"Thanks Indigo, see you tomorrow."
I smile at my manager and walk quickly to the bookstore exit. When I push the door open with my right hand, I wince.
My fist doesn't look too great.
I frown at the thought of punching Kyle in the face. Something like that should fill me with satisfaction, but it doesn't. It fills me with dread.
I push outside and smile as I'm greeted by the cool autumn wind. The seasons are changing and I love it. October is but just a few days away.
When I spot a convertible camaro in the parking lot, I frown.
Is Anson here?
"Looking for me?" A deep, brisk voice sounds beside of me, making me jump.
Anson piercing blue eyes meet mine; and, I feel butterflies take flight in my stomach.
"Shouldn't I be the one to ask you that?"
Anson flashes a smile and shrugs. "I'm not sure, but I just got out of football practice,"
"Noted." I mumble as I observe his sweaty features.
"And I'm starving." He continues. "Wanna go get some food with me?"
Food?
I blink in confusion as I try and process his question.
I am a little hungry....
"Uh, sure."
He smiles and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm craving Chinese. Is that okay with you?"
My stomach grumbles at the suggestion. "Sounds delicious, but I don't have any money with me."
"Honestly blue, did you expect me to not pay for you?" He smirks and I blush a little.
"Let me text my mom not to pick me up." I say as we walk to his parked car.
When we are seated and buckled, he inquires why I haven't got a car yet.
I sigh. "My Mom can't afford one yet. For now, she's saving up to buy me something nice."
"Oh." Anson nods, pulling out onto the road.
I'm quiet as we drive down the street, but my mind is full of thoughts.
Why did he ask me to eat with him? Is something on his mind? Is he worried about me?
I shake my thoughts from my head and focus on my surroundings. In a moment, we're heading straight for the China Garden parking lot.
The last time I ate here, I was a freshman. My dad and Mom brought Bryn and I here to celebrate making the A honor roll.
That was the last family outing we went on.
"Are you okay?"
I hear Anson's voice and come back down from the thoughts I'm in.
"Yeah. Fine." I say, getting out and following Anson inside.
The China Garden is one of the prettiest restaurants I've been to. It's modern and aesthetically pleasing.
I love the usage of the color red throughout the restaurant.
"Table for two." Anson tells the hostess and we walk back to a dimly lit room.
We order our food and sit in silence for a moment.
The glow of red light across his face makes him look older somehow. His features look deeper. His jawline is sharper. His eyes are set on me.
"Indie," He sighs, "I want to ask you something, but I don't want to be blunt."
I blink slowly, "Ask away."
"It's about Kyle."
"Kyle, hm?"
Anson nods. "I know we didn't talk after what happened,"
True... Anson and I sat through history without saying a word to one another.
"But I want to know- what did happen? If it bothers you, you don't have to answer here."
Of course it bothers me.
"He grabbed me as I walked past him. He started whispering something about how I wanted him and then I punched him in the face." I bite my lip.
Anson smiles. "How did that feel?"
"It hurt like hell." I say honestly.
"Not like the movies at all." He chuckles to himself. "I'm so proud of you, Blue. I've never known a girl with enough, uh, balls I guess, to straight-up punch some guy."
I smile to myself. I didn't think about it that way: as an act of bravery.
But Anson did.
"It was spur of the moment."
"Well, I know you're probably worried because of it; you're probably worried about Kyle retaliating, but don't sell yourself short. You're pretty damn powerful when you want to be."
He crosses his arms and props against the table.
I ball up my hands and keep them in my lap.
"However," Anson sighs, "I'm taking precautionary measures."
Precautionary measures?
I raise a brow.
"I've got a few football guys that are gonna watch out for you during the day. "
He's got a group up to protect me? I feel a bit uneasy at the thought of so many jocks keeping an eye on me.
Why would they do this for me?
I look over at Anson, as strong as an ox, as he observes me through his crystal blue orbs. He's their quarterback, they're doing this for him.
"Are you okay with that?" He questions.
I nod. "Anything to stay out of conflict."
"I want you to stay safe, Indie. I know I'm not your dad, or your brother," he hesitates, "or your boyfriend,"
I blush at the thought.
"But I don't want you to get hurt."
I place my hand on the table and tap my fingers absentmindedly.
"May I look at your hand?"
His voice stirs me back to life, back from the daze I'm in.
My hand? It's nothing but an injured fist...
I nod and stretch my arm out, placing my hand on his side of the table. His jaw hardens as he gently picks up my delicate hand, his gaze is not critical as he inspects the swollen knuckles and bruised fingers of mine.
He doesn't say a word, even when he leans away and holds my hand in his. His thumb traces gentle circles on my skin.
The feeling I get from this is electrifying. It's the same feeling I felt when his breath fanned my cheek. The same feeling I feel when he whispered in my ear.
Holding his hand feels like I'm home, in a sense.
There is comfort.
There is security.
There is acceptance.
He smiles and looks past me. "The food is on its way." He murmurs.
When our hands separate, I don't want to let go. I don't want to let go of the feeling that his hand around mine gives. But I do, with only lingering dreams of his hand finding mine again.
"Here we are." The waitress announces.
I smile at the girl who slides our food onto the table. It smells heavenly.
"Thank you." I say, picking up chopsticks.
"Let's eat." Anson says, and in no time after starts to stuff his face.
Something about his enthusiasm makes my cold heart grow warm.
Not everyone can make eating a potsticker look so good.
I smile as the flavors overwhelm my mouth.
Soon, both of our plates are clear, and Anson pays the bill in return for some fortune cookies.
He tosses one to me and I gladly take it.
We open them simultaneously, and I read what's written for me.
All things are difficult before they are easy.
"What does yours say?" Anson asks from across the table.
"Isn't it bad luck to share?"
"Oh come on! Just tell me."
I read my fortune aloud and scoff. "It's more like a proverb."
"It's hope." He pops his cookie in his mouth and keeps talking. "I think it's hope just at the right time."
All things are difficult before they are easy...
Is this about Kyle? About my writing? My mom? My dad? Anson?
He's right.
I feel something flare up in my chest. A feeling of exactly what Anson described- hope.
I will be hopeful for easy, good days.
Remember to vote and comment!