15. Hannah

FIFTEEN

HANNAH

I nod. "Just transferred. I'm a junior."

Maddox dips his chin. "Senior. What's your major?"

Calmness radiates off him, and I start to relax.

"Accounting. You?" I take another bite of my sandwich.

It's good, better than it should be. And I'm trying really hard not to feel weird about eating in front of a guy I don't really know.

"Business administration. Something passable and useful," he answers. "You want to be an accountant?"

"Yeah." I shrug.

He snorts. "Not convincing me, Hannah."

Since he answered me honestly, I decide to do the same. "Something hirable and pays well."

I didn't grow up poor. My mom owns a little flower shop, and it does well enough to cover the basics. But I want to be able to help her with the books. And I want to get a job I can support myself with, sooner rather than later. Because I love my mom, but I want to move out. I want to have new experiences.

Maddox balls up his wrapper and rips open the second sandwich.

Glancing down into his open backpack, I see a book I recognize. "You reading that for a class?"

He follows my line of sight. "Uh-huh. You've read it?"

I nod. "It's one of my favorite stories."

A look crosses his face that I don't know what to do with, and I decide it's time for me to leave.

Nothing good can come from getting to know Maddox. Either I'll learn he's a douchebag, and then I'll start to hate him, which would suck, or I'll learn his personality is just as enticing as his appearance, and then I'll be really fucked.

Because if it's the latter, I'll be forming a crush, while he'll accept my nose isn't broken and forgive himself.

And then I'll never see him again.

The numbers don't add up.

There's no good outcome here.

I rewrap what's left of my ham and cheese and stand.

"I should really get back to work." I'm being abrupt and rude, but Maddox doesn't point it out.

"I suppose you're on the clock." He looks at his watch. "I gotta head over to practice anyway."

Unlike me, saving my leftovers, he shoves the remainder of the second sandwich into his mouth.

He stands and slings his bag over his shoulder, then gestures down toward my feet. "You sure your ankle is okay? You shouldn't be working if it hurts."

I take a few stationary steps. "See? It's okay."

His mouth thins, but he just sighs instead of arguing. "Alright, Hannah Bunny."

At a loss for how to respond, I give him a nod, then take the few steps to the row where my cart is waiting.

"Take care of yourself," he tells me.

I pause. "Bye, Maddox."

It sounds like a farewell.

Ignoring the pit that forms in my stomach, I listen to his retreating steps and focus my thoughts back on what's important.

Because swooning over the hot football player isn't important.