Page 21 of Puck Block

He acts like an airhead most of the time and strives to make everyone in the room laugh, but he’s smarter than most guys his age. The one thing about Ford is that he never wants to disappoint anyone, so he always goes above and beyond to excel at everything he does.

I disappoint people constantly–mainly my parents and Dr. McCarthy.

“Am I dazzling you with my intelligence?” he asks after finishing her biography.

I flip the page and continue to pretend he doesn’t exist, which makes him laugh out loud.

“Are you seriously going to ignore me? You know very well that I can make you look at me. I know how to press your buttons, Taytum.”

He sure does.

I sigh, continuing to look at the same sentence on the page that I’ve reread five times, and keep my voice neutral. “That depends. Are you here to stay true to your word, or are yougoing to act like the other night didn’t happen?”

My bed dips, and his jean-clad leg is an inch from mine. I glance at him, and he’s resting against my pillow with his hands behind his head. “The other night...?”

My face is on fire.I hate him.I slam the book shut and begin to stand up. I’m a second away from walking to ballet practice instead of letting him drive me.

“Nuh-uh.” Ford moves quickly. He pops up and traps me in between his legs like a pair of scissors. Our eyes meet, and I wiggle angrily with an attempted escape. “Keep it up. I love a girl who fights.”

“Ford.” I try to unclamp his legs but stop when I realize how stupid I must look. Ford’s cheeks are hollow from sucking them in to stop his laugh, and it makes his jaw sharper than ever.

“Will you relax? I was kidding. You know I always stay true to my word.”

I snort sarcastically and push his legs away. He lets me go and throws my heart-shaped pillow into the air only to catch it a second later without looking.

“You don’t always stay true to your word.” I stand up and grab my ballet bag before moving closer to my door. If I don’t put space between us, I may throw my book at his head.

The pillow falls to the floor, right out of Ford’s hands, and he stares directly at me. “Yes, I do.”

“You do not,” I counter.

I remember the very moment he broke his word, like it was yesterday. “Remember when you promised me you wouldn’t tell my parents about that one night you found me crying in my bathroom with a ripped shir–”

“Don’t.” I look away when I hear the brash tone he uses. “You know I had to tell them.”

“Just like you’ll have to tell Emory about every date I go on or every one-night stand I plan to have? Or what if one of your teammates pursues me and wants to keep it a secret from Emory? You gonna keep your word then? Or…” I smile deviously and bring up my next topic. “What if Cruz shows back up at Rush’s and we’re in a room together again? Are you going to break the door down and make up some excuse to force him leave? Are you going to tell him that I’m off-limits again?”

I’m out of breath by the end of my rant, and my hands have made their way to my hips. Ford stood up at one point, and his feet are now planted firmly over my pink rug. My eyebrow hitches as I wait for his answer. I’ve already prepared one hundred responses by the time he says, “No.”

Surprise renders me speechless. “No?” I’m hesitant but for good reason.

I trust Ford with my life, but I don’t trust him with his ability to keep something from my brother or to sit back and watch me disappear with another guy. I’ve been burned far too many times.

Ford strides over to me with his usual confidence. “I heard you the other night, and I understand where you are coming from.” He shrugs innocently, and I’m left confused. “I said I’d keep your little adventures a secret, and I will. I also said I’d help you…figure it out.”

I blink once, then twice, and then a third time before I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Why?”

There’s a harsh silence that follows my question, and the more Ford bounces his blue eyes between mine, the more skeptical I become. But then he looks away and flexes his tight jaw, and it clicks.

“You feel bad for me,” I whisper.

Ford quickly rebuts, “No.” He rolls his eyes before snatching my ballet bag from my hand. “Well, yes, but not in the way you’re thinking.” The zipper echoes throughout the room, and he grabs my emergency sugar kit. He opens it up and checks the contents before shoving it back into the bag. “I feel guilty, alright?”

I try to take my ballet bag from him, but he slaps away my hand. “You feel guilty?” I repeat.

He nods. “You were right. I have ruined almost every date you’ve ever had, and it’s a dick thing to do. You’re no longer fifteen, surrounded by a bunch of little fuckboys who don’t know a pussy from a papaya.” There’s a look in his eye that I don’t recognize, but it vanishes before I comment on it.

Ford heads for the door, but instead of following after him, I stand in the middle of my room and cross my arms. “Did you just compare my pussy to a papaya?”

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