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“You dated Brad Sousa your freshman year.”
Losing my patience, I scowled and said, “I know when I dated him. He asked me out, and we went on one date before he dumped me. He claimed it was him, not me, which everyone knows is code forit really is you;I just don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
Carson laughed. “Or it was because I told him that you were secretly into girls and that you were just using him as a front so your parents didn’t find out.”
I gasped as the horror of what he just told me sunk in. “No,” I drawled.
He pursed his lips. “Guilty.”
I allowed that to sink in a moment.So that’s why he was always giving me and Lauren funny looks during woodshop.“That is wrong on so many levels,” I said.
Carson’s cheeks flushed in a way that I was pretty sure was an indicator of guilt. As I stared up at him, my entire high school love life started flashing in my head. Guys would seem so into me, and then—boom—out of nowhere they’d turn cold, and it was as if I never stood a chance. It’s part of the reason I’d given up dating. It just wasn’t worth the effort. Or the rejection.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again, my question stuck in the back of my throat. Carson wasn’t that cruel, was he?
Who was I kidding?
“When Jeremiah asked me to homecoming—”
“I told him you kiss like a dog.”
My eyes widened as anger welled up inside me like a geyser, ready to blow. “Last year, Robby Mason told everyone he was asking me to junior prom.”Not that I wanted to go.“Then at the last minute, he changed his mind and asked someone else, so Ethan and I hung out instead.”
Carson pulled a face; one I couldn’t decipher. There was something he wasn’t telling me.
I pointed at him. “What? What is that face?” I poked him in the ribs, and his hands tightened around my arms.
“He might’ve decided not to ask you because he heard your dad showed up on a date once with a loaded shotgun.”
“What? That’s not true. My dad doesn’t even own a—"
Laughter ripped from his chest.
Glaring, I said, “Youtold him that?”
“I may or may not have let it slip at one of my parties.”
“But why?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t want you to go with him.”
“Because . . .?”
“Which one? Robby? He has chronic halitosis. Trust me, I did you a favor.”
My hands fisted at my side as a wave of anger shot through me. How dare he take my choices away. I could’ve given him some mints, gum, something! “Let me get this straight,” I said through gritted teeth. “You’re trying to claim that you saved me from bad breath?”
“You’re welcome.” His blue eyes sparkled. I wanted to cover them with my hands because they were too beautiful for someone so rude.
“How many times have you done this? Scared boys away?”
“I don’t know. Only a few times.”
I stepped forward, pushing him back until he was up against the counter. “Why? Do you really hate me that much?” I asked, mortified at the way my voice cracked. Any second I’d burst into tears, and then I’d really look like an idiot.
“I don’t hate you, Mia,” he murmured.
I tried to shove him again, but he had nowhere to go, so instead, he pulled me closer. And as he slid his hands up and down my arms, I shivered. Even when he tipped my chin up to meet his eyes, goosebumps covered my skin everywhere he touched.
