Page 37 of Stealing Sunshine

“I get it.”

“My moms weren’t surprised when I came out, so I don’t think I was all that subtle about it before then either. But they didn’t force me to move faster than I wanted to. How did your parents take it?”

From the corner of my eye, I see the way she visibly locks up at the question. I want to curse myself out for overstepping, but it’s too late to take the question back.

“We’re almost at the office. I told you nobody would be out at this time to see us.”

I turn and flash her a gentle smile. She’s got a couple of inches on me height-wise, but it’s not enough to have me looking up at her. Even if her gaze is intimidating enough on its own, making my confidence waver beneath it. I don’t let it crumble, though. That’s not me.

“Just because no one saw us doesn’t mean it was for nothing. I learned some things about you, so I’ll take that as a win,” I declare.

We stop in front of the small office building, and while it feels a bit awkward between us still, I don’t let that deter me. Especially not when I see someone walking out of the coffee shop down the road and toward us.

It’s go time.

“Don’t look, but there’s someone coming,” I whisper, keeping my eyes on Bryce’s.

Her jaw ticks. “Who?”

“I’m not sure. Nobody I know, at least. But we should still do something, right?”

“Do something? Like what?”

Her nose twists when she sniffs, and it’s adorable. We’re close enough that I can see every mark on her face and wrinkle in her lips. I’ve never seen skin so clear yet textured in a way that proves she’s a real person and not the robot she sometimes pretends to be.

Brows thick and manicured, they sit confidently above her kohl-lined blue eyes and draw together slightly the longer I stare. I dig my teeth into my lip just once before blinking and diverting my gaze.

The scuffing of shoes on the sidewalk has me acting before I can think twice about it. If it’s not me that makes the first move, something tells me that it won’t be Bryce.

Swaying onto the balls of my feet, I lean close and press my pursed lips to her cheek. Warm and smooth beneath my mouth, her skin heats as I’m pulling back. Her simple, spiced berryperfume sticks to my throat, and I risk a final sniff before giving her space.

She’s frozen in place when I meet her eyes and say, “Have a great day, Frosty. See you at home later.”

“Frosty?” she croaks.

I wink, my smile sly. “Sunshine?”

“What a fucking pair,” she says absently.

Wiggling my fingers in a wave, I start moving backward, a pep in my step that electrifies me. The newfound energy in my bones has me pressing my fingers to my lips and blowing her a kiss before spinning and leaving her there before I can see her reaction.

I don’t question the way I’m feeling.

Not once.

12

BRYCE

I fucking hate social media.

That sentence is as much of an “I’m not like the other girls” one that I could say, but I’m only being honest. Once I get started with scrolling, I get lost stalking every single person I’ve ever known in my life who’s upset me in one way or another.

I analyze their posts from the moment we grew apart to now. Are they happy? If so, how? Why do they deserve good things when they’ve hurt me?

There’s one profile I stray to more than the others. Victoria Clarkson is my archnemesis. With her tight black curls and sleek jaw and cheekbones, one look at her is usually enough to spoil my day.

Exes aren’t supposed to make you happy,obviously. But are they supposed to make you so lightning mad years after a breakup? No, they’re not.

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