Page 167 of Holding On To Good

He wasn’t going to get dragged into a conversation. Wasn’t going to ask what she’d meant by either of her comments. He didn’t give a shit what she’d heard or why she’d brought up Verity in the first place. He wasn’t there to talk. He was there because his mom was working a double shift at the grocery store and he’d gotten tired of driving around waiting for it to be late enough for his old man to pass out for the night.

He was there because he knew he could get a decent meal without anyone bugging him.

He was there because he had nowhere else to go.

Goddamn Sundays sucked so hard.

Hayden kept right on smiling, a small, secretive, knowing grin. Like she had it on good authority it was only a matter of time before he cracked but even if it took forever, that was fine and dandy, too, as she had all the patience in the world stored up and ready to wait him out.

Fuck that.

He took another bite of burger, his resolve and stubbornness lasting a good thirty seconds.

And then he broke, as quick and sudden as his old man’s ugly temper.

“What have you heard?” he muttered around his mouthful.

Hayden leaned her elbows on the bar. Set her chin in her hand, settling in as if they were about to have a nice, long chat even though she was technically working, tending this end of the bar while Patton handled the other.

She helped herself to another fry. “Just that you and she were a thing.”

Since there was no use fighting it—and Reed didn’t fight battles he couldn’t win—he slid his plate between them and cut his burger in half.

“We’re not,” he told her, nudging the uneaten half toward her which she immediately lifted and bit into.

She was a pain in his ass and scared the shit out of him, but he was also half in love with her.

Not to mention she and Patton were the closest things he had to friends.

“If you’re not a thing,” Hayden said, “then why were you seen skipping merrily along Elm Street the other day hand-in-hand?”

“I don’t skip.” He paused. “And we weren’t holding hands.”

Hayden jabbed a fry at him. “Aha! So you admit you were with her?”

He shrugged. No use denying it. Their little parade of misfits had traipsed from DiFonzo’s to the ice cream place for all of Mount Laurel to see. “We hung out. Once.”

Or three times if you counted him helping get her car out of the ditch or their conversation last night at the lake. Which he didn’t.

Even if he couldn’t stop thinking about all three times.

“But we’re not a thing,” he added.

“She dumped you, huh?”

“She didn’t dump me. We were never together.”

But she’d acted like that was a possibility. The two of them as a would-be couple. She’d wanted to spend more time with him. Wanted to see where things between them went. She’d wanted him to kiss her.

She liked him.

What a fucking joke.

She was attracted to him, that was all. Hell, the sparks between them were big enough, bright enough and abundant enough that even a virgin whose only sexual experience was a hand job could recognize their true meaning.

She wanted to fuck him.

And she sure as hell didn’t need to like him for that.

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