by Claire Cain
Calla had turned and taken a call after fluttering a friendly wave while mouthing “bye,” and Quinn, Dahlia, and Sarah had echoed their agreement and followed her back into Warrick’s part of the building.
And Warrick? He studied me with a frown. One of those looks that no one else saw, yet here it was, directed at me.
“You okay?” he asked in that deep, rich voice.
My mouth snapped shut. “Course.”
He nodded. “Okaaay. Guess I’ll see you this afternoon. Five too early?”
I shook my head, baffled heart racing and still stunned by the lunch invite. “It’s good.”
He did one of those close-lipped smile-frowns people made and widened his eyes. Maybe it meant see you later, or maybe it meant your social skills suck. Definitely an expression I hadn’t seen him give anyone else—he’d have a cute retort or parting shot. Not for me, either because I’d clearly shut down or because he just couldn’t be bothered with me.
Either way, I sank onto the stool sitting blessedly nearby and watched all of them retreat across the long space of the gym, my throat tight and dry, hands cramping into fists. I needed to funnel this churning pulse into something or I’d spin out.
I let out a ragged breath, willing my heart to slow, my mind to focus, and trying to figure out which of these things had shoved me so off-center and which one I dreaded most.
