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“I’m not eating anything from your fingertips. I don’t know where those things have been.”
He grinned. “I could tell you where they will be later.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself there. I wouldn’t get too cocky.”
“But maybe just a little cocky. Right?”
I felt myself blushing as I shook my head. We went back and forth like that over our food, but it wasn’t the kind of dickish banter I’d known him to have. It was playful. Flirtatious. Nice, even. He had a great sense of humor, and I found myself laughing and partially choking on my food every time he slid a joke in at the right time. Who would’ve thought Clint Clarke had a decent sense of humor?
Certainly not me.
Clint pointed to my shake. “You got enough room for that?”
I leaned back. “I have to admit, this was a lot more food than I realized.”
He grinned. “Maybe try not to keep up with me next time.”
“If you challenge me, I’ll make myself sick proving you wrong.”
“And that would be one of the many reasons why you’re not like your mother.”
The comment caught me off-guard, and it settled itself deep in the pit of my soul. It affected me in so many ways that it brought tears to my eyes. I looked down into my lap, playing with the loose fabric of my cardigan. I blinked rapidly, trying to keep myself together. Except the tears fell anyway.
And I felt my body being slid across the booth seat.
“Come here,” he murmured.
He wrapped his arm around me and I leaned against him. I felt his strength as he comforted me. As he slid his hand up and down my arm. I tucked my head underneath his chin, feeling him lean back with me. And as I rested against him, I allowed the full force of that complimented truth barrel over me.
“You really think I’m not like her?” I whispered.
He shook his head. “Not one damn bit.”
I sniffled. “Thank you.”
“You have nothing to thank me for. You’re not like your mother. End of story. You’re strong. You’re vibrant. You’re resilient. And one of these days, you’ll get out of this place. Just like me.”
I paused. “You want to get out, too?”
“More than anything on this planet.”
“What will you do once you leave?”
He shrugged. “Not go to school, if I can help it. Maybe I’ll open up my own bike shop. Or become an apprentice somewhere and get some certs. Work on some writing or some bullshit like that while I’m at it. Anything’s better than what I’m doing now, that’s for sure.”
I nodded. “I know what you mean.”
He pulled me closer. “What about you? Any plans after high school?”
“I’d love to move out with Allison and get a place together. Maybe with Michael moving in with us or something. She’s been accepted to UCLA’s architecture program, and I imagine Michael will apply to go there just to be around her more.”
“That boy’s got it bad for her.”
I giggled. “He does, and it’s adorable. I love it. And I’m totally for it.”
The two of us sat in silence for a little while before he reached for his milkshake. He held the straw up to my lips and I took a small sip. Then he followed it up with a sip of his own. He went back and forth like that for a while. Until we’d drained the first of two milkshakes.
But when he offered me a sip of the second one, I had to wave it away.
