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My eyes widened. His words stunned me in ways I never expected. This was the most he’d ever spoken to me about anythin’ personal. A huge part of me wanted him to continue lettin’ me in. I laid there in awe, just waitin’ for him to say more.
Why did I want him to let me in? I hated him.
“I don’t want to lose my mind, Harley. I don’t want to be like her,” he whispered, so low I could barely hear him. “She’s my mother, the woman who gave me life, and I want to be nothing like her. Do you have any idea how hard that is?”
“You can take the test—”
He squeezed my hand. “Don’t.”
Turnin’ my head, I peered at the side of his face. Changin’ the subject, I asked him, “Jackson, why are ya holdin’ my hand?”
Our eyes locked when he turned his head, grinnin’, “You’re holding my hand.”
“You held mine first.”
“I like takin’ your firsts, Harley.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
My eyebrows lowered, starin’ at him intensely. “Do you like me?”
“Do you want me to like you?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Are you messin’ with me right now?”
“Does it feel like I am?”
“You ain’t answerin’ any of my questions.”
“You aren’t answering any of mine.”
Why are boys so weird?
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“That.” He nodded to the pin on my dress.
“Oh. Umm… your mom gave it to me.”
He hastily sat up, lettin’ go of my hand in the process, and I instantly felt the loss of his warmth.
I jerked back when his hands went for my chest. “What are you doin’?”
“Relax, Gremlin. I’m not trying to touch your boobies. You don’t have any.”
“I hate y—”
He was goin’ for the pin, fumblin’ around. He unlocked it and took it off me.
“Hey! That’s mine!”
