“No.”
He squats down in front of me so we’re eye to eye.
A wave of his body wash and cologne brushes over my face. I forgot how good he smells. I sniffle a little again.
“Everything is going to be okay.” His voice is so low. So gentle. It makes my tight stomach unravel a little.
I wrap my arms around my knees and shake my head, knowing everyone back in the party is talking about me and analyzing everything right this moment. “No, it’s not.”
He clenches his jaw. “Come on. You think it’s going to be like this forever because of Carlton?”
At the mention of his name, my heart sinks. A fresh round of tears threatens to appear, so I stand and start walking toward the direction of my house.
“Where are you going?” Ezra asks from behind me.
“Home.”
“Let me drive you.”
I shake my head. “It’s literally right down the street.”
He steps in front of me, steadying me by the shoulders with his hands. “I know where you live, Rue.” A cute little half-smile appears. It’s the kind of smile that weakens knees. The kind of smile that, when accompanied by faces and deep voices like his, weakens resolve right along with knees.
“What about Tucker? Didn’t you two come together?”
“He can catch a ride with Mabel.”
“Fine,” I mutter, defeated.
He seems pleased by my answer, but his smile is replaced with a frown when he takes in what I’m wearing. “Don’t you have a jacket?”
“I left it inside.”
“Wait here, I’ll go get it.”
“No.” I reach my hand out to stop him, but recoil when I almost touch his hard shoulder. “I just want to go. It’s fine.”
“This Carlton guy really did a number on you.” A furrow appears between his brows as he removes his thick letterman jacket. He drapes it over my shoulders, and we walk down the street until we reach his car. I hate how pleased I am that his smell clings to the heavy fabric. This whole thing feels so surreal.
Ezra opens the passenger door to his car for me. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go in there and teach him some manners?”
I roll my eyes and get in. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
He’s silent. I notice the hard set of his mouth as he gets in and starts the engine. As we drive, I catch sight of his stony expression from my peripherals. Finally, he says, “Sometimes people make mistakes. That doesn’t mean they can’t learn from them.”
I want to scream in frustration. Why is he being so nice to me right now, all of a sudden? It can’t be a coincidence that thisis the first time we’ve spoken in years, and we happened to lock eyes up close after his game yesterday.
With him right here, the memories flood me. It’s all too much—the way his voice wraps around me like a caress, along with the sweet, musky scent of his jacket that I’m still wearing, and the knowledge that Meredith really wants nothing to do with me.
I’ve lost her friendship for good.
I almost don’t trust myself to talk the rest of the ride because I’m worried I might break down again, but we need to discuss what just happened.
What am I going to do about this situation? People literally think Ezra is my boyfriend now! I could deny it, but that makes both of us look stupid and weird. Do I stage a fake break-up to get us out of this, or would it be better to pretend for a little longer? And is he willing to do that?
“Ezra…are you really going to pretend to be my boyfriend?”
“Yeah. If it helps you.”
