pushes his hands deeper into his pockets. "But you're here now, and you have to eat."

"And your offering me a personal escort?" I brush my hair over my shoulder.

I'm totally flirting.

Could I be more obvious?

"It's a service I provide to all my English partners with killer smiles and knee braces. Don't let it go to your head." Owen cocks head to the side, watching me.

I recognize the look. He sizing me up. I'm used to seeing the expression on the faces of my opponents on the soccer field.

He thinks I have a killer smile. Not cute or sweet. Killer.

Suddenly it feels like I'm standing on the deck of a boat. Is my knee giving out? But it's not my bad knee.

Owen's smile, the thump of my heartbeat, the fluttering sensation in my stomach - my legs have transformed into ramen noodles because of this guy.

I reach for the wall beside me and Owen catches my arm. His rough fingers slide under my forearm and leave behind a tingling sensation. He cups my elbow, my arm resting on top of his, and I grab his biceps for balance.

"Sorry..." I stammer. "My knee gave out." It's the first time I've used my knee as an excuse without resenting it.

Owen's hand drops to my waist.

Not good.

Not the kind of good I'm looking for, anyway.

"Do you need help walking?" he asks.

Yes. I shake my head. "No."

The pressure of his hand on my waist makes me wonder how it would feel on my skin.

Owen scans my face. "Your cheeks are bright red, and you look like you're about two seconds from passing out. Are you in pain?"

"I just need some water." I'm still holding his arm and it makes me self-conscious.

Owen slides his arm behind me and moves next to me, as if he wants me to throw my arm over his shoulders for support. I've embarrassed myself enough already.

"I'm okay now," I say, trying to figure out what to do with my arm, which is hovering above his shoulders.

His arm lingers for a moment longer, and his fingers trail over the material of my T-shirt before he releases me. "If you pass out, I'm not responsible."

I walk toward the cafeteria, the ghost of Owen's touch lingering. "I'll take the blame. I don't want to jeopardize the knight-in-shining-armor routine you've probably got going with the girls."

He studies the black marks on the floor. "No chance of that."

No chance I could put it in jeopardy, or no chance the girls think of him that way? The way he's inspecting the floor has me leaning toward option number two. I hate that something I said made his smile disappear.

"Anything I should know before we go in?" I ask when we reach the door.

He relaxes. "Don't eat the sloppy joes or the tuna melt. Or anything that looks like it's made with cream of chicken soup."

The clatter of plastic trays hitting tabletops and conversations overlapping on the other side of the door paralyze me. When was the last time I set foot in an unfamiliar school cafeteria? Freshman year?

Memories of the bitchy girls whispering about their so-called friends make me rethink the whole thing.

I wasn't on the receiving end of any major drama back then, but that doesn't mean April and Madison and their army of clones won't target me here.

Eating is overrated.

I step to the side, away from the door. "I'm not all that hungry."

Owen lets the door swing closed. "Don't tell me you're one of those girls who only eats three pieces of lettuce and a carrot for lunch?" He takes a step toward me and lowers his head so we're eye-to-eye. "Because I know you wouldn't let anybody intimidate you."

"Maybe I'm not as brave as you think." I raise my chin. Owen has no way of knowing how much truth there is in what I'm saying. But it feels like he does, and it's unnerving.

He leans his shoulder against the wall, watching me. "Says the girl who threw a water bottle at me. And something tells me you were holding back."

I open my mouth, but I can't come up with a smart ass comment.

The door behind Owen swings open, and he lunges toward me to avoid getting hit.

I back into the wall as Owen's broad chest flies at me. I bring my hands up in front of me and brace myself. His chest hits my palms and I hold my breath, waiting for his body to slam against mine. But it doesn't happen.

Warm air tickles my ear and I open my eyes.

Owen's face is inches from mine, his chest pressed against my hands, his ragged breathing echoing in my ear. His arms are extended on either side of my head, his palms splayed on the wall.

He caught himself.

"I'm sorry, man. I didn't know you were behind the door." It's a guy's voice, somewhere behind Owen. "You good?"

Owen lifts his head and pushes away from the wall to look at me. With every breath, his chest presses against my palms. "Are you?"

I'm not sure what he's asking, and with his body this close to mine, I don't care. "Am I what?"

"Good?"

I nod and Owen's arms relax. He lets out a long breath and leans his forehead against the wall above me. The rough stubble along his jaw brushes my cheek, and I shiver.

"You need anything?" The guy behind Owen asks.

Owen pulls back, his breathing evening out.

I look up at him from beneath lowered lashes, and I'm immediately caught in the drag of his dark eyes. His gaze drops to my lips for a split second.

"We're good." Owen says the words softly, so I'm the only one who hears them.