The Typhon Project

Chapter 17: I Blame My Bed

I scrubbed my fingers over my lips to get every last molecule of Dean's kiss off my lips.

He hopped on one foot. "You kicked me!"

"Yeah, I kicked you. If that didn't work I was going to knee you in the balls. You colossal asshole!"

I spun and darted for the door. I glanced over my shoulder. He limped after me. I shoved the door open, hurried through, then slammed the door in his face.

Tears flooded my eyes. My one friend. My only friend!

The door slammed again behind me. "Leah, wait!"

Tears blurred the path. I wiped them on the back of my hand and broke into jog.

"Leah! Stop. I just want to talk to you. Please!" Deans feet thumped closer.

I stepped off the sidewalk and took off across the lawn. I glimpsed Dean running toward me out of the corner of my eye. I lengthened my stride and sprinted toward the dormitory. Nearing the door, I slowed and reached for the lever. He smacked into the door and blocked me.

I yanked on the handle. "Move!"

He doubled over, trying to catch his breath. "Just . . . listen."

I folded my arms and glared at him. "Get out of my way. Now!"

He put his hands up, as though in surrender. "I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. It was a stupid thing to do. I'm so sorry."

I pressed my lips together and looked away.

He moaned. "Oh, crap. I made you cry too. I'm an ass, you're right. Kick me again, this time in the balls. I deserve it. Make it a good one. I'll know it's good if I feel a crunch." He stepped sideways to give me a wider target.

He was trying to make me laugh, but I wasn't about to let him cover this with humor. "Shut up, Dean."

"Just let me explain."

"I don't want to hear it. That was a violation!"

"Please. Pleeease."

"No!"

He dropped to his knees and folded his hands together. "Please, Leah. You're right. I was wrong to do that. Just give me a chance to explain."

I sighed. "Fine."

"Look, I'm not smooth like other guys. I didn't really know how to do this. I met with my counselor today and he said . . . ."

"Wait, your counselor put you up to this?"

"Yeah. I mean, no."

I hitched a hand on my hip. "Well, which is it?"

"He suggested it and—well, I can't say I minded the idea or hadn't thought of it before."

I shook my head.

"He said your counselor was going to talk to you about it too, so I just thought now was a good time. But, I guess you weren't feeling the same thing." His shoulders slumped, and he looked down. "I guess the friendship thing is probably over now too?"

I didn't want to lose my only friend, and he seemed sincere. He didn't have a mean bone in his body, but how could I trust him now? And why did his counselor put him up to this? Were his  and mine conspiring? Weren't counselors just supposed to listen and help people make decisions, not make decisions for them?