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I’m smart enough, aren’t I?
To quit. To fall out of love with him.
I don’t have the time to figure out if I am or not because something flickers across his face. Something that makes his plush lips twitch.Somethingthat makes his voice rougher, deeper. “Unfortunately though, you’re stuck with me.”
“In a stupid snowstorm.”
“In a stupid snowstorm.”
“Afteryou’ve said such awful things to me.”
“That’s what being mean is.”
“Andthreatened to fire me.”
“Refer to my earlier reply.”
“All the while ruining my first date ever.”
He frowns. “That was your first date?”
This is when I wake up.
I realize where I am and who I am and who he is. And how instead of being angry at him and letting him know, I’m leaning toward him and speaking in hushed tones.
I straighten up and away from him. “That’s not true at all. I lied. I’ve been on dates before and —”
“Well then, I’m glad I ruined it,” he declares with a clenched jaw.
“Excuse me?”
“You shouldn’t have been on that date in the first place.”
“Why, because he’s a thirty-year-old drug dealer?”
“Yes.”
“You know what, I’m not in the mood for your ridiculous lecture. I’m —”
“And because he was so fucking high that he was more interested in staring at a plate of greasy fried food than at you.”
“I don’t understand how that’s your problem.”
“It’s my problem because you deserve to be on a date with someone who can’t take his eyes off of you.”
“What?”
In response, he takes his time going through each of my features one by one. He takes his time studying me, staring at me like he said my date didn’t do.
“Who doesn’t know where else to look. Even when the world is burning around him or freezing over in a snowstorm.”
Once again, he states his words like a declaration and lays waste to all my thoughts.
Every single one of them.
All my anger. All my outrage. All the promises that I’ll get over him vanished at a handful of his words.
“I’m… That was…”
