After I Fall (29 page)

“You’re going to freeze down there,” he said. “Do you need a hand?”

It didn’t sound like he wanted to give me a hand. I shook my head. “No, I’m fine.” With those untruthful words I tried to pull myself to my feet. The slick soles of my boots—the reason I’d ended up flat on my back on his ice-covered driveway in the first place—had other plans for me.

As I began to flail my arms in the most embarrassing way, Seth’s hands came out to steady me. He gripped my forearms, guiding me to my feet. Luckily I managed to stay upright on my own because his hands didn’t linger long enough to keep me upright if I toppled.

Instead, he leaned down to pick up the mail I’d scattered. This brief distraction gave me just a few seconds to look at him without being obvious about it. His sandy blond hair was half hidden under a baseball cap. His face was scruffy and it suited him well. He had shot up several inches. At one time, we’d been the same height. But now, as he rose with the envelopes in his hand, he was a few inches taller than me, even though my boots had a heel.

His eyes were the same. A clear, crystal blue. But the expression in them? That had changed. I wasn’t expecting him to welcome me back with squeals and hugs like Gabby and Alyssa had done. But his detached attitude hurt far more than Caitlin’s had.

His gaze drifted down my body and back up again. It was in a completely different way than Mr. Ryerson’s gaze had drifted over me.

He handed me the mail. “You shouldn’t be wearing boots like that. Some girls can pull it off. You don’t seem to be one of them. Good thing you walked over here,” he said as he started backing away. “You shouldn’t be trusted behind the wheel if you can’t even handle being on your feet.”

It took a moment to scrape my dignity off of the driveway but I finally managed. I planted my fists against my hips. Despite feeling completely off balance, both physically and emotionally, I managed to scrounge up just a bit of sarcasm. “Gosh, Seth. It’s nice to see you too.”

“I’m late. Gotta run,” he said as he vaguely motioned toward the garage. From where I was standing I could see a large duffel bag sitting on the ground. I was sure that bag was filled with hockey gear. My guess was that he’d dropped it there as he’d come to my quasi-rescue. “Later, Monroe.”

Monroe
? How charming. Made it sound like I was just one of the guys. I mentally reprimanded myself. Why shouldn’t he sound that way? Because really, to him, that’s probably exactly what I was.