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West exhales a laugh through his nose, smiling. “You have a gap between your front teeth. ”
&n
bsp; “It’s useful. I can spit through it. ”
“I’d like to see that. ”
“Well, you won’t get to. ”
“Won’t I?”
“No. We’re not going to be friends. We’re not going to be anything. That’s what I wanted to tell you. ”
He doesn’t like that. His mouth doesn’t, and his eyes don’t. “It’s not what it seemed like you wanted to tell me a minute ago. ”
“I don’t care what it seemed like. ” If he keeps leaning closer, I’m going to pinch him.
He leans closer. I pinch him.
Okay, I try. But my hand gets near his arm, and lust sucks me in, and then I’m just kind of groping his sleeve.
His biceps is as hard as it looks. I take my hand away before it can declare its allegiance to the enemy.
“Looked to me like you wanted me to kiss you,” West says.
I cross my arms and examine the books on the shelf behind his shoulder, a neat row of thick blue spines that say PMLA.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “I can’t afford it. If people think we’re together, or that what happened between you and Nate was about me, they’ll keep talking about it, and this whole mess will go on and on. That’s not what I want. I want it to go away. ”
“You want it to go away. ”
The doubt in his voice fires up my anger again. I hate that some people think I published those pictures myself, just for the attention. I hate that he might think it.
“Yes. ” The word comes out a little louder than I intend, so I say it again. “Yes. ”
“Rich Diehms called you a slut three minutes ago, and you didn’t say anything to him. You said it’s fine. ”
“What do you want me to do, chase him down and punch him in the mouth?”
“Maybe,” he says. “Yell at him, at least. ”
“What would that accomplish?”
“Does everything you do have to be about accomplishing something?”
Here, at least, is a question I can answer easily. “Yes. ”
“So what are you trying to accomplish now?”
“I’m trying to get my pictures off the Internet, and I’m trying keep a low profile so people will forget it ever happened. ”
He laughs at me.
My hand comes up so fast, I don’t even realize I’m about to smack him until he catches my wrist.
“Honey—”
“Don’t call me honey. ” I’m struggling against his grip, so angry that he caught me and won’t let go. Caught me easily. I’ve never tried to slap someone before. I’m breathless and too emotional, balanced on the brink of tears. “Let me go. ”
