Possess

Kappa Sig like your ex-girlfriend? You’d be comfortable with that, right? Because that’s the world you know? As long as I’m letting some college sophomore ply me with Keystone, it’s all good.”
    Matt’s tanned face flushed a deep shade of scarlet, and Bridget knew she’d hit close to home. But she didn’t care. She was tired of everyone sticking their noses in her business. She’d done fine for years without Matt Quinn in her life, and just because her dad was dead didn’t mean she needed any help from Mr. Perfect Grades, Perfect Body, Starting Pitcher, no matter how cute he looked when he smiled.
    How cute he looked when he smiled? Whoa, did she really just think that?
    A movement from the flatbed caught her eye, and she saw Peter’s face plastered against the cab’s window, his quick breaths fogging up the glass. Peter always seemed to be watching her these days. It was getting a little creepy.
    Matt slammed on the brakes, and Bridget snickered as Hector rolled into Peter. Matt rapped his knuckles against the cab window. “Library.”
    The shock absorbers bounced as two bodies scrambled over the tailgate—first Hector’s fumbling, then Peter’s slow, careful tread. Peter’s face was at her window instantly, trying to ask a question through the glass, but Matt didn’t wait; he peeled away from the curb with an ear-shattering tire squeal.
    As they drove in silence, Bridget stole a glance at Matt. His mouth was clamped tight, the muscles of his jawline bulging out from below his sculpted cheek, and his eyebrows were scrunched low. He ran his hand through his sandy blond hair, and the longish strands stood up straight for a split second before flopping down over his ear.
    “I worked with your brother yesterday,” Matt said, switching gears.
    Bridget softened. Sammy was her Achilles heel.
    Her brother was hardly an athlete and cared about sports about as much as Bridget cared about Latin class. But Sammy got teased mercilessly about being horrible at sports, and Bridget had comforted the devastated eight-year-old on more than one occasion. Enter Matt Quinn to the rescue.
    “He’s getting a lot better,” Matt continued. “You know, I think once he gets over his fear of the ball, he could be pretty good.”
    “Yeah?” Bridget said, despite herself.
    “Totally.” Matt turned to her with a grin. “His timing is pretty impressive.”
    Bridget couldn’t help smiling. Anything that might help Sammy get along better at school made her happy. “Thank you.”
    Matt slowed down for the stop sign. “No problem. I like Sammy.”
    Bridget laughed. “You and I might be the only two people on the planet who do.”
    They smiled at each other, and Bridget couldn’t suppress the warmth spreading over her. There was something so familiar about Matt. Homey. Comfortable. Something that reminded her of a happier time in her life.
    A honk from the car behind them snapped Matt’s attention back to the road, and he accelerated through the intersection. As they drove in silence, the radio DJ bumped out of a commercial break into the next song, and Coldplay blared through the speakers once more.
    Without thinking, Bridget reached to change the station. At the same time, Matt’s hand shot forward and his fingers grazed the top of hers. Bridget was surprised how soft his fingers felt; she’d assumed a pitcher would have rough, calloused hands. Matt let his fingertips linger, and even though Bridget’s first instinct was to pull back, she didn’t.
    What the hell was wrong with her? Bridget shook herself and whipped her hand away from the radio. Matt’s hand fell to his lap.
    “Why are you so difficult?” he blurted out.
    “Me?”
    “Yeah. You know, I’ve tried really hard to be your friend since I moved back to San Francisco. But you’re so prickly all the time. Always looking for a fight.”
    “I am not!”
    “See?”
    Bridget threw up her hands. “What?”
    That look of concern crept back into Matt’s face. “You weren’t like that when we were kids. You were more fun. You used to smile. And laugh.”
    His words struck a chord. At one point in time there’d been a happy, laughing Bridget Liu, content to wear her school uniform and play peekaboo with her baby brother, or hide-and-seek with the son of her dad’s best friend. But somewhere along the line, that Bridget had been lost, masked by a hard, sarcastic shell complete with steel-toed boots and a don’t-mess-with-me scowl.
    Bridget