“There’s a first for everything, isn’t there?”
“I guess. Can you tell me your name?”
His face fell into a serious mask as he laid me down on my bed, kneeling at the side of it. “You know my name. You just don’t want to remember it right now.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why wouldn’t I remember it if I knew it?”
“Great question, isn’t it?”
I grabbed for more bread, and he took it out of my hands. I pouted but didn’t comment on that. “You’re confusing.”
“I know,” he said on a sigh. “Get changed. I’ll go—”
Oh no. Guy number three. “Apparently drinking brings out my inner slut, and I’m sorry if we’ve had sex before, but I don’t want to and I promised Misha I wouldn’t.”
“We haven’t, and I’m not trying to have sex with you, Indy,” he whispered, his eyes burning into mine.
Then why was he here? Why did he know where my room was? He wasn’t shy like Misha. He was just quiet . . . like he’d rather not be a part of whatever everyone else was doing, and our conversations never interested him. I couldn’t remember ever speaking to him before tonight.
I inhaled a soft gasp. “You gave me the bread.” It hadn’t been a question, and I didn’t know how I knew. I didn’t even remember receiving the bread. I just remembered having it all of a sudden. But even without his confirmation, I knew without a doubt that this guy gave me the bread.
He looked away for a few seconds before sending me a brief, strained smile. “Yeah, I did.”
“Why?”
“That’s not important right now. Just get changed and get some sleep. I’ll leave water and aspirin on your nightstand, okay?”
Before I could respond, he straightened and quickly walked out of my bedroom. I heard his footsteps on the hardwood floor before the sound descended the stairs.
After kicking off my shoes, I tugged off my jeans and threw them over the side of the bed before tearing off my long-sleeved shirt and bra—leaving me in only a camisole and a pair of lacy underwear. I had my makeup on and I felt grimy and gross, but now that I was in bed I couldn’t even think of getting up to turn my light off, let alone to take a shower. I jerked at my comforter until it was covering me, and rolled over on my stomach, wrapping my arms around the pillow I rested my head on.
A minute later I heard footsteps on the stairs again. Before I knew it, the handsome boy from next door was walking into my room. He didn’t say anything as he set down a glass of water and bottle of aspirin, and it was when he straightened and turned to leave that I just knew.
“Kier?” I called before he could switch off my bedroom light.
His body stilled, and he looked over his shoulder at me, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, Indy?”
“Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
“I swear I’ll remember you tomorrow.”
The smile fell, and a sad look touched his face. “Good night.”
“Night,” I whispered when he shut off the light and walked quietly out of my room and away from me.
I fell asleep trying to commit everything about Kier to memory, and chanting over and over again that in the morning I would go to him and prove I remembered him.
Kier
“Hey, excuse me?”
I paused midstep and shut my eyes. That voice. That fucking voice that belonged to a girl who refused to remember me, refused to remember parts of her life for reasons I’d probably never understand. The girl who refused to leave my damn mind.
I ground my jaw and turned, already knowing I’d find her looking apologetic for stopping me—and there she was. Hands covering her mouth, eyebrows drawn together as she bounced on the balls of her feet once.
“I’m so sorry. I’m sure you’re busy, and I don’t really know you—I mean, we’re neighbors, but we don’t talk. And anyway, I need your help, or someone’s help,” she rambled. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.” Her cheeks filled with heat, and my lips twitched up.
“You’re not bothering me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive, what do you need?”
“Um, my car”—she hooked her thumb over her shoulder, and then turned to look at it—“is dead. I need someone to jump it so I can get to class. I only have one today, but I have an exam that I can’t afford to miss.”
I grimaced. “I don’t have cables.” Lie. “But I’ll give you a ride. I’m heading to campus and will only be there for an hour or so. I’ll drive you back.”
She chewed on her bottom lip for a second. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“You’re not, come on.” Not waiting for her, I turned and walked over to my SUV, and was actually surprised when I’d started it and she was sliding into the passenger seat. I hadn’t expected her to come that easily.
“Kyle, right?” she asked, her face excited as she waited for my answer.
My lips tilted up again. “No.”
“Oh God. I’m sorry.”
My eyes bounced over her face for a few seconds, taking in the redness there from the cold air outside, and her embarrassment. It was adorable on her. She ran a hand through her waist-length red hair, and her green eyes darted back to mine as she pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her fingers.
“Kier,” I offered.
Recognition flashed in her bright eyes. “Right! I know I’ve heard that. You’d think I’d remember an awesome name like that.”
You’d think you’d remember a lot, I thought. I wanted to tell her she’d promised me four days ago that she would remember me, but there was no point. She promised me that almost every Saturday night. So I didn’t respond, just pulled out onto the street and concentrated on driving.
“Um, my name’s Indy,” she said when I was looking for a parking spot. Her voice was so unsure, and I knew she thought she was bothering me again. One glance at her red cheeks confirmed it.
For a redhead, she didn’t have a lot of what you’d expect to find. She had tan skin and no freckles. But goddamn, could this girl blush when she wasn’t drinking.
“I know.”
“You do?” Her eyebrows drew together.
After I pulled into a space, I turned to look at her and winked. “It’s hard to forget an awesome name like that.”
She blushed harder, and I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
Her green eyes went wide. “Oh my God. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh.”
Of course you haven’t, I thought sarcastically. Taking my keys out of the ignition, I raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, there’s a first for everything, isn’t there?”
“Yeah, I guess there is.” She gave me a strange look and huffed a soft laugh. “I just had the weirdest sense of déjà vu. Have you ever had that?”
“Every week,” I muttered. “What do you say we go get this bullshit test out of the way?”
“Tell me about—wait. We?”
“Yeah. We. We have the same class, Indy.”
Her face fell. “Where have I been?”
I got out of the SUV and shook my head. “I ask myself that all the time.”
She rushed around the back to join me, her face pinched together in confusion. “Wait, how did I not know this?”
I shrugged and started walking with her at my side. It felt weird. Instinctively I wanted to pull her up into my arms and carry her, but this was different. She wasn’t wasted, she wasn’t about to forget this conversation, and she wasn’t trying to feed me bread. This was normal—just her. For the first time in the year since the girls moved into the house next to us, she was trying to have a conversation with me—sober.
“It’s a big class. It’s not hard to miss someone.”
“But we’re neighbors,” she argued, and then muttered to herself, “Well, I guess this goes back to the whole us-never-talking thing.”
“I’m talking to you now.”
She looked up at me with a smile on her face, her green eyes narrowed like she was trying to figure me out. “That you are.”