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I should be back by four. Can I see you tomorrow?
I type backyeswithout hesitation.
Maybe I should be playing this whole thing with Simon smarter, but the truth is that I don’t know how to play. I don’t know the best angle, don’t know how to play hard to get, don’t know how to make him fall at my feet. I know nothing except that I want to spend every minute with him. And when I’m not with him I’m thinking about him.
I should be wary. We’ve gone from avoiding and dancing around one another for months, to diving right in head first. I don’t know much about relationships—correction, I know nothing—but I’m afraid that moving at this breakneck pace has crash and burn written all over it.
But I can’t stop what’s already started. I don’t want to stop it, or slow it down for that matter.
And I don’t want to think about how this will end.
I smile my way through the Sunday morning shift. And I don’t even care that the living room is filled to capacity when I get home, Wes among the crowd. I bring my change of clothes into the bathroom, lock the door and ignore the people who are knocking, too lazy to use the bathroom on the other side of the house. I take my time in the shower, blow my hair smooth and straight, dress in my favorite jeans and a snug tee, and put on some lip gloss.
I’m at the end of your street. Which house is yours?
I figured I’d be meeting him someplace neutral again, hiding. But no, Simon came here, right into enemy territory. I drag in a breath, scared for the both of us, but at the same time I’m on cloud nine. He’s fearless and I love it.
I’ll be right there.
I’m excited and breathless and happy when I see him smiling at me from inside of his truck. “Were you about to knock on my front door?”
“I was taking my lead from you.”
“Today? Maybe not such a good idea.”
“The whole gang’s there?”
“Afraid so.”
“Want to hang out at my house?”
“Um, sure.”
“My mother’s making lasagna.”
“You think she’ll be good with—”
“I told her about you,” he says, taking my hand as soon as I click my seatbelt into place.
“You did?” I can’t mask my surprise. If he told his mom about me, then he likes me. Like, forreallikes me.
“Yeah, you goof.”
“How did it go today?”
He shifts his attention back to the road. “You don’t want to know.”
“You don’t have to leave me in the dark. I really do want to know.”
I was feeling brave when I said the words, but the ensuing silence and the hard set of his jaw seems to suck the air from small space we’re sharing. He scares me when his mood shifts. I can’t think of anything to say, and I hate the chill in the air as much as I hate my own insecurity. I feel small next to him.
A minute passes before he slows at the intersection and turns to me. “I’m sorry. It’s just that there’s no way to put a positive spin on it. He’s got his arm in a sling one time, eye swollen shut the next. That place is hell on earth.”
“Can you—”
“There’snothingI can do.”
* * *
