Shock paralyzed Arianne. It was him. Her brooding, yet misguided savior from the bridge. Never in a million years did she think he'd show up in front of her again. Certainly not with her sprawled on the floor like a baby doe, all limbs, and no coordination. Usually, she had more grace but the stack of flyers she'd been juggling toppled over and took her with it.

"Are you okay?" he asked from the doorway. His voice was exactly as she remembered—smooth and creamy like melted marshmallows over hot chocolate. Even when he'd been vibrating with anger, his velvety cadence had hypnotized her.

Pushing up her glasses, she tipped her head back and did a double take. When they met on that night on the bridge, all she could see were the harsh shadows cutting into his chiseled features. He appeared too hard and severe to be considered gorgeous, but now in the light, she could see everything had she missed. He had sea foam green eyes framed by fluttery lashes and lips with a perfect cupid's bow. His nose had a light dusting of freckles contrasted by rich tawny skin that spoke of mixed ethnicity. Dear god, the man was a diamond, cut and polished and ready to be put on display.

"What are you doing here?" She felt flustered, unbalanced. She hadn't felt this way since...shit. She'd rather poke a hot iron in her eye than think about her ex, Chance. Luckily, he didn't seem offended. If anything, he appeared equally as shocked.

"I'm taking a class. Meditation," he said.

He was here for her? No, not her. Her class. "I'm the instructor."

Disbelief replaced his shock. "You're kidding me. You run the class?"

She raised a brow. "Is that a problem?"

"It's just....it's meditation."

Disappointment struck. It wasn't the first time some dickhead thought they were too good for meditation, but she thought he'd be different especially after everything he'd been through. When he first dived in after her, she assumed he was some asshole with a God complex, but then she saw the fear lurking under the surface. That's when she realized his anger wasn't about her, but about whoever died by suicide. She could see it was sucking him dry like a parasite. It was a shame because when he smiled, she caught a glimpse of him, the real him, and it was as pure as it was captivating. No one should have that snuffed out especially by something as awful as death. But it seemed no matter the tragedy, judgmental assholes were still judgmental assholes.

"I can't believe it," he murmured, shaking his head. She didn't know what his problem was, but he was starting to piss her off. "This has to be a joke."

Bristling, Arianne stood. Her father taught her it was always better to argue eye to eye. Not that Arianne and her brooding savior were the same height. He had at least a foot over her, but then again, most people did. She blamed her vertical impairment on her dad and his Chinese roots. All the women on his side were under five foot five inches, and Arianne was no exception. Her mom's side of the family, all blonde and blue-eyed, were giants in comparison. They were well over six feet, and that included the females.

"I'll have you know meditation isn't a joke," she said hotly. "Millions of people all over the world practice it. In fact, it's proven to help with your health, your concentration, your—"

"Whoa." He stepped back. "I think we have our wires crossed. I'll admit I don't know much about meditation, but I'm not hating on it, I swear." He seemed earnest, but she didn't know if she trusted her judgment. After all, it was her bad decisions that cleaved her family in two. However, if he wasn't interested in meditation, then what was he doing here?

She leaned down to collect her things when the orange and black Eason Tiger mascot on his long-sleeved shirt caught her attention. It was holding a bat and ball. "You're the baseball player." It made sense now. "The one Coach Foley told me about." Garrett.

"You know Coach Foley?"

Why did he keep saying, "you" like that? It was starting to give her a complex. "And apparently so do you. You're supposed to come twice a week, right? Is this the first time?" She got up and started rifling through the papers on the desk. Where was the sign-up sheet? She needed to record his visit for the coach.

"I'm sorry, I just..." He gaped. "C-Can we back up for a sec. My head's spinning."

She rushed over. "Are you all right? Do you need some water?" Arianne took his arm and led him over to a chair behind a desk. Well, tried to lead. He was surprisingly sturdy for a guy who felt dizzy.

"I'm fine. I just..." He gaped. Again.

Maybe he had a fever. The flu was going around campus. She grabbed his arm and tugged. "Come on." He followed like a dazed puppy.

"You don't get it, I've been—" A weird look crossed his face, and then he snapped his mouth shut.

She kicked the chair forward and forced him to sit. The muscles she felt under his sweatshirt surprised her. He was on the more lanky side, so she wasn't expecting such hard definitions. "Not sure what's going on, but I'll bite. You've been what? Waiting for this class? Dreaming of the moment when you could enter through those doors and find nirvana?"

Dazed, Garrett lowered himself. "Something like that."

"Guess I better make sure it lives up to expectation." He didn't look sick or pale. If anything, he looked good. Real good. "Can I get you anything?"

His eyes, which were stunning up close, softened. "I'm fine. Really." He ran his fingers through his hair. The strands curled slightly at the end hugging the nape of his neck. "I guess I'm surprised to see you. I didn't think I'd bump into you here of all places."

He was probably embarrassed to see her again after his freak out on the bridge. She wanted to assure him she wouldn't tell anyone but didn't know how to bring it up without turning awkward. "Well, here I am. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Sunday."

He dropped his head forward and smiled as if he'd just unearthed a secret. Her heart stuttered as Arianne made her own discovery. The guy had dimples—two adorable, sexy dimples. This was bad. She had a weakness for dimples especially paired with a devilish grin. Abort, her brain screamed. Get out while you can.

"How long have you been doing this?" he asked. Her senses jumped to attention as he angled his body towards her. She could feel his heat radiating through his clothes like a furnace ready to explode. It was unnerving how much she wanted to close the gap, to let herself catch fire.

She forced herself to the filing cabinet behind him, her hand trembling slightly as she sorted the pile of folders sitting on top. Steadying herself, she replied, "Right before the college started. I saw an ad for an instructor and thought why not? The hours aren't bad, and I like meditation." She didn't mention how she'd begged for the position since it was the only way she could afford to eat at the time.

Garrett swiveled to face her, his expression thoughtful. "Seems like a pretty sweet job. Have you always been into the meditation thing?"

She froze. The memories painful. "My mom taught me when I was little." Every afternoon after school, they would carve out half-an-hour to meditate and reflect on the day. During those times, her mom had been so loving, so maternal.

Garrett murmured, "That's nice you guys have something to share. Kind of like my dad and I."

Judging by the love reflected in his voice, she doubted they had the same type of twisted relationship. She should be happy that he had a great childhood, but a selfish part of her was disappointed. If he had a strained relationship with a parent, then maybe he would understand hers. For some inexplicable reason, she wanted to trust him. Wanted to pour her heart out and tell him of her struggle, her resentment, her fear. It didn't make sense, but that urge was there. Waiting. Wanting.

"Is he the one who got you into baseball?" she asked, desperate to sever the connection, and just as desperate to know more.

He nodded, a silly grin on his face that made her heart thump. "When I was a baby my dad used to whisper baseball stats to put me to sleep. I guess it stuck because I've been throwing a ball since I was big enough to hold one."

She imaged an older version of him, rocking a baby boy to sleep as he lovingly spouted off baseball terms. Despite her disappointment, she was glad he had sweet memories, especially as she thought of his panicked expression on the bridge. "I like that for you." His eyebrows drew together, so she explained, "That you have someone you can share stuff with. Must be nice."

"Don't you have the same thing with your mom?"

Her spine stiffened as she thought of all the stuff her mom and her shared. Funny how she used to pity her friends who never giggled with their mother's over a TV show or felt comfortable talking about boys with them. But the joke ended up being on her because at least their mothers never slept with their boyfriends.

She swallowed hard, ignoring the lump caught in her throat. "I've always been closer to my dad." And it was the truth. They shared a special bond. Even as a baby, her father had been the only one able to calm her down and put her to sleep. That bond lasted well into her teen years until that fateful night when the ugly truth had spilled out.

He nodded in understanding. "Me too. Probably because of baseball. My brother—" His expression flickered as his gaze turned troubled. Swallowing, he forced out, "My uh, b-brother was more into studying, so he was closer to my mom. She used to be a chemistry teacher."

Used to? Was his mom the reason he freaked out when he thought Arianne was trying to end her life? Curious, Arianne asked, "Did she retire?"

He gave a weak shrug. "Something like that. My dad asked her to take a break from teaching for a while, and she never got back into it."

Arianne was relieved his mom wasn't the reason, but if she wasn't, then who was? "What does your dad do?"

"He works at a marketing firm right outside of Chicago. What about your parents?"

The pages she gripped crumpled as she held back a grimace. "They're in the paper business."

His nose wrinkled, the freckles blurring together. "Like a newspaper?"

"No, like actual paper. My dad runs a paper mill." Which her mom had inherited from her great-aunt much to the surprise of everyone since her mom hadn't been particularly close to her aunt. Arianne had only been five at the time, so she didn't remember much, but she recalled moving from their tiny one bedroom apartment in Los Angeles to a mansion in Apache Crossing, Arizona.

"Huh," he murmured, looking stumped.

"Super random, I know." Growing up, it'd seemed normal. The paper mill was the biggest source of jobs in that small town, so naturally, everything revolved around it. And she did mean everything. And since her family owned it, they were scrutinized, envied, and gossiped about. She imagined it was how a goldfish felt except a goldfish didn't have to interact with its tormentor. Lucky goldfish.

"Not random, just...unexpected. I've never really thought about where paper comes from. Is there—" His phone rang. He sighed as he glanced at the screen, a small frown forming.

"You can answer it. I should get back to—"

He rejected the call, slipping it back into his pocket. "It's just my friends. Probably wondering what I'm doing." It rang again, and again, he rejected the call. Then it beeped with a texted.

"Seriously, you can answer." She sensed his reluctance and felt a prick of annoyance. "Don't want them to know you're meditating?"

He looked around the room, avoiding her gaze. "It has nothing to do with meditation."

Uh-huh. Sure. "So you just don't want your friends to know where you are or what you're doing for the sake of it?"

He shrugged sheepishly, his dimple peeking out. "Kind of?"

God knows she wasn't an expert in friendships—in fact, she could count on her hand how many people she considered a friend—but that didn't sound normal. Not at all. "Exactly what kind of friends are you?"

"Not very good ones." Garrett pursed his lips and glanced down at his hands which were rough and callused. "No, that's not fair. We are good friends. Just not at the moment."

Perplexed, she breathed out, "O-kay...did you guys fight about something?"

"No." He let out a deep sigh as he shifted forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He appeared reflective as he templed his hands except for the thumbs which tapped out a nervous beat. "I just...do you ever feel, I don't know, disconnected somehow?"

Conscious of the importance behind the question, she asked gently, "What do you mean?"

"Like it's...wrong. Or something's not quite..." Garrett shook his head, the short reddish-brown strands swaying like paper in the wind. "Never mind. I don't know how to explain."

"I'm not the best person to ask about friendship issues." Even before her life had imploded in Apache, true friends had been scarce. She'd kept her guard up because she never knew if they truly liked her or if they wanted to suck up to their parents' bosses kid. Plus, she was the only Asian, besides her dad, in town. It shouldn't have mattered, not in this day and age, but somehow it did. It made her different—unapproachable—as if they couldn't quite process how she functioned. She remembered one time when she invited her friend, Allie, over for dinner. Allie had marveled at how they ate white rice like it was a normal occurrence because to Allie, rice meant take-out food or some exotic cuisine.

"I don't know even why I'm telling you this. It's not like we're friends."

A keen need to be the person he confided in swelled inside of her, but she brutally squelched it. There was no room for him in her life. "That's probably why you can tell me. Relationships always complicate things."

He propped his head on his hands and looked at her curiously. "All relationships?"

She nodded, her voice thick with memories. "It's because you care. Anything with emotions is a recipe for disaster."

He frowned. "That's pretty cynical for an eighteen-year-old."

"I like cynical. It never leaves me unprepared."

"For what?"

She thought back to her last year in Apache when she'd been so lonely she could have screamed, and no one would have touched her. "For life."

A gleam entered his blue-green eyes, making them shimmer like the sun hitting the ocean's waves. She could see the intelligence behind them, the depth that he kept hidden. "You don't do things half-heartedly do you?"

"No waffling," she whispered, remembering her dad's advice. At Garrett's questioning gaze, she explained, "Don't be a waffle that's weak and full of holes."

"If you're not supposed to be a waffle, what are you supposed to be?"

Humor lit her face. "A pancake."

Garrett laughed, sending her an appreciative glance that had her pressing a hand to her stomach. She told herself the flutter was the result of an omelet gone wrong, and not because of the masculine glint in his eyes.

"So..." He paused apprehensively, glancing at her hand on her stomach. "This is, uh, probably gonna sound dumb but what exactly do you do in these classes? Do you just sit and veg for an hour?"

Her cheeks grew hot as she let go of her stomach and rubbed her palm against her black leggings. "Not quite. There are different types of meditation but what we do here is a basic form of meditation. We focus on our breathing and clearing our minds. I've found it helps especially if you're stressed, or depressed, or even lonely."

His gaze jerked to hers, and she wished she could take back the last part. She didn't want him asking questions, didn't want him knowing she had issues. How long before he would discover the truth and realize she was nothing more than a fraud? How long before he would abandon her like everyone else?

Arianne's thoughts had wandered to him several times since the bridge incident. She'd be writing about someone in her notebook, and suddenly, he'd pop into her head, sopping wet and desolate as she rode away on her bike. She would never forget the loneliness etched onto his face. She understood that type of isolation. It left a person weak, hollow. It's why she fled that night, and why she was so scared right now. Their connection reminded her of everything she lacked in her life, everything she lost.

Suddenly, she wished he would leave. He was dredging up too many emotions she thought buried. Breaking his gaze, she looked around the room and realized she never picked up the papers she dropped. She knelt down and tensed as he followed suit. "You don't have to do that," she protested, but he was already shuffling them together.

"What is all this? Research for a class?"

She scooted over so their arms wouldn't accidentally touch. "It's for an event. I'm in charge of the flyers." Technically, she was in charge of social media, and her roommate was in charge of the flyers, but she had the flu.

"Join us for a Night Under the Cardboard," he read.

"It's a fundraiser for the local homeless shelter. You live in a cardboard box for twenty-four hours and raise money."

He studied the flyer. "There's going to be a DJ and food trucks?"

Grabbing the pile, she struggled to her feet. He offered a hand, but she pretended not to see. "For parts of it. Not exactly authentic, but we're trying to get as many people interested as we can. Figured some good music and food would grab their attention."

He rose as she slipped the flyers into her tote bag. "You always this busy?"

His words felt like an accusation. "You're busy too. Baseball is no joke. Jordan was telling me about the team's schedule."

"You know Jordan?"

The tightness in his voice gave her pause. Was he worried she would say something to Jordan about his freak out? "He comes at least once a week. I thought you knew that. You guys are teammates, right?"

A sharp nod. "We're both pitchers."

"Oh. That's an important position, right? Sorry, I don't know a lot about baseball. Never been to a game." She remembered Jordan mentioning a relief pitcher—Gus-something-or-other. But if Garrett was a pitcher too, then why did they have Gus?

"You've never been to a baseball game?" he asked.

His incredulity tickled her despite her tangled feelings. "Sports aren't really my thing." Much to her parents' dismay. Both had been track stars in college. In fact, that's where they had met. During one of the practices, her mom had overheard a couple of teammates remarking on the best hurdler—her dad. Head high, her mom walked right up to him and demanded a race.

"As we took our marks, your mother stuck her tongue out at me and told me not to hold back. That's when I knew, Ari," her dad said, holding a pig-tailed Arianne on his lap.

"Knew what?"

"That I had lost."

"The race?"

"No, my heart."

It was difficult to reconcile the parents who would sweetly hold hands under the table and kiss in public, to the spiteful, acrid relationship they had now. She wondered if her father knew back then what he did now, would he still have fallen for her? Married her? Had a kid with her?

Garrett frowned. "So what is your thing?"

"Staying busy, I guess." Not thinking about the past. Not thinking about the future. Not thinking at all. Because thinking meant feeling. "Probably sounds stupid."

"Not at all. Lots of people do it. In fact, I was just talking to my therapist about—" All the color drained from his face. "I mean, I-uh..." The room was silent as he sucked in a breath, the sound a roar to Arianne's ears. Her hand lifted involuntarily as if to offer him comfort, but she stopped herself before she could make contact. God knows she had her fair share of baggage, but how could she explain that without him probing for more?

Hoping for a distraction, she motioned to the flyer in his hand. "You should come. Lots of people are going to be there. Not just students." His gaze shot to hers and she sent him an encouraging smile, but he didn't relax. If anything, it made him more ill-at-ease.

"I have to see about my schedule." It came out awkward, and unwieldy like the words were garbled in his throat. "Sorry."

She wanted to laugh. Or cry. Any rapport they'd shared had flown straight out the window, and she had no idea why. "Of course. You should take one just in case though."

He refused to look at her as he crisply folded the flyer in two and tucked it in a pocket. "I'm gonna go wait out there. Let you get back to what you were doing." There was a deafening pause, then he strode out, his back as stiff as a board.

She bit her lower lip as she felt his loss to her core. Should she go after him? What would she even say? Maybe it was better for both of them to keep their distance. But then why did she feel guilty for not telling him about her visits to a therapist? Damn it, she didn't owe him anything! He was just a guy she met.

Ten minutes later, Arianne was still wrestling with herself as she looked around the class. It was a good group tonight. About twenty people, mostly female, though there were a few males sprinkled in. She noticed her brooding savior mostly kept to himself. He didn't even talk to Jordan, who also kept his distance. There was definitely something up between those two. They couldn't look at each other without dripping disdain.

Pushing aside her guilt, Arianne clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. "All right, time to begin. Spread out and take a seat."

The class went well. She kept on eye on the newbies, making sure they understood each exercise and were doing them correctly. She tried not to focus on Garrett too much but found her gaze drifting to him time and time again.

He surprised her. She thought he'd blow the class off, but he took it seriously. Even during the meditation portion when most beginners would fidget or fall asleep, he concentrated. Several times, their gazes locked, but before she could comprehend his expression, he would avert his eyes.

Afterward, when everyone was packing up, Jordan ambled over and gave her a one-armed hug. "Hey, you. Crowded one tonight."

"No kidding." A packed room and no air conditioning made for a stifling atmosphere. Several times she had to wipe her glasses after they fogged up. "May have to add another class if this keeps going."

His blue eyes flashed with interest. "You guys should have a sunrise class. I know I'd go for that."

"Maybe." Arianne wasn't a morning person, but she'd ask the other instructors. "Not going to talk to your buddy?" She nodded to Garrett who was on his phone, studiously ignoring them.

Jordan playfully tweaked her nose, and she felt...nothing. Not even a twinge of interest. "Garrett isn't my buddy," he said.

"But he's your teammate."

"Doesn't mean he's my friend."

Arianne frowned. Jordan was friends with everyone. It was one of the reasons she pegged him as a sunflower yellow. He was bright, friendly, and assertive. And just as sunflowers' straddled the line between orange and yellow, Jordan straddled the line between friend and leader. "What do you know about him?"

"Oh no. Don't even think about it," Jordan said, shaking his head. Several girls sent him inviting looks, but he ignored them, instead, focusing on rolling his yoga mat.

"Think about what?"

"I see that look on your face. Forget it. Want to know his nickname? Saint Garrett. He's celibate."

Her eyes widened. How odd. He was odd. And damn it, she liked odd. "Do you know why?"

"There's rumors, but I don't know if they're true or not."

"Then don't tell me." In her experience, rumors always destroyed and she'd take no part in destroying Garrett. "Why don't you like him?"

"I don't know him," Jordan said lightly.

But weren't they teammates? "What aren't you telling me? Does it have anything to do with those rumors?"

Jordan stuffed the yoga mat into his backpack and zipped it shut. "I thought you didn't want to hear?"

"I don't, but I'm curious as to why you're acting so weird about him. Did he do something to you?" Maybe the problem stemmed from both of them being pitchers. Jealousy was an ugly beast.

"He just rubs me the wrong way. One of those things, ya know?"

Arianne made a noncommittal noise. She sensed there was more to the issue, but she wasn't going to pry. Not when Jordan made it clear he didn't want to discuss it. He was one of the few people she considered a friend, and she wasn't going to ruin that. Their friendship was an odd thing. They had next to nothing in common, but Jordan was such a genuine person it was hard not to like him.

He shrugged on his forest green peacoat which clashed with his orange trainers. While Jordan always wore classic, albeit preppy, pieces, he didn't seem to understand the concept of color coordination. "You gonna come to a baseball game? The season starts soon."

She automatically sought out Garrett. She spotted him in the back getting corralled by two pushy sophomore girls. He stuttered something that had both girls laughing. "I don't think so."

"You sure? It's pretty fun."

She watched as Garrett fended them off, a forced smile on his face. When he lifted his head, the smile faded, and she saw the pain behind the veneer. She wondered if anyone else noticed. If anyone else cared. "Maybe. Don't count on it though."

Jordan followed her gaze, a trouble expression forming. "Don't say I didn't warn you. That kid has a lot of shit going on." When she didn't respond, he hugged her again and waved goodbye. Before he left, he added, "Think about what I said. I'd hate to see you get dragged down."

But I'm already there, she thought to herself. I'm already there.

*Bonus Question* If this was a movie who would you cast as Garrett?

Major shout-out to my South African readers. You guys are awesome! <3