Page 115 of Faking the Goal

"Yeah, well, maybe don't sneak up behind women in dark parking lots at three in the fucking morning looking like the Grim Reaper's hockey-playing cousin."

"I said hey."

"Oh, fantastic. That makes it significantly less terrifying."

He's still chuckling when he picks up my wallet.

And then I remember what he said about me.

Whatever relief I felt at seeing him dies instantly.

My mouth closes, and I straighten.

Kentaro must notice the change because his amusement disappears almost as quickly as mine does. His eyes meet mine, then drop for a second, and when he looks at me again, the guilt written across his face is impossible to miss.

Good.

I hope it fucking eats him alive.

He puts the last of my things into the purse and stands.

"Here."

I snatch it out of his hand. "Thanks."

Then I turn around.

"Lewis."

I keep walking.

"Lewis, wait."

"Leave me alone, asshole."

His footsteps follow behind me. "Please. I just want to talk to you."

"What are you even doing here this late?"

"I came to see you."

I glance at him over my shoulder. "At three in the fucking morning?"

"You haven't given me much of a choice. You won't answer my calls, and you've been avoiding me every time you see me on campus."

I let out a humorless laugh. "Gee, I wonder why."

I reach my car and dig through my purse for my keys, hoping he'll take the hint and leave me the hell alone.

He doesn't.

"I'm sorry."

My hand stops inside my bag.

For the smallest, most pathetic second, those two words do something to me. Maybe because some part of me has been waiting to hear them since Friday night, no matter how many times I've told myself I don't give a shit whether he's sorry.

I shove that feeling right back where it came from.