Page 142 of Trust Me

“He’s a goddamn maniac. Fuck.” I knocked my head back against the seat. “Now I have to . . . thank him.” I tried not to gag. “I hate this so much.”

Turning to face me, Oli planted a kiss on my cheek. “Pull the stick out of your ass, baby.”

Ever since I’d called him that yesterday, he’d been using it religiously. Any time we were alone, he threw it at me. And every time, my stomach had a rave.

“Ooh, if we hurry,” he said, “we can get some practice in.”

“Practice? Oh.” The way his eyebrows went up and down made my cheeks heat. “I’m going to say no to doing that right before my parents get home.” Cupping his jaw, I kissed the tip of his nose. “But after dark, all bets are off.”

The way he grinned made my stomach do somersaults.

“Let’s make a couple of stops,” I suggested.

“Are we bargain hunting?”

I didn’t respond, too busy thinking about all the years I’d spent in this city. If I had to narrow them down, which moments had impacted me the most?

Grabbing Oli’s phone, I updated the address for the driver. Neither of them seemed bothered by the change of plans, and as we headed toward the other side of town, I tapped my fingers on the seat impatiently.

When the car came to a stop, I pushed the door open and dragged Oli out with me. He laughed like it was the most exciting experience of his life. Even when he looked at the boring old bricks that made up the high school, his eyes were full of light.

“Is this where you trained that big brain of yours?” he asked.

“Yup. It’s not all that interesting, but if you want—”

“Obviously.” He grimaced. “Sorry. I’m listening.”

I grunted, not believing him. After pointing to a bench at the far end of the building, I crossed my arms. “Right there, I had my first kiss.”

“Ah. I thought I’d like this trip down memory lane. I don’t.”

“Does it help if I tell you I hated it?”

“Why?”

“She had broccoli stuck in her braces.” I shuddered at the memory.

“It helps,” he said with a sharp nod.

“There.” I grabbed his hand, dragging him toward the stretch where the buses would line up after school. “I was standing here when I learned what it felt like to get punched in the face.”

He looked at where I’d planted my feet. “How’d you earn it?”

“Who says I did?”

The mischief in his smile drove me on, so I raced down the sidewalk with him on my heels.

“Mr. Beauford lived there,” I said, pointing at a house that had been updated since I last saw it. The sight made a sickening sense of nostalgia flicker at the edge of my mind, and I let it drift closer. “He used to sit on the porch most of the day, and after practice he’d give me a sandwich and a glass of milk. I think he just wanted someone to talk with him for a bit.”

“That’s sweet.”

“I learned a whole lot about history that they didn’t tell us in school.”

“Like what?”

“Let’s just say there are rarely any good guys in war.”

“This is why you’re so cynical.”