Page 59 of Spite

Eyes not once leaving the menu, Christian said, “I never asked if you did, but I assumed not, since you were also shoeless.” The waitress chose that time to come back, and he ordered two platters of chicken fingers and fries, along with two milkshakes, one chocolate and one vanilla.

When she left to put the order in, I couldn’t help but ask, “Chicken and fries? What are you, five?”

“Hey, you can never go wrong with chicken,” he said, shrugging. He leaned back in the booth, his lips spreading into a smile. “I even get chicken at those fancy steak restaurants.”

Staring at his smile would only get me into trouble, and yet I could not look away. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

I laughed. Not once in a million years did I ever think I’d be sitting across from Christian in a diner, while wearing his shoes and laughing at what he said, feeling…feeling good. I felt good. He was a good distraction from what I was running from.

It was after our food came, after Christian had already started to dig in and chow down, when I asked quietly, “Why are you being nice to me?” A legitimate question, considering our past.

“You’re the one who started it, not me.”

I resisted my urge to throw a fry at him. “I did not. You’re the one who started it all back in, like, fourth grade. You made my life a living hell.”

His gaze flicked up to me, his stare affecting my body in ways I wished it wouldn’t. “That was a long time ago.”

I was ready to jump down his throat, and jump his bones, but the latter was an instinct I would ignore. Pointedly. “Oh, so just because it was a long time ago means—”

“That’s not what I said.” He left it at that, and I didn’t prod him further. It was clear he was done discussing it. I couldn’t blame him; dredging up the past was a painful endeavor, one I tried to avoid, even though my memories sometimes got the best of me.

“Then why don’t you just say what you mean?”

He set the chicken finger he was holding down, half-eaten. His blue eyes were livid when he said, “I don’t want to think about the past. Why can’t we focus on now?”

I stuck a fry in my mouth and frowned at him. “Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one who dreaded going to school every day for years.”

Christian sighed. “No, you’re right about that.”

I found myself staring at him. The squareness of his jaw, the blonde stubble coating his cheeks, his pursed lips. A mouth I already knew how soft it was, something I should have no idea about. I then asked him something I probably shouldn’t have, but it was something I’d been wondering ever since he tossed those shoes at me at the basketball game. “Why are you being nice to me now? You basically said you were ready for war.” He’d all but claimed so that night I broke him and Jessie up.

“I was ready for war,” he said, shrugging as he started to eat again. Oh, so simple, was it? I was about to retort, wholly annoyed, but he went on, “But I’m not anymore.” My expression must’ve told him my feelings on the subject. “You don’t believe me. Well, can’t blame you for that, I guess. I haven’t done much to earn your trust.”

“No,” I agreed quickly. “You haven’t.” At this point, I wasn’t sure if he could, and I didn’t want him to. I didn’t.

Did I?

Fuck. I hated how wishy-washy I was being, and I’m certain if other people were stuck inside my head, they’d abhor it, too.

“I could try.”

His words caused my eyes to snap to him, wondering if he was serious. Try to earn my trust? To make it up to me? There was nothing Christian could do to lessen the pain in my past, the pain he’d caused.

I didn’t say anything more as I picked at the food, eating some of it, since I hadn’t eaten much of the lasagna. Christian paid for it all, and he left the waitress a generous tip. If I wasn’t so skeptical of his current good behavior, I’d be impressed.

You know what was even weirder? When we walked to his car, he opened the car door for me. As in, beat me to the passenger’s side and held it open for me, shutting it once I got in. Like I wasn’t on high alert before—I was on DEFCON 1 now. Whatever this was, it was nuclear.

Christian got in the car, glancing at me before starting it. “Do you want to go home, or someplace else?”

“You can take me home.” I had to face the music eventually. I’d probably get grounded, or something stupid like that, as if I wasn’t an adult who was able to make my own decisions for myself, but I’d sit back and swallow the punishment. As long as I was living there, I was rent-free, so I’d suck it up until College.

I didn’t have to tell him how to get there. He just knew. I didn’t even ask him about it, because I was so tired. Tired of this night, tired of my scheming and constantly putting up my guard. Tired in general.

I reached down to untie the shoes, but Christian stopped me by saying, “Give them back to me Monday.”

Monday. Because we were going to see each other a lot still, even after Snowball.

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