When We Met

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.”

We walked in silence the rest of the way to the lecture hall, but every minute or so I’d catch her looking at me out of the corner of my eye—that same curious expression on her beautiful face.

Grabbing the door, I opened it and held it for her as she walked in, but she paused in the doorway. She stared straight ahead for a few seconds before turning to look at me, her mouth open like she was going to say something. But instead she closed her mouth without speaking and her eyebrows bunched together again.

With a slight shake of her head, she exhaled audibly and shrugged. “Good luck, Kier.”

“You, too.”

I watched her turn and walk into the room, walking toward the middle where she usually sat with a group of girls. I went to my normal spot in the back left corner and sank into my seat as I pulled out my phone, waiting for when the professor would come in.

My thumb paused on the screen of my phone when a bag was dropped a couple of chairs down, followed by a long leg stretching over the back of the row of chairs. Long red hair shielded her face as she hopped over and plopped down into the seat next to mine. Brushing her hair away from her face, she glanced at me, a small smile playing at her lips before she stared straight ahead.