“That’s a wonderful visual there, Kara. Thanks for that.” I looked at the clock on the wall and saw that I only had fifteen minutes until I needed to be at my advisor’s office. I started to pack up my books and shove them into my ancient bag.
Ever mindful of Flynn’s location in the library.
“I’ve seen him around campus. He keeps to himself. But I’ve heard he’s an amazing artist,” Kara was saying but I barely heard her. I was too busy trying to escape without Flynn noticing me.
“Yeah,” I said, distracted.
“He’s definitely a cutie but he seems a little weird. But I do like me an oddball,” she teased and I felt myself snapping back at her.
“He’s not an oddball!” I said much louder than I intended.
Fuck. I had the attention of everyone in a three-table radius. Including Flynn. He lifted his hand in a wave and I waved back before I could stop myself.
Kara’s mouth was hanging slightly open, her face flushed red. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I wasn’t trying to be an ass**le,” she said, her feelings clearly hurt.
Flynn was standing at the circulation desk. The girl was still talking to him but it was obvious he was ignoring her. I got the impression he was waiting for me. So much for avoiding him.
I looked back at Kara and did the only thing I knew to do when I was feeling uncomfortable. I lashed out.
“Well stop being one then,” I bit out, putting my book bag on my shoulder and walked off. So much for our burgeoning friendship. Something told me she wouldn’t be so keen to say hi the next time we saw each other.
And my thawing heart didn’t feel particularly good about that.
“Hi, Flynn,” I said, knowing there was no way out of the library without him seeing me. And hiding wasn’t my thing anyway.
“I haven’t seen you lately,” he said, getting straight the point like he always did. The flirty librarian noticed she was being ignored and finally stopped her incessant talking.
“Flynn, don’t forget the rest of your books,” she said, interrupting. I thought about growling territorially, but I wasn’t quite sure where these unreasonable feelings were coming from.
Flynn didn’t bother to look at her; he simply scooped the books off the counter and carefully placed them in his bag.
“I can’t wait for your workshop next week! I’m coming with a friend of mine. We love your work,” she continued.
Flynn nodded and then turned back to me, cutting her off. I couldn’t help but laugh at his rudeness, which I totally appreciated.
Librarian girl’s mouth hung open for a second in shock at his blatant dismissal and then slunk off as quickly as she was able to.
“You have a workshop next week?” I asked.
Flynn nodded, walking ahead of me to leave the library. He didn’t hold the door open, instead letting it fly back and knock me in the face.
“Thanks,” I muttered, rubbing my nose.
“You’re welcome,” he said, my sarcasm lost on him as always.
“One of my conditions for using the art studio rent free is I have to provide workshops twice a semester. I have one next week. It’s on sculpting with unusual mediums. I’m using scrap metal,” he said as I hurried to keep up with his long strides.
“Wow, you’re going to teach a bunch of people to sculpt with scrap metal? That sounds pretty cool,” I told him, finally falling into step beside him.
“I don’t teach them. I sculpt. They watch. They try to do the same thing I do. I don’t like talking to people. I don’t like them looking at me either. Kevin says it’s a good step for me. So I’m going to try it. He says he might try to come up from Greensboro,” he said. And the long stream of information he had just given me surprised me.
He was doing an art workshop for students. His therapist was in Greensboro. So he must have lived there at some point.
“I’m sure you’ll do great,” I said, though my encouragement felt flat.
Flynn shrugged. “Kevin says so too.”
“Kevin is one cool guy,” I smiled.
“Yes. He helps me. He tells me when I do something I shouldn’t. My mom used to do that,” he said swiftly.
“What sort of things do you do that you think you shouldn’t?” I asked him.
“Telling people they’re fat or ugly. Or yelling when they make me mad. He tells me when I should stay quiet and listen instead of talking. He also helps me know when people are happy with me and when they’re mad. But I’ve learned some of that on my own. Like I can tell you’re listening to me because you’re looking at me. You’re not mad because you’re not frowning but you’re not happy either because you smile when you’re happy. I know your face and what it looks like when you feel things.”
I couldn’t help but feel good at his words. I grinned.
Flynn pointed at my face. “See, now you’re happy. And you’re happy because of what I just said. Why is that?” he asked, cocking his head to the side, his hair falling into his face, making him look so much younger than his twenty-two years.
“Because you know me, Flynn. No one else pays attention to my feelings like you do,” I admitted.
Flynn chewed on his bottom lip and looked at me. He never once met my eyes but he stared at me intently all the same.
“I like making you smile. It makes me smile,” he said, his lips stretching into a beautiful grin.
I hesitantly reached out and took his hand, the same way I had done when we were teenagers. I linked our fingers together, pressing my palm against his.
The first time I had done this many years ago, he had pulled away. It had taken a while until he was comfortable enough for me to touch him. And I wasn’t sure we were at that stage now. So much time had passed since I had last touched him.
But seeing him happy, knowing how in tuned he was to me, I couldn’t help myself.
I shied from physical affection as much as Flynn did. That was one of the many reasons I had felt so connected to him in the early days of our friendship. Neither one of us could handle the implications of touch. Both of us were so isolated.
But then we had somehow found each other.
And here we were again. We were still those same disconnected people that we had been years ago, only now a little older and a little more damaged.
Once again I found myself reaching out to the only person I had ever felt safe with.
Flynn Hendrick.
The freak with Asperger’s. The boy whose life I had made miserable before I had made him happy. And then I had destroyed him before I could enjoy the changes he exacted in my life.