Page 35 of Wanna Bet?

To: Project Win

​Wanna meet up and smoke? Xo

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By noon, Myah felt like she was wearing her skin inside out.

Jace’s car smelt faintly like vinyl, old coffee, and whatever incense he’d tried to neutralize both with. Tonight there was a thinner scent layered over it–weed and something citrusy from the blunt wrap–the windows cracked just enough to let the smoke drift out into the warm evening air.

They were parked behind the record store, the neon sign humming softly above them. Myah had clocked out from the coffee stand an hour ago and walked over, sliding into the passenger seat like it was habit. Like it was hers.

He’d been perfectly normal all evening and that was the problem.

He’d smiled when she got in. Passed her a blunt without comment. Said it was hers to smoke and lit it for her. A perfect gentleman. Said he needed to stay as sober as possible to drive with the terrible traffic.

Told her about a guy who tried to argue that Fleetwood Mac was “underground.” He’d laughed when she snorted at that. Their knees had bumped twice in the cramped space between the seats, and each time he’d just let them rest there for a second before shifting naturally.

Normal.

Easy.

Unbothered.

And that made Myah’s stomach tie in knots. What was she doing here, playing with the heart of one of the nicest guys she’d ever met in this city?

He hadn’t texted first today. She had. He hadn’t lingered at her stand this morning; he’d just grabbed his coffee and kissed her cheek like it was routine. There had been a few small pauses in conversation tonight, the kind that happened when people were comfortable, and her brain had taken each one and stretched it thin like fragile glass.

He’s pulling back. You’re too much. He knows about the bet and thinks you're a piece of shit human. Worse, he’s getting bored of you.

She hated that voice for many reasons, one of the main being that it didn’t need proof. It built entire arguments out of silence. He leaned back into his seat, head tipped slightly against the window making his loose, dark waves look almost blue in the night light. He looked relaxed. Like he wasn’t mentally replaying every second of the last twenty-four hours searching for signs of abandonment.

She studied his profile. The curve of his mouth, the faint flush high on his cheekbones, the way his lashes cast shadows under the parking lot light. And of course, he caught her staring.

“What?” he asked, amused.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, turning toward the windshield, letting smoke billow out her mouth.

He didn’t push. Just watched her for a second longer than necessary before looking forward again.

That tiny shift–that moment of attention leaving her–felt bigger than it should have. Her chest tightened instinctively, bracing for a rejection that hadn’t happened.

If you leave first, it won’t hurt as bad.

The urge to test it rose fast and hot in her bloodstream, intensified by the weed buzzing softly behind her eyes. Before she could overthink and give into the voice, she said, “We should go to the mall.”

The words came out casual, like they’d just occurred to her. Like she hadn’t been spiraling for the last ten minutes.

Very impressive Myah.

He blinked, turning his head slightly toward her. “The mall?” He didn’t sound annoyed. Just surprised.

But surprise was close enough to hesitation for her stomach to drop.

There it is. Too random. Too clingy. He’s tired. He wants to go home. He doesn’t want more time with you.

She shrugged, forcing lightness into her tone. “Yeah. A field trip. We can people-watch. Try on stupid sunglasses. Judge teenagers. I don’t know.” She took another hit. “Or not. It was just a thought.”

He didn’t answer immediately but thankfully the silence wasn’t long. But in the half-second before he spoke, she imagined him saying he had stuff to do. Imagined him dropping her off and driving away. Imagined the gradual cooling of whatever this was until she was the only one still holding it.