Page 33 of Wrong For Me

Ah. So that’s where he’s going with this. “Don’t worry about—”

“Jesus, dude. I’m not offering to pay for your damn car to get repaired.” The annoyance from earlier is back in his voice. “I’m simply saying that I know a guy who will give you a fair price. Are you seriously so uptight about this shit that you won’t even let merecommendyou a mechanic?”

I clench my fists against my thighs to keep from blurting out what I’m thinking. To try and block out the little voice in my head that insists he must be up to something. That nothing comes for free and allowing people to do you favors—even seemingly innocent ones—always leads to more. Leads to owing people.

I know enough to recognize that voice for what it is—the echo of my mother’s paranoia. The result of years and years of hearing her spew the same kind of shit. And as much as I love the woman, I can also recognize that there was nothing okay about the way I grew up.

Still, old habits die hard, so it takes a great amount of effort to force myself to relax my clenched fists and tightened jaw. “Thanks, man,” I mutter. “If you can give me his number I’d appreciate it.”

“No problem.” I can tell he wants to say more—maybe get on my case for being so weird about asking for a ride in the first place. But we’re right outside the psych building, so he’s forced to bite his tongue.

“What time are you done today?” he asks. “I’ll be heading home around four.”

My day ends at two, so at least I won’t have to worry about him waiting around for me. I can easily kill two hours in the library, even on the first day of classes. We agree he’ll text me when he’s finished and I manage to thank him for the ride in a nearly normal voice before he drives off in search of coffee before his day starts.

It feels kind of weird to be back on this campus after two years away, but walking into the psych building is as familiar to me as entering my home. Not that I’ve really ever had a home—maybe that’s why I developed such an affinity for this building during my undergrad years. Or maybe I love it so much because it features my favorite type of architecture—all sharp, modern lines with full walls of windows and tons of light. Regardless of the reason, I certainly spent enough time here for it to feel like home.

“Getting an early start, Mr. Malone?” a familiar voice asks behind me, and I turn, a smile already on my face, to greet the best professor I’ve ever had.

“Dr. Hernandez,” I say, holding out a hand. “It’s good to see you.”

She rolls her eyes at my outstretched hand and pulls me in for a hug, instead. With most people, I would struggle to keep from tensing up at the unexpected contact, but not with Dr. Hernandez. If the psych building feels like home to me, this woman could be a second parent.

“We can be professional once classes actually start,” she says, pulling back so her eyes can search my face. “You look tan, Leo. Worked outside again this summer?”

This time, I do tense up. You’d think, after all the weeks that have passed, I’d be able to think about my summer job without thinking of Rose, but so far, that hasn’t happened.

You’d also think I would have stopped dreaming of her by now, especially after what she did. But apparently my subconscious is a big fucking masochist, because she visits my sleep almost every night.

I force those thoughts away so I can concentrate on the here and now. “I worked outside a bit. Got a construction gig.” I don’t mention the week of working outside at the music festival. Not even thinking about that.

“Well I hope you got all the sunshine you can handle. God knows you won’t be seeing much scenery except the inside of a library for the next ten months.”

My grin feels a lot less forced now. “You know how much I love libraries.”

She laughs. “Such a nerd, Mr. Malone. I hope you manage to take a little time this semester to have some fun. Work life balance is important, you know.”

This isn’t the first time she’s given me this speech. No, that had happened years ago when she came across me studying in the twenty-four-hour library at eleven pm on a Saturday night my freshman year. Since then she’s made it a point to give me similar lectures. Even when I was at another university working on my master’s she kept in touch, ending every email with a reminder for me to “live a little.”

Those lectures have yet to stick.

Of course, Dr. Hernandez is probably the only person on this campus who might be able to understand the reasons behind the obsessive need that drives me to spend hours in the library while most of my classmates are out partying. And from the slightly exasperated way she’s looking at me right now, she’s well aware that my habits haven’t changed much in the two years since I was last in this building.

“Like talking to a brick wall,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Well, since it’s obvious you’re eager to get started, let’s head up so I can show you your workspace.”

“My office, you mean,” I say, following her to the open staircase in the center of the building’s main hall.

She snorts. “Your office is about the size of a closet, but sure, we can call it that if you want.”

“Oh, I definitely want. I’ve been waiting for this moment, you know. My very own office. Now I won’t have to mingle with all the other students in the library.”

“Jesus, Malone,” she says, laughing. “You’re even worse than the last time I saw you. It wouldn’t kill you to spend some time with other students once in a while. Maybe you might even make a friend.”

“Oh, sure. That’s definitely going to happen.”

“Come on, Leo,” she presses. “You can’t be the lone wolfallthe time.”

“My life experience would indicate otherwise.”