Page 17 of Left In The Dark

“You going to tell me what it is?”

“You going to tell me why you’re out here without a jacket on. You’re shivering like crazy.”

His teeth chatter. “I didn’t want it to hide my new outfit, and I also didn’t plan on spending much time outside.”

Arrogant as usual. “Let’s go inside, then.” I glance down at my watch. “We can grab some popcorn while we wait for the movie to start.”

“Is it something scary?” Wrinkling his face, he hooks his arm around mine and I lead us through the double doors.

“Nope.”

“A comedy?” His voice rises.

“Not really. More like a drama.” I show them our tickets on my phone and he increases his steps as we get closer to the concession stand.

“I thought you said it wasn’t a secret.” He presses his body to me, and I don’t know why I don’t push him away. I don’t know why I hold onto him tighter either. I guess to have a little taste of the other side for a little longer. To see what’s so great about being accepted and flirted with by Blake Mitchell. Or maybe that’s only something I’m telling myself.

This guy is a monster. No matter how many make‑up dinners or movies he pays for, I can’t forget that. But I’m really trying to keep on the high road and not use a wrong against a wrong to make a right.

“It’s not,” I finally answer. “I just like seeing you get it wrong every time you guess.”

He releases a high‑pitched laugh. “Ah, I see. You want to torture me.”

You have no idea. But I’m trying here. I’m really trying. I’m not a bad person, and it’s not too late for me to keep from becoming one. “Maybe a little.”

“Only a little?” He lifts a brow.

“Maybe a lot. It’s kind of fun. The little popular boy isn’t getting his way for once.”

He scoffs, shaking his head against my shoulder. “Oh, it doesn’t mean I won’t. It’ll just take more time until I do is all.”

So fucking arrogant. I fake a smile, yanking my arm away when it’s our turn to order. I order a large popcorn and Blake is quickly back beside me, grabbing onto the sleeve of my jacket as he adds a box of Skittles and a red Icee. He doesn’t stop touching me or getting as close as he can, lifting the armrest between us when we find our seats.

“Do you not know how to sit or stand on your own or something?” I grin.

“Huh?” He lays his head on my shoulder, staring ahead.

“You keep holding onto me as if you’re going to fall or slide off of your chair if you don’t.”

“Oh.” He sits up in his seat. “Sorry. I can be a little handsy sometimes on dates and don’t always realize I’m doing it.”

“Dates?” My forehead wrinkles, stomach tightening. “Is that what you think this is?”

“Isn’t it?” His voice squeaks.

“No. Why would you think that? I thought this was your way of rectifying what you did. Wasn’t aware of this hidden agenda.”

“Hidden agenda? I only thought . . . I mean that was the case yesterday, but then I thought . . . it kind of seemed like we were on the same page.”

“Same page?” I grit out. “Same page how?”

“You were flirting with me back,” he argues, brows pulled down tight.

“It’s called being polite, Blake. Do you forget what you did? You made my life a living hell in high school and then fucked my boyfriend while I was away at college.”

His face falls flat. “What? Who?”

“Stephen Murphy. Brown hair, bird tattoo. We made our relationship final the summer after we graduated and were together every day.”