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“Well then,” he says, clearing his throat. He pushes his chair out and stands. I watch in confusion as he takes out his wallet, reaching into it for a wad of bills. “This should cover dinner.” He rests his hands on the table when he speaks. “And you should probably find another ride to school.”
I choke. “What?”
He steps out from the table and walks by me, heading for the door.
“Wait!” His eyes drop to where I’m gripping the fabric of his shirt. My heart skips, and I jerk back, shoving my hands in my pockets. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t keep up your end of the deal,” he says.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You said you’d keep an open mind. This,” he gestures from my head to my toes, “is not an open mind. You don’t even want to be here.”
“But I—that’s not—” My mouth hangs open. “What about your dinner?”
“I lost my appetite.”
My head aches from the idea of having to figure out my way to school again. Caleb is my best option. I need him to keep driving me.
“Please, sit back down. I promise to answer your questions this time.”
He grimaces, sucking in a breath. “I’m not sure this is a good idea anymore.”
I sit up, holding onto the table for support as my mind goes dizzy. “Please.Give me one more chance,” I say.
He’s right. I was being a jerk.
He sighs, eyes narrowing. His stare cuts through me. “Should I?”
I cower under his gaze, focusing on my hands. “I’ll answer whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?”
I nod.
“Okay,” he says, sitting back down. He folds his hands into each other and rests them on the table. “So, why don’t you like me?”
I roll my eyes. “Really? That’s what you’re going to ask?”
“You said I could ask you anything I want, so start talking,” he says. There’s an edge to his voice now. I don’t like it.
“I don’t have a reason,” I say.
“That’s not an answer.”
My gaze drifts up to take him in.
Caleb is conventionally attractive: dark hair, dark eyes, tall, dimples when he smiles, sharp jawline. I’m not oblivious to that. But I’ve never thought of him that way. In my mind, he’s still the lanky boy I grew up with. The one that wore glasses that were way too big for his face for two years before he discovered contacts weren’t the worst thing in the world.
“Come on,” I sigh. “In what world would we be good together? I’m well aware that I’m an acquired taste. I’m rough like sandpaper, and you’re . . . soft.”
“What?” he laughs. “I’m not soft.”
I raise an eyebrow. “In all my years of living next door to you, I’ve never seen you yell at anyone.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m soft.”
“If something ever happened between us, and I’m not saying anything will, I’d ruin you. I’m a bomb. Everything I touch becomes a disaster.”
