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“Think what you want, Kaleb. Because I know you just want to keep on living with this image you have of me in your head, not willing to alter it even when I’ve proven to be more than you see me as.”
Wetting my lips, I shake my head. “I guess we’re at an impasse, then, because I don’t think you’ve proven a thing. A few soft moments in the forest while you’re away from the real world doesn’t erase all the bullshit from earlier this year.”
The line of his jaw ticks, pulsing as he clenches his teeth. “Fine. If that’s the case, we’re done here.” When I make no move to leave, he continues. “You can go now. I’d like to go back to sleep.”
But I still don’t go. Don’t fucking move from the spot my feet are anchored to like a lifeline. I can’t leave until the question—the entire reason I came here in the first place—is answered. Until the burning in my mind is finally put to rest.
“Why did you kiss me?”
And how the fuck are you so good at pretending it didn’t happen at all?
Just like that, I watch as he shutters off. Instantly shifting back into the guarded, hostile asshole I’ve known him to be.
“It was a momentary lapse in judgment.”
Liar.
My arms cross over my chest, and I shake my head. He’s not getting out of this that easily. Not if I have anything to say about it.
“Try again. With the real answer this time.”
Those sky blues turn to pure ice as his face takes on the appearance of chiseled stone. It’s nothing more than a mask. Hard and unyielding; perfectly smooth and showing no way to slip beneath it.
He closes the space between us until he’s directly in front of me, once again trying to use the inch of height he has on me to his advantage. Daggers form in his eyes as they glare into my soul.
“What do you want me to say, Kaleb? Tell me what you want to hear, and I’ll fucking say it.”
My jaw ticks, frustration setting in as I realize the only thing this conversation is gonna get me is a trip to the nuthouse. And maybe Avery a trip to the fucking morgue. I’m about ready to send him six feet under if these games he’s playing don’t end soon.
“I really don’t like you,” I tell him. As if that weren’t completely obvious. “You’re a preppy, rich asshole who thinks only of yourself because you’re under this delusion that you’re better than everyone else around you. And I can’t stand it.”
I’d be doing myself a favor by remembering that.
He doesn’t miss a beat, snarling out his own comeback. “And you’re a smug, overly-confident dickhead that loves nothing more than saying I told you so. And as if that weren’t bad enough, you’re a fucking narc to boot. So needless to say, I don’t like you either.”
I can feel the anger radiating off him, hitting me in wave after wave. But the tension lining his voice is off. After all, I’ve seen him pissed at plenty of people over the past couple years, and I’m observant enough to realize this is different.
Like it’s not really me he’s pissed at.
I feel something else besides anger too.
A current of energy snapping back and forth, cycling in the negative space between us as it creates an electric charge powerful enough to blow the entire grounds to smithereens. It’s the same feeling I got as he pinned me against the tree earlier and kissed the daylight outta me.
“Then why did you kiss me, Avery?” I ask again, but the edge my tone possessed is nowhere to be found this time.
And as I watch him—studying every line and feature of his face—a crack forms in that stone mask of his. Torment seeps from the fracture. More and more of it oozes to the surface until he finally lets it fall to the floor.
“I…don’t know.” He pauses, clears his throat. “I don’t know why I want to do it again, either. Because I’m not…”
He doesn’t continue the sentence, and honestly, I don’t have it in me to force the conversation anymore either. I’m too busy fighting off the electric buzzing I felt earlier as it crashes over us like a tidal wave. But try as I might, it’s no use. I’m still drowning in it, sinking under wave after intoxicating wave.
What the hell is happening right now?
My voice comes out raw, like it was shredded with a thousand razor blades. “Well, there’s not going to be a repeat.”
The certainty and finality in my statement has an effect on him. More than he’d like, I’m sure. But he can’t hide it now; no mask can repair itself that quickly. It takes time to piece it back together after being broken and dismantled to this degree.
He sure as hell tries, though.
