5. Hannah

FIVE

HANNAH

My nose smacks into a solid chest, and I let out a pained sound, finally understanding the phrase walked into a brick wall .

Embarrassed but unable to stop it, my eyes immediately start to water.

"Sorry," I squeak as I start to teeter backward.

But before I can fall— into what I can only hope is an already dug grave— giant arms encircle me.

I don't fall.

I don't do anything.

I just stand there, stunned by the stinging pain in my nose, the throb in my ankle, and the fact that I'm being held upright by a stranger.

And, oh wow, he smells amazing. Like soap and cologne and exactly what I imagine someone in a magazine ad would smell like.

"Are you okay?" a deep voice rumbles from above my head.

Even as I nod, tears drip from my eyes, skyrocketing my humiliation.

"I'm fine." I try to project believability into my voice.

The hands pressing into my back slide up to my shoulders and hold me steady as he leans back a few inches.

"You sure?"

The man's voice is low and soothing, but as I'm lifting my gaze, I realize why I can feel his voice as well as hear it.

My hands are pressed against his chest.

His huge, wide, rock-hard chest.

The rough stitching under my palms makes me focus on what I'm looking at.

A jersey.

A HOP U football jersey.

Oh, please, no.

Holding my breath, I raise my eyes the rest of the way until they meet with the same dark irises that caught me staring just a few hours ago.

His mouth opens, a half smile pulling his lips to the side. But a moment later, his lips form a worried frown, and he's back to pulling me closer.

"Oh shit!" He slides one of his hands up from my shoulder to cup my cheek. "Aw, Babe, you're bleeding."

Babe?

My fingers curl against his chest.

So many things are happening right now. But none of them include me using words.

Am I dreaming? Did I fall asleep in that last lecture? Am I currently snoring alone in a lecture hall?

Up close, the man, Mad Dog, is even bigger than I first thought. Tall and broad and thick. I don't know much about football, but he's gotta be one of the biggest guys on the team. The ones who crash together like monster trucks.

I bet I could shove him as hard as I could, and he wouldn't fall over.

Not that I would do that.

I would never just shove a person.

A finger hooks underneath my jaw, and with a little pressure, he guides me to turn my face.

Too late, I remember my eyes are watering because of the impact, so I look like I'm crying.

I blink rapidly, trying to will them away, but instead, it causes a few more tears to break free.

His face lowers toward mine, and I have a split second to wonder if he's going to kiss me…

Then I remember this is real life, not a movie.

And did he say I was bleeding?

I yank my hands away from his body, which I should have done several seconds ago, and reach up toward my face.

"Wait." Before my fingers touch anything, he drops his hold on my chin and grabs both my wrists in his one big hand to stop me. "Your nose is bleeding. Fuck."

My eyes widen. "My nose?"

I've never had a bloody nose.

He nods. "I'm so sorry. Hold on."

"It was my…"

I was planning to say fault. Because it was my fault, not his. We both know it. But I can't finish my sentence because he's let go of me and is now reaching up under the hem of his jersey.

Is he going to take his shirt off?

There's a tearing sound, and then his hands reappear with a strip of gray cotton.

Did he…?

His eyes meet mine again. "I'm sorry," he says again. His frown deepens as he lifts his hand back to my cheek, only this time to wipe away a tear.

"Did you just rip off a piece of your shirt?" I'm practically whispering, and I don't know why.

He nods like it's perfectly normal to be able to rip a shirt to shreds when I know damn well I'd need some scissors to do what he just did.

"There's just a little…" He leans closer, stopping with his face inches from mine.

"I'm okay. I swear." I blink a few more times and reach up to brush away the lingering tears before he can. "I'm not crying."

The side of his mouth pulls up as he lifts the strip of shirt and dabs at the blood under my nose.

"I'm not." I catch another teardrop. "It just stings, is all."

His partial smile drops. "I'm really fucking sorry."

I huff, then wince. "It's not your fault. I shouldn't have stopped like that. I just… got turned around."

"Yeah, well, if I hadn't been right behind you like I was, we wouldn't have collided."

I shake my head the smallest bit. He's being nice, but he's wrong.

"Hold still." He grips my chin again, and I still. Even hold my breath.

He swipes below my nose once more. "I think it stopped. It was just a little bit."

The thumb against my cheek softly slides back and forth.

"Thanks." My lungs burn as I exhale.

He's so close.

"Where are you going?" His eyes hold mine.

Where am I…

I have to swallow before I can answer. "Work."

Technically, I spun around because I was going to go to the cafeteria, but now, I want to hide in a dark corner until my shift starts.

"Do you work in a restaurant?"

I slowly shake my head. "No, why?"

He grimaces. "I didn't mean for that to come off stalker-y or anything. Just that—" He gently brushes his thumb over my cheek once more before lowering his hands. "You should probably put some ice on your nose to make sure it doesn't swell. And if you worked in a restaurant…" He shrugs.

"Oh, uh, I work at the library." I stumble over my words.

It's so hard to think with him right there and smelling so good.

He stands up to his full height again, imposing but no longer crowding into my space, and glances over his shoulder. "I bet you could get some ice at the caf. They'd probably have a bag or something you could put it in."

I shake my head before he even finishes the thought. I don't think my heart could handle walking into the main cafeteria with this man. There would be too much speculation, from too many people, wondering what the big-deal jock is doing with the nobody nerd. And I don't want to deal with that if I don't have to. Especially since I'd be dealing with it while holding a bag of ice on my face.

He accepts my denial, probably thinking I don't have time. "If there's a vending machine at the library, get two cans of pop and press them here for a bit." He holds his pointer fingers vertically along the sides of his nose to demonstrate. "It'll help. Promise."

"If you promise." I blush the instant I say it. I'm not trying to flirt, but that sounded pretty flirty.

I shift my weight off my bad ankle and focus on breathing evenly.

He smirks. "I have some experience with these things."

"Crashing into girls?" I ask before I can stop myself.

His smirk turns into a smile. Like a full smile. And it's wild how good looking he is.

"I meant injured noses." He grips the front of his jersey and shakes it a little. "Defensive tackle."

My brows lift as I admit, "I don't know what that means."

He barks out a laugh, and the sound is rich and… happy.

But when he opens his mouth to say more, he's interrupted.

"Lovelace, you gettin' food with us?"

The big man, previously known to me only as Mad Dog, turns toward the voice.

When his attention is off me, I take a quick step back.

I need to get out of here before I do something worse than bleed on him.

Like drool on him.

With his back turned, I call out a quick "bye," then spin around and hurry down the path toward the library, cafeteria fully out of the question.

"Wait!" he shouts after me.

Not wanting to be rude but not wanting to stop, I lift a hand and wave over my shoulder. "Sorry!"

I'm not sure if I'm apologizing for crashing into him or for running away from him, but I figure he can take his pick.