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He's still holding all the cards.
"Honestly?" He stares back at me.
"No. I want a lie."
"I gotta watch myself. You could push me off a cliff."
"You must be—"
"You gonna guess my weight again?"
"You're all muscle. Don't pretend like it offends you."
His lips curl into that million-dollar smile. It's a second, then frustration streaks his expression. "It was for you."
"Fuck you." I push off the hillside. Move forward. He can shill out all the bullshit he wants. I'm not hearing it.
"Sunshine, wait."
I don't.
I climb the damn hill as fast as I can.
He follows.
He's taller. Faster.
I break into a jog.
A full-on trail run.
Dart around the curve.
Down a steep hill.
Up the next.
My heart races. My breath becomes a struggle. My focus shifts to the trail and the placement of my feet.
Fuck his stupid excuses.
Fuck him for calling me sunshine.
For inviting me out to show me the beauty in the world.
We can't be anything.
Not if he's still refusing to be honest.
With the next hill, he catches up.
His fingers curl around my upper arm. "You were going someplace. To a good college and a guy with a real job. A guy who could buy you a car and a vacation and a house with a white picket fence."
"What about me says white picket fence?"
"Besides the combat boots and the eyeliner, everything."
"Fuck you."
