Page 36 of Dotted Lines (Runaway 5)

Confused. Happy. Anxious. Sad. Take your pick. “Fine. Better after my shower.”

“That’s good.”

And that was the end of our conversation about last night, apparently. The only sound between us was the smack of our shoes on the street and sidewalk. When we got to the nearest café, Karson led the way inside, going to the counter, where a display case flaunted baked goods.

“Two black coffees,” he ordered. “To go.”

The waitress nodded, quickly filled a pair of white paper cups and pressed on black plastic lids. Then we got out of there before the smell of sugar and butter and muffins and cookies became too tempting.

He groaned as we walked out the door. “God, those cookies smelled good. I almost swiped two. Proud of me for not stealing?”

“Very.” I nodded. “I want to learn how to bake one day. When I have a kitchen. I remember my mom baked a lot. Aria and I would help her in the kitchen by dumping ingredients into the bowl after she’d measure them out.”

“What’s your favorite type of cookie?” Karson sipped his coffee.

“Ginger molasses. Or pumpkin chocolate chip.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had those.”

“Seriously?”

He shrugged. “My mom wasn’t much for baking. Or cooking. Or doing anything but drowning in a bottle of vodka.”

“Sorry.”

He waved it off and took another sip.

I took a drink, cringing at the bitter flavor. Coffee had never appealed. Maybe it would as I got older, but I’d still drink it because Karson had spent a dollar. And because it gave me something to do.

I was coming out of my skin here. How could he be so calm? So normal? Was this how he wanted to act? Like nothing had happened? Maybe pretend it was just nothing?

My insides clenched. He regretted it. That had to be the answer. He regretted the kiss. I was a mistake.

Ugh. I was blaming beer for this.

I bit my lip as we walked, determined not to cry. We made our way toward the car wash but when we passed a small park, Karson nodded for me to follow him across the grass toward a bench. “Let’s sit. Drink our coffee.”

The park was empty, probably because it was still early. In the afternoons, there were always mothers pushing kids on the swing set and watching as they zoomed down the slide.

Karson and I sat on the bench, a visible space between us. “Guess we should probably talk about last night.”

“Yeah?” I held my breath.

“I’m not going to apologize for kissing you.”

The air rushed from my lungs. “I wasn’t sure if you might, um . . . regret it, maybe?”

“What? Never. Do you?”

My heart skipped and I shook my head. “Never.”

“Good.” His shoulders relaxed and he lifted his cup to his lips.

“But . . .” The cup froze in midair. “Is this, like, a rebound thing?”

It had taken every ounce of courage I had to ask that question.

Karson shifted to face me as he set his coffee on the ground. Then he moved, closing the gap between us, until his thigh brushed mine. His arm went to the back of the bench. “No. Definitely not a rebound.”