FOUR
MAKING THE FIRST MOVE
Present Day
New York City
The Diary of Cassandra Taylor
Dear Diary,
The more time I spend with him, the more he invades my dreams. I don’t want to remember, but he pushes through.
He’s here, under my hands. His lips on my skin. It’s perfect and warm, and I tell myself he won’t run away this time.
I hold him to me, willing away the fear, willing him to lose himself in me. To stay. And even though he’s already written a tragedy, I want to change his mind.
Then he’s inside me, and it’s perfection.
I give him the part of myself I can’t imagine giving to anyone else. He tells me it’s precious. That he doesn’t deserve it.
Afterward, he holds me like he never wants to let go.
I believe he’ll stay this way. That it won’t change things.
Of course, it does.
He covers himself again, so disguised by layers that I don’t even see him anymore, just the hurt he leaves behind.
I blame him, but it’s my fault. Stupid, romantic, gullible me.
I saw what I wanted to see. Felt what I wanted to feel. He just played his part.
Sometimes he’s behind my eyes, weeping and exposed, and he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
But it was an act.
He’s an actor.
And he’s very, very good.
Six Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
The Grove
Second week of classes
I walk out of my History of Theater class, my brain churning with information on Roman amphitheaters, when I run smack-bang into the chest of someone tall and still.
Of course, my notes go flying.
“Frack!”
The tall someone chuckles, and my hackles rise.
I look up into Holt’s smirking face. My expression must scream of impending violence, because his smile drops faster than Zoe Stevens’s panties on a Saturday night.
When I bend to pick up my notes, he’s beside me. I want to slap his hands away, because since the getting-to-know-you exercise on our first day, he hasn’t spoken a word to me. I’m not cool with that.
“Just leave them,” I say as he gathers up my notes.
He holds out the notes, and I snatch them without looking up.
I bite back the instinct to say “thank you,” because after the way he’s treated me, he doesn’t deserve it.
“Thank you,” I mumble involuntarily.
Damn you, automated politeness!
“You’re welcome,” he says in his stupid smooth voice.
I push past him and stride down the stairs toward the Hub. Within a few seconds, he’s walking beside me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Big week, huh?” he says. “I thought Erika was going to kick Lucas out when he showed up stoned, but I think she realized he’s a better actor when he’s half-baked.”
I stop and turn to face him. “Holt, you do not get to ignore me for a week then start gabbing away like nothing happened.”
“I haven’t been ignoring you.”
“Oh, yes you have.”
“No, ignoring you would be to disregard your presence. I’ve noticed you. I’ve just chosen to not speak to you.”
“Is that better or worse than ignoring me completely?”
“Slightly better.”
I throw up my hands. “Well, thank God. I won’t take offense then.”
“Good for you.”
“I was being sarcastic, butt-munch.”
“Taylor, are you always this grumpy, or are you PMSing?”
“What?! I’m … What?! PMSing?! You are so … God! Shut up!”
I walk away, but he keeps pace, and my PMS is making me crazy-angry and weepy at the same time.
“Why are you following me?!”
“I’m not following you. I’m walking beside you.”
Holy Jesus, give me strength!
“What do you want?” I ask, feeling like a tiny yappy dog next to him.
He sighs and looks down at his ridiculous, giant feet. “Nothing. Are you going to Jack’s party tonight?”
“Why do you want to know?”
He rubs his eyes. “I have no fucking idea.”
“Are you going?”
“Probably not.”
“Then sure, I’ll be there.”
He looks at me for a few more seconds before frowning like he’s trying to calculate how many watermelons will fit in a Winnebago. Then, without saying another word, he turns and walks away.
“Oh, okay, so we’re done here?” I say to his back. “Well, thanks for making the effort. Your conversation skills are truly stimulating!”
Thank God it’s the weekend. I won’t have to see him for two whole days.
By the time I’ve stomped back to my apartment, any desire to go to the party has disintegrated. All I want to do is soak in the tub for a few hours, eat my own weight in Ben & Jerry’s, and go to bed.
Ruby has other ideas.
“Get up.”
“I don’t wanna,” I say, sounding like a two-year-old.
“You’re going.”
“Ruby…”
“Don’t start with me, Cassie. It’s our first college party, and you’re going if I have to drag you there by your hair. Judging by your face when you walked in the door, you seriously need to get laid.”
I roll my eyes. I wish I was the sort of girl who could solve her problems with white-hot animal sex. But considering my V-card is well and truly valid and flirting isn’t exactly my forte, the best I can hope for is to not have a completely sucky time.
“I think the only person getting laid tonight will be you, Ruby.”
She throws up her hands. “Cassie, you’re gorgeous. You could have any guy you wanted if you just showed a bit of confidence.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Promise me you’ll make a move tonight.”
I laugh. “I don’t think you understand. I have no moves. I’m move-less. I exist in a vacuum of moves.”
She sets her mouth in such a way that I know I won’t be winning an argument with her any time soon. “Do I need to remind you that you’re an actor? Act like you know what the fuck you’re doing. Now, get your ass into something sexy and let’s go.”
I don’t really own anything sexy, so I settle for my tightest jeans and a low-cut sweater that makes my boobs look great. I even put on some makeup and do my hair. Ruby shrugs her approval.
Half an hour later we’re pulling up to a huge house on a wide street.
“Whoa, who lives here?” Ruby asks as she slams the cab door.
“Jack Avery shares it with two other boys from my class. Lucas and Connor.”
“Connor?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the guy I met on the first day?”
“Yeah.”
“He was cute. Any chemistry there?”
I smile when I think about how attentive Connor has been. “He hugs me a lot.”
“Well, there you go,” she says, as if all my problems are solved. “Make a move on him.”
I shrug, because even though I like Connor, I don’t know if I like Connor.
“Listen,” she says, “I’m not asking you to walk down the aisle with him and squeeze out loud, chubby babies. Just have some fun. Make out. It’s not going to kill you.”
“Isn’t the boy supposed to make the first move?”
“Dammit, Cass, stop being such a pussy. Look, I’ll even sweeten the deal. If you get up the balls to make out with a boy tonight, I’ll do your laundry for a month.”
She has my attention. Our building has one ancient washing machine that takes more than an hour to go through its cycle, so laundry day can be a major time suck.
“Fine. I can’t promise I’m not going to be awkward and embarrassing, but I’ll try, okay?”
She smiles and pulls me toward the noisy house. “Good enough.”
There are people talking and laughing on the front lawn. It looks like most of the freshman class has shown up.
I prepare to conjure a personality.
“Come on,” Ruby says as she tugs me into the mess of people. “You need a drink.”
“I don’t drink.”
“You do now.” She grabs two bright green test tubes from a girl with a tray. “Two or three of these, and you’ll be tackling boys and ripping off their shirts.”
Despite doubting her prediction, forty-five minutes and three test tubes later, I’m leaning against a wall feeling frisky. I bounce my head to the beat as Ruby dances with a group of boys all desperate to impress her. She’s flirting with a few of them, but one—a tall, well-built guy who’s also in her tech course—is getting special attention. He leans down to whisper something to her. She glances at me and raises her eyebrows before taking his hand and going outside to the terrace.
She makes it look so easy.
Okay, fine. I can do this. Find cute boy. Chat with cute boy. Be charming. Suck on his face.
Panic shivers through me.
Goddammit.
I go down the hallway in search of the bathroom, the one party safe haven where it’s acceptable to be alone.
Before I can find it, I spy Holt standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
What the hell is he doing here?
He leans down and talks to the short, pretty girl by his side.
He has a girlfriend?
Of course he does. Someone as attractive as he is probably has dozens of women throwing themselves at his stupid, large, clown feet.
I feel myself blush, fast and hot, and I don’t like it.
The alcohol has made me slow, and before I can pretend I don’t see him, he’s walking toward me with his hand on the girl’s back. She’s smiling like she knows me.
“Hey, Cassie,” she says. She does look familiar, but my brain is murky. “I’m Elissa. I’m in theater tech with Ruby.”
“Oh, right. Hey, Elissa.” She’d been talking to Ruby the other day in our semiotics class. Pretty face. Doe eyes.
I glance at Holt, and my face burns when I see that he’s staring at my boobs. He quickly makes it back up to my face and clears his throat.
“Taylor,” he says and nods.
“Holt.” I try not to let my brain acknowledge how annoyingly handsome he looks in his dark jeans and blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up.
Forearms. Nice.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” I say.
“Well, I heard all the cool kids would be here, so I couldn’t stay away.”
Elissa glances between us, and I wonder if she realizes how much her boyfriend gets on my nerves.
“So, Cassie, you and Ethan are doing the acting course together?”
“Yeah, but we haven’t done much acting yet.”
“Well, it’s only been a week,” she says, smiling. “Auditions for the term one theater project are coming up soon. I’ve heard rumors they’re doing Romeo and Juliet. You never know. You two could end up playing star-crossed lovers.”
Holt and I burst into laughter like it’s the most hilarious thing we’ve ever heard.
Elissa looks at us like we’re both insane.
“Okay,” she says as she claps her hands together. “I need to get hammered as soon as possible. See you guys later.”
She brushes past me and walks down the hallway.
“I’m leaving in two hours,” Holt calls after her. “If you want a ride home, find me before then, or else you can fucking walk.”
Wow. If only I had such a charming boyfriend.
I shake my head in disgust.
“What?” he asks.
“You.”
“What about me?”
“Do you always talk to her like that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s rude.”
He shoots me a lopsided grin and shakes his head. “That was me being polite. I say far worse things at home.”
“At home?”
“Yeah.”
“You live with her?”
“Well, I’d prefer not to, but I can’t seem to get rid of her. I locked her out once, but she’s pretty resourceful and managed to pick the lock with a blade of grass and a paperclip.”
“God, Holt, you’re just … so … ugh! Why does she put up with you? You’re officially the world’s suckiest boyfriend.”
His eyes widen. Then he laughs. “Elissa isn’t my girlfriend. Jesus, that’s disgusting. She’s my sister.”
It’s my turn to be surprised. “Your sister?”
“Yes.”
Relief has never felt more odious.
“Don’t worry, Taylor,” he whispers. “I’m single. No need to be jealous.”
I laugh. “I’m not jealous. I’m just glad you’re not inflicting your toxic personality on some poor member of the opposite sex.”
Something dark flashes in his eyes as he looks down, and I get the impression I’ve said something really wrong. I’m about to try and find out when Connor appears and drapes his arm around my shoulders.
“Hey, Cassie, I’ve been looking for you. Glad you could make it.”
He hugs me, and I can feel Holt watching us.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say and hug him back.
“Hey, Ethan,” he says and claps Holt on the shoulder. “Thanks for coming, man.”
Holt smiles, but it’s tight and forced. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“So,” Connor says. “A lot of our class is in the basement playing drinking games. Wanna join?”
I smile. “Sure.”
Holt shrugs. Connor leads the way.
When we get downstairs, about twenty people from our class are sitting in a circle with a collection of bottles, beer cans, and shot glasses littered across the floor.
“I found two more,” Connor says as he guides us into the circle. The group gives what can only be described as a drunken roar.
Zoe immediately pulls Holt down next to her and hands him a drink. Connor sits next to me. Jack sets us all up with a shot glass of brown liquid. Holt downs the shot and refuses a refill, muttering something about having to drive. It’s ironic that he’s one of the few people in our class who’s twenty-one and yet he’s the only one not drinking.
I drink my shot, then cough like I’ve swallowed acid.
Everyone laughs, and the games begin.
I try to concentrate, but I don’t really know the rules. I end up drinking a lot.
Too much.
After a while, everything’s funny. Everyone’s pretty. I want to hug and kiss them all because they’re just so nice and pretty and funny.
Then there’s music. Loud and pounding.
Someone pulls me to my feet. Connor.
He puts his arms around me, so I put mine around him, and I’m trying to dance, but all I can do is shuffle. Connor doesn’t care. He’s warm and grazes his nose down my throat.
“You smell so good, Cassie.”
I smile, because his nose tickles. Because he’s sweet. Because I like the way he holds me. I’m hanging off him and smiling, but my body feels heavy.
Then his lips are where his nose was, and I’m tingling. But something’s wrong.
The room is tilting. I pull back. I tell myself I’m not looking for Holt, but I am.
Everywhere people are dancing and laughing. Making out.
I see Holt across the room, sitting on a couch sipping a Coke. Zoe is talking to him and touching him in ways that say, “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.” But he’s not listening to her. He’s looking at me, and now I’m tingling a whole lot more.
I don’t want him to make me feel things, so I turn back to Connor. He’s stroking my back. It feels nice.
His face is close, and he has that look in his eye. The one that says he wants me.
I’ve always craved a boy to look at me like that. Now one is, but all I can think about is the scowling face across the room.
“Cassie, I want to kiss you.”
He seems to search my face, looking for an answer. I want to be kissed, but I think it’s the alcohol.
Ruby’s voice is in my head telling me to stop being a pussy and just do it.
Connor’s gazing at my mouth as his face gets closer and closer, and I’m too hot and too drunk.
Then Connor’s kissing me, and there’s part of me that wants to kiss him back, but I can’t.
I pull away. “Connor…”
He smiles and drops his head.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I think I must be defective for not kissing him, because he’s really handsome and sweet.
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I want to, I do…” I say, slurring but sincere.
“Yeah, but I get the feeling you want to kiss someone else more.”
He touches my cheek, and I don’t have a chance to tell him he’s wrong before he’s disappearing up the stairs.
The music changes, and it makes the floor shift so much I have to sit down.
I stagger toward the couches. They seem so far away.
Someone grabs my arm and guides me. Without looking, I know it’s Holt.
Jack appears on the other side and laughs. “Taylor, you are sooooo fucked up!”
Hyena giggles all around.
Warm hands are trying to push me onto the couch, but Jack gives me the bottle again, and it would be rude not to drink. I slap at the helpy hands and take the bottle.
I sip it and pull a face. It’s gross but awesome.
Everyone laughs, and so do I. Too loud. Too shrill. Drunk me laughs like an idiot.
“Okay, that’s it, she’s had enough.”
Holt’s voice. Gruff. Sounds like my father.
“Dude, no one’s forcing it down her throat. She’s a big girl.”
“Pass the bottle to someone else, Avery. Now.”
I stumble and everyone giggles.
Obviously, drunk-Cassie is hilarious.
They’re all blurry now. I’m blinking way too long. I sway and warm hands are on me again.
“Christ, Taylor, would you sit before you fall down?”
Cranky voice. Doesn’t approve of Drunk Cassie.
Drunk Cassie doesn’t give a flying fuck.
Giggles.
Just said the “F” word. In my brain.
Naughty Drunk Cassie.
I flop down on the sofa. It’s soft, and I’m tired. Seriously tired.
I lean against his body. Hard and warm. Smells good. I turn my face so I can smell better. Cotton shirt. Shoulder. Grab and sniff. Nice.
“Fuck me.” Man-voice. Sexy.
I grab more of him. Tug at his collar so I can get closer. Under the collar is skin. Warm. Tingly under my fingers.
“Jesus, Taylor…” His voice isn’t angry anymore. Different. Begging. “Stop.”
“No. S’nice. Smellsgood.”
Want more warm so I climb onto his lap. Legs either side of hips. Nose in neck. Hands in hair. So good.
“For fuck’s sake.” He pushes me away, and I pout.
I look at his face. So handsome when he frowns.
“Taylor, stop. You’re drunk.”
I flop forward.
“Please,” I say, fitting myself against his body. “Juswanna sleep for a minute.”
Nuzzle into neck again. Breathe in warm boy-skin.
He’s tense underneath me, but I’m comfortable. He smells amazing.
“Hey, check it out!” Shhh, Jack. Too loud. “Taylor’s finally found a way to rattle the unflappable Holt. I think he’s blushing!”
More laughter.
I whisper, “Shh,” and my lips touch his neck. He groans, and I want to do it again.
“Avery, you asshole.” He’s talking softly, but it’s still too loud. I try to cover his mouth with my hand, but he pulls it away. “She drank too much and she’s going to be sick.”
“She’s fine, man. Look at that smile. She can’t get enough of you. I wouldn’t be complaining if I was in your shoes.”
I want everyone to stop talking. Just wanna sleep.
I moan and bury my head further into Holt’s neck. He squirms underneath me.
“Get her some water before I kick your fucking ass.” His chest vibrates against my boobs when he talks. Feels nice. Manly.
“Okay, okay. Christ, take a fucking pill.”
I snuggle down. “Stoptalkin. Shh. Need to sleep.”
“Taylor.” His voice is softer, less cranky. “You need to get off me. Please.”
“Donwanna. Feels good.” I put my hand inside his shirt. Nice muscles. So nice.
“Fuck, Taylor. For the love of God, stop, before I do something really fucking stupid.”
His hands are on my hips, trying to move me. I move but not off him. I press down.
I feel him against me. Hard. God. So hard.
He groans again, his face in my neck. “Jesus…”
My whole body burns. Aches. Wants.
I move against him.
He swears, and it’s all sexy. His lips are near my ear.
“Cassie, not like this.” He grabs my hips and stills me. “Not when you’re drunk and won’t remember it tomorrow. Stop.”
I’m burning, but he won’t let me move.
I slump. Defeated.
“Cassie, look at me.”
Eyes open.
Oh, not a good move.
Everything is swaying.
Feel seasick.
“Cassie?”
The world is tilting. He’s watching me. Concerned.
“Cassie?”
“Mnotfeelingsogood.”
Stand. Almost fall over. Hands on me. Strong. Burning.
“Shit, woman. Slow down.”
“Mfine.”
Pull away. Stagger down the hall.
The bathroom. Close door. Toilet too far away. Crawl to it.
Stomach tightens, mouth opens.
Brown liquid and corn chips explode out. It burns coming up like it did going down. Stomach heaves till there’s nothing left, and I’m tired. So tired.
I close my eyes. Swirls of black and gray are there, and I’m on a boat in a storm, swaying and tilting.
When I open my eyes, I’m being lifted out of a car and he’s carrying me. He has my keys, and as soon as the front door opens, I make a groaning sound. Then I’m in front of the toilet, vomiting while he holds my hair and rubs my back. I’m crying and gross while he’s shushing me and wiping my face with a cool washcloth.
Then he puts me in bed. The swirls of black wrap around me, and I’m gone.
I wake up, and everything hurts. The sun is too bright. A stabbing pain shoots straight through my eyeballs into my brain. My stomach is crampy, and my abs feel like I’ve done a thousand crunches.
I groan and pull my pillow over my head, but there are hands pulling it away. I crack open an eye to see Holt next to me, holding out water and Tylenol.
“Take these.” He talks quietly, but even that’s too loud for my pounding head.
I try to sit up, but it hurts too much. I roll onto my side and take the pills with the full glass of water. It does nothing to flush away the horrible taste in my mouth. I slump back onto my pillow.
I must fall asleep again, because when I wake up I can smell bacon cooking and hear someone moving around in the kitchen.
I stumble to the bathroom and pee like I’ve never peed before. The lure of a warm shower is too much to resist, so I peel off my clothes and stand under the spray until I feel more or less human. I wash my hair and scrub my body, then wrap myself in a towel before brushing my teeth and tongue. Twice.
By the time I’m done, I feel a little better. My head’s still pounding and my stomach is unsettled, but I can function.
I open the bathroom door to find Holt standing there. He takes in my wet hair and my towel-covered body before he makes it back up to my face.
He clears his throat. “Uh … hey.”
“Hey,” I say. It’s so bizarre to see him in my apartment, I wonder if I’m still incredibly drunk.
“I … uh … made you something to eat,” he says and shoves his hands in his pockets.
I frown. “We have no food.”
“I went and bought some. You should eat. It’ll make you feel better.”
“Okay.”
He stands there, towering in the doorway, staring and biting the inside of his cheek.
“Uh, Holt?”
“Hmm?”
“You have to move so I can go to my room and put on some clothes.”
“Oh … right.”
He turns and walks back to the kitchen.
I throw on some sweats and run a brush through my hair. Then I’m sitting at our tiny dining table with Holt. He’s cooked eggs, bacon, and hash browns. There’s a cup of coffee in front of me, along with a glass of orange juice. It’s a truly bizarre situation.
“Uh … wow,” I say. “This is … wow. You … you made hash browns? From scratch?”
“Yeah,” he says and pops some egg into his mouth. “It’s not hard.”
“Maybe not for you. I can’t even boil water without a recipe.”
He’s watching me, and even though my stomach is refusing to get excited about food, I eat.
“Hmm,” I mumble around a mouthful of hash browns and bacon. “This is really good.”
“My mom’s a private chef. She’s taught me stuff.” He shrugs and keeps eating. Every now and then he glances up at me, his eyes dark and unreadable.
When we’re done, he clears the plates as I sip my coffee. I don’t mean to, but I stare at his ass as he washes the dishes.
I shouldn’t stare at his ass. No good can come of it. Still, he’s being nice to me, so I decide to be nice to his ass and allow myself to notice how hot it looks in his jeans.
He turns around to lean against the sink and without planning it, my focus is now firmly on his crotch.
He catches me staring. I grab my coffee and take a huge gulp, but it goes down the wrong way. I choke and cough.
“You okay?”
“Yep.”
Smooth.
No wonder I’ve never had a boyfriend.
“So…” he says, and gestures to my phone on the kitchen bench. “Your roommate called to see how you were and to tell you she’ll be home later.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“She said to ask if she needs to do your laundry for the rest of the month.”
I smile.
Well, I did sexually harass Holt. Even though we didn’t kiss or anything, I wonder if Ruby would count that as making out.
I blush when I think about it.
“Look, Holt, about last night—”
“Yeah, about that,” he says while rubbing his eyes. “What the hell were you thinking, drinking that much? You could have gotten alcohol poisoning.”
“I was”—trying to be something I’m not—”trying to have a good time.”
“Did you have a good time projectile vomiting? Was that fun?”
I shake my head. “For a while I felt good. People were laughing.”
“That’s because you were shitfaced and rubbing yourself on every man in the room.”
“Not every man,” I say defensively. “Only Connor. And … you.”
“Yeah, well, that’s enough,” he mutters. “What’s up with you and Connor, anyway? One minute you’re kissing him, and the next you’re all over me.”
“I didn’t kiss Connor. He kissed me.”
“Semantics.”
“And it was barely a kiss, anyway.”
“So, I guess you’re a horny drunk.”
“I wasn’t horny,” I say indignantly.
Oh God, I was so horny.
“Well, it certainly felt like it from where I was sitting.”
“I was … well … you were there and I was … uh…”
“Horny?”
“Drunk, and that’s why it happened. No other reason. Normally, I wouldn’t do that. To you of all people.”
“Because you hate me.”
“Exactly.”
“But you still want me.”
“What?! No!”
“Yes.”
“You’re delusional.”
“Hey, you were the one sniffing me and kissing my neck and grinding yourself on my … well … on me. If I wasn’t such a gentleman, we probably would have fucked right there in front of all of our classmates.”
His words are ridiculous, but my body doesn’t know that because the tingling ache I felt last night is back with a vengeance.
“Holt, two people who hate each other do not…”
“Fuck?”
“Have sex.”
“Sure, they do. Happens all the time.”
“Not to me, it doesn’t.”
“Pity.”
We fall into silence.
I smile and shake my head.
He frowns. “What?”
“I can’t figure you out, that’s all. One minute you give off this bad-boy vibe, like the world’s going to end if you’re nice to me, and the next minute you’re this really good guy who takes me home, buys food, and cooks me breakfast. Why would you do that?”
He picks at his fingernails. “I’ve been asking myself the same question all night.”
“And what did you come up with?”
“I have no fucking clue.”
“A moment of weakness?”
“Obviously.”
“Maybe you’re more good guy than bad boy after all.”
He give a short laugh. “Taylor, I’m a lot of things, but I can assure you that the one thing I’m not is a good guy. Just ask my ex-girlfriends.”
His face drops. Like he just told me something he didn’t mean to.
Before I can say anything else, he stands, brushes himself off, and takes a step toward the door.
“Well, I’m outta here. You’ve probably got things to do.”
“I don’t have anything planned,” I say. He stops to look at me. “You can … ah … hang out if you want.”
I never expected to crave Holt’s company, but part of me does. A lot.
“I … uh…” He looks at his feet. “Nah. I have to go.”
I don’t like that I’m disappointed.
“Oh. Okay. Well, thanks for the, you know, hair-holding and breakfast and stuff.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
I walk him to the door. He steps outside and turns to face me. “So, I guess I’ll see you Monday.”
“Yeah. Guess so.”
As he turns to go, I say, “So, are you going to talk to me next week, or was this a momentary lapse in your resolve to not be friends?”
He turns back, almost smiling. “Taylor, us being friends would be … complicated.”
“More complicated than whatever the hell we are now?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Is the world going to end if we hang out?”
He fixes me with an intense expression. “Yes. The seas will boil, the skies will darken, and every volcano in the world will erupt, thus bringing an end to civilization as we know it. So for the sake of humanity … in fact, for the sake of everything you hold dear … stay away from me.” He’s so serious, it makes me think he isn’t joking.
“Ethan Holt, you’re the strangest person I’ve ever met,” I say.
He nods. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“You would.”
He stares for a moment longer before shaking his head and walking to his car.
I watch until his taillights disappear around the corner.
After I close the door, I retreat to my room and crawl into bed. As I snuggle into my pillow, I wonder which Holt I’ll see next week: the douche with a giant chip on his shoulder who boils my blood, or the sweet man who made me hash browns from scratch.
Part of me hopes for both.