Page 25 of Never Have I Ever

She’s fiery, I’ll give her that, the name thing pushing a button she doesn’t want to activate. Her contentedness to throw it out and then walk away without a follow-up has me thinking she even knows she’s taken this too far.

No matter what, I’m not letting her get to me anymore. At least not on an empty stomach when I’m losing the mental energy to snap back. “I’m sure some do, but my public high school did.” I shift into park and pop the door open.

I circle the vehicle once before dipping into the driver’s seat. With one leg on the dirt, I ask, “Where’s the key fob?”

When she climbs out of the truck, her size gives me flashbacks of her in the kitchen. She’s smaller than expected, given the confidence that her mouth backs. Coming around, she hands the fob to me. Her nails barely scrape against my palm, causing me to look up into her eyes. Standing so close that her foot touches mine, she stares at me as if . . . as if . . . I matter to her. As if there’s a way for us that doesn’t lead in separate directions. Our eyes stay fixed as if the fire between us is stronger than her temper, which seems almost impossible.

She licks her lips and then tugs her sweater closed. Since she’s still in the dress from earlier, it’s safe to assume she’s cold. She looks away as if the connection is too much and then shivers. Would it be so wrong to want the cause to be the thrill of my presence?

“Are you going to try to start it?” she asks, her gaze aimed off into the distant darkness.

I clear my throat and turn back to the dashboard. “Try. The car will be fine here overnight, but just in case the weather turns, it’s good to close the window.” Glancing at the seat beside me, I find crumbs on the upholstery. “It will also keep the animals out.”

“Why do I feel like you’re judging me? It was a long drive to end up isolated from the rest of the world.”

“Funny. That’s why I came here. For the solitude.” I glance up at her. “You see how that’s working out for me.”

She laughs. “Swimmingly. At least the company is pretty great.”

Not moving when I stand, I come face-to-face with her or, more accurately, her face comes to my chest. “If you say so.” Peculiar but growing on me. I stand there another few seconds before she catches on and takes a few steps back.

“Please lock it.”

I press the lock and shut the door. “Do you always have to control everything?”

The question causes her head to jerk back. “I was just reminding you is all. Do you always have to be so, so . . .” She clamps her mouth closed and rolls her eyes when she passes me to walk around to the other side of the truck.

I’d ask what she wanted to call me, but I’m not upset with silence for the rest of this trip.

She must be as well because I don’t hear another peep out of her until I park the truck. When I cut the engine, neither of us moves to get out. I stare at the cabin, and she stares out toward the lake. After a sigh I know I’m meant to hear, she opens the door. “Well . . .” She pauses to hop out. “Thanks for letting me stay here. I was thinking I could have someone come get me tomorrow.”

I look at her—her pretty face with lips I kissed until the pink turned deeper, those eyes that are more vibrantly green at night, and her hair trailing over her shoulders. There’s so much more blond than I remember, only serving to highlight her beautiful face even more by how the strands frame it.

She had it up when we stopped at her car, so I’m curious why she took it down. A heaviness stretches between us when our eyes stay hooked too long. I’m at a loss for words when it comes to where we stand.

Do I drag our past into the present or ignore it like she’s so brilliantly doing?

“Good night.” The door closes, almost clipping her word in half.

“Fuck.” I get out, grab the bag, and rush to meet her at the back of the truck. Not knowing what to say to her, I go where I said I wouldn’t. “Why don’t you know my name?”

The question makes her smile despite my chest constricting in pain. Maybe that’s what she gets off on. “Fuck.” I drag my hand through my hair and point at the single cabin tucked in the woods behind us. “It’s still open.” I hand her the bag, and add, “I’ll drop the rest of your stuff off outside the door.”

“I can—”

“I’ve got it!” I grip the top of the tailgate, squeezing it so hard my knuckles whiten. I don’t look at her again. I don’t give her another second of my life. I can’t. I didn’t survive her the first time, so there’s no surviving her again.

The crunch of leaves under her feet is the only thing left between us. That, and the land between the two cabins.

It’s good she’s leaving tomorrow. I don’t know how she’s planning on getting out of here, but it’s not my problem. She’s not my problem anymore.

Though I find some of the items she brought to hack me into little pieces intriguing, I leave her stuff where I said I would and walk away. It’s best for me to protect myself from her—not only the knives but from stealing my soul twice.

Shoving my hands in my jean pockets, I cross the divide between us and dust off the bottom of an old pair of hiking boots I left up here a few years back. They’re working for me since the property needs some cleaning of the grounds.

I stop on the porch and take the time to view the lake. For as much friction as there’s been tonight, the lake is calm, the sky clear, and the moon reflecting its twin across the top of the water. It’s turned colder than expected when I checked the forecast before arriving, so when I go inside, I secure the main cabin, close a window that I left open when I was heated from our argument, and make sure the doors are locked.

Switching off lights would normally feel like a chore, but with each one, I get a better sense of privacy until I’m seated in the dark and left alone with my thoughts.

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