Page 133 of Where Roads Lead

Instead, I just glared at him, hoping it looked intimidating enough to send him on his way. After all, why should he waste a perfectly good night tending to my feelings when it was clear he couldn’t wait for me to get the hell out of his town.

“Shit,” I repeated, this time deflated as I stared at him, standing there, looking perfect and gorgeous and broody with his arms crossed over his chest, and all I could do was throw a tantrum. And for what?

“Damn it, Elsie. Just tell me what I did!”

“Nothing!” I yelled, fingers gripping my hair hard enough to hurt. “You did nothing!”

“I did nothing?” He scoffed. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? I mean, the only thing you’re guilty of is not being romantically interested in me, and I don’t see how that’s anyone’s problem but my own for thinking, maybe for a second, that you might possibly be interested in me.”

He stilled, as if the mere idea of it horrified him.

I laughed, manically and continued. “See! The very idea of it is so absurd that it left you speechless. I guess I was just an idiot for even thinking it was possible in the first place, because why would someone like you like someone like me?”

“Someone like me, meaning what?” he breathed, taking a step closer.

“Quiet. Solitary. Reclusive,” I said flippantly, retreating farther back now that he was daring to cross the imaginary barrier that had existed between us.

“And someone like you, meaning?” he said, now in the center of the kitchen.

“Loud. Annoying. Hyper.” I pressed myself nearly against the wall in the corner of the kitchen, pretending to fumble with something on the counter beside me. “I mean, now that I’m saying it out loud, it’s so obviously ridiculous that I ever thought you could like me. I guess it proves what a great imagination I have, though, right?”

He was too close now. Far too close for comfort.

“Say that again,” he said.

“What?”

“That. That ridiculous claim you just made.” His words sounded bitter as hazel eyes narrowed down on me.

“About not being interested in me?” I said a bit more boldly, now that I saw that familiar glint in his eyes.

Arguing was good. I knew this dynamic with him. I was comfortable with it.

“That’s wrong.” He shook his head. “You’re wrong.”

“You’re telling me I’m wrong?” I scoffed, somehow infuriated, even though if I was going to be wrong about anything, I desperately wanted to be about this.

But the thing about Will—every word exchanged between us felt like a challenge. A dare. It had been from the beginning, and I wasn’t ready to set that aside now, even when my insides were hammering with what ifs.

“You hate that, don’t you?” he said, getting impossibly closer until he was near enough that all I could see was him.

I breathed out, mind hazy from his proximity as I tried to remember what stance I was taking and why.

Why was this the hill I’d wanted to die on a minute ago, when Will was right here, caging me against the wall and looking like he wanted to prove a point I didn’t know why I was fighting?

And God, did I want him to succeed in that.

But then I remembered.

“Theo!” I shoved his chest hard, if only to give me the space to think clearly for at least a second. “You were an asshole to Theo tonight. Why? Because you’re pissed I went out with your friend?”

“Look who’s catching on.”

“Well, it doesn’t involve you.” I huffed. “I don’t know if you’re worried that me dating your friend might make me stick around in town longer or—”

“What?”