Dropping my hand from my side, I roll my eyes and tug the baseball cap lower onto my forehead, mumbling a quick, “Shut up,” before walking away.
Three steps later, Ivan’s large hand drops onto my shoulder, stopping me from going any farther. Slowly, he nudges me in Grace’s direction. “Stop it with the longing and just talk to her, altar boy.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter as my feet make quick work of propelling my body in the opposite direction. I’ve never had an easy time approaching girls or talking to them. And Grace—
I shake my head, mildly terrified at the thought.
I slide into an empty booth, close enough that I can still look at her without being obvious but far enough that it’s not too creepy. Ivan sits across from me and lets out a loud sigh.
After a beat, he shakes his head, scrubbing a hand down his face. Even frustrated, he still manages to look calm and collected. “Aren’t you exhausted from having a crush on this girl for ages? Why won’t you talk to her?”
“It’s been eight years, jackass,” I retort. “And I’m not crushing on her. I’m just . . . intrigued.”
“Sure looks like a crush to me, dude.” He laughs, but from the look on his face, I can tell he knows more than he’s letting on.
“What do you mean?”
He stays silent for a heartbeat as if he’s debating if he should continue talking, then shrugs nonchalantly. “I’ve heard you pounding one out more than once. Moaning her name.”
My face heats from both embarrassment and guilt. “Is nothing private anymore?”
He grabs one of the laminate menus, corners twisted from use, and smirks. “Our apartment has thin walls, Sol. It’s a guy thing, you know,” Ivan says. “God won’t smack you upside the head for showing the guy down there some much-deserved attention.”
I groan, rubbing my hands down my jaw. “Oh, God. Do you have to be so—”
“Right? Awesome? Wise?” He grins.
“Annoying,” I finish, exasperated.
“It’s normal, man. You don’t need to feel guilty every time you think about boning Grace. She’s fucking hot.”
“Can we talk about something else?” I’m already getting hard just thinking about boning her.
He smirks. “You need to get her out of your system once and for all.”
Do I? How is that even going to help me? Even if I could get her out of my system, Grace has never shown any interest in me.
And why am I even thinking about this?
I glance at Grace, her head bent as she types on the laptop in front of her. I follow the curve of her neck and swallow hard. Even back in high school, I found myself studying her.
I memorized everything about her, subconsciously cataloging each little detail. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed, the way she smelled—like vanilla waffles. Sometimes she’d stare out the window, lips pursed with a faraway look in her eyes. Those were the times I wanted to talk to her the most, to find out where she went when she looked like that.
Then three years ago during our sophomore year in high school, everything changed. I remember it as though it was yesterday. She and that jackass Gavin Bachmann had been going out for a few weeks when everything fell apart after the pep rally. The only people who know what actually went down after the rally are Grace and Gavin. But rumors started to fly among the students that following Monday about her sleeping around with a bunch of guys in Gavin’s crowd. In less than four hours, Grace Miller became an outcast. Gavin did nothing to defend her, and in fact, he actively avoided her. They broke up after that. She became withdrawn and quiet, as though she was trying to erase herself from the world around her.
I’d never wanted to hurt anyone as much as I wanted to hurt Gavin. I remember the surprise in his eyes when I strode toward him as he was about to get in his car, fists clenched, and socked him in the jaw.
I’m not a violent person. In fact, I abhor violence.
But something in me just snapped that day. Grace was hurting. The girl who had told me everything would be okay when I was ten with such wisdom and sincerity. I believed her. And Gavin stole the hope in her eyes.
“So what do you say?” Ivan asks, bringing me out of my thoughts. The teasing in his eyes is gone, replaced by a serious look. “It’s not like talking to her will alter the path you’ve set to follow.”
He’s right.
I remove my baseball cap, smoothing my fingers through my disheveled hair before pushing my cap back onto my head.
“Jeez, you’re like a dog with a bone. I’ll go talk to her just to shut you up. Happy?”
“Tickled pink.” He grins. “Remember what I said. Eye contact is key. And smile. Don’t forget to smile. That frown of yours makes you look closed-off and shy.”
I am closed-off and shy.
“Eye contact and smile. Gotcha,” I mumble.
“All right. Break a leg. It’s your time to shine, man.” He sits back and stretches his arms, draping them over the edge of the booth.
I stand and take a deep breath before walking in her direction.
Within seconds, I’m standing next to Grace, watching her anxiously. I shove a hand inside my pocket, my fingers curling around the rosary and rubbing the smooth surface of the beads. If she senses I’m there, she doesn’t bother to look up.
Shit.
Maybe this isn’t such a great idea.
I glance over my shoulder and see Ivan leaning out of our booth.
His eyes widen, and he jerks his chin in Grace’s direction and mouths, “Talk to her.”
I clear my throat and—
“Do you plan to cast a shadow over me for a while or . . .?”
My heart stops beating for a second, then jump-starts painfully the next. With only her voice, she has managed to knock the wind out of my lungs. I open my mouth and close it, repeating the action a second time as I try to come up with words.
It’s as if I’ve lost them all. Instead, I settle for a laugh followed by a croaky, “A shadow?”
“Can I help you with something?” She lifts her head, brows raised, but her mouth quickly forms an O when her gaze meets mine. She quickly recovers from the shock. “Oh, hey, Solomon. I’m starting to think you enjoy hovering a lot.”
When I don’t answer immediately, she sits up and squares her shoulders. Her mouth tightens in a scowl, but I know what she’s doing. She’s reinforcing the wall she’s built around herself to keep people away, just as she’s been doing since the incident in high school.
Honestly, this girl makes me nervous, and she’s a distraction. One I can’t afford to have right now. Or ever.
Yet, here I am, standing next to her anyway.
I had a plan. It was simple—graduate high school, attend the seminary, and become a priest.
Thinking about Grace always made me feel a bit guilty. During one of our talks, I’d told Luke about the situation.
His smile had been warm and endearing as he’d told me I needed to experience the world outside the rectory. He’d said I should spend my teenage years being a teenager. That I should figure out who Solomon Callan truly was before making any big decisions about my future. Know my options. Last winter, I moved into the apartment owned by the diocese two blocks away from the rectory. And after a long talk with Ivan’s parents and Luke’s reassurance he’d keep an eye on us, they agreed to let their son move in with me.