Page 63 of Past the Broken Bridges

Eyes widening, I watch as Banks stuffs both hands into his pockets, like he doesn’t trust that he’ll keep them to himself.

“What does that mean, exactly?” I ask.

He doesn’t need to spell it out for me. I know.

But it still gives my heart a little jump when he says, “There’s something about you that I can’t put my finger on, which makes me want to stick around and figure it out. I don’t blame Dawson for being pissed at me for that. He wanted my help gauging your interest, and instead, I fed mine.”

“I’m not his to claim” is my only logical response, voice a notch above a whisper because I don’t trust the emotions crammed into each word. I’m too busy thinking about one little piece of that.

He’s interested. Inme.

A noise rumbles from deep in his chest as he looks away, sighing. “You aren’t mine either.”

For some reason, hurt inches its way into my chest cavity. I swear, it’s always one step forward and five steps back with this boy, who’s now sweeping his gaze along the crowd of people waiting in the lobby.

“I don’t regret kissing you,” I admit, hoping it’s enough to spark something that will tell me how he feels. Because right now, all I feel is confusion.

“Good.” Banks’s eyes darken when they meet mine, pinning me. “I sure as hell don’t regret it either.”

Relief has me nodding, waiting for something more. “So what are we going to do about it?”

He hasn’t made a single move on me, so it’s hard to figure out what’s going through his head. He’s interested, but not enough to move forward. Is it because of me? Or because of Dawson?

“Tonight…” he murmurs, closing the distance between us. His hooded eyes spark something in my chest that makes me nervous and giddy, but not nearly as much as when he leans down.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

Just when I think he’s going to kiss me, those lips subtly press against my cheek.

Mycheek.

They linger only a moment before he straightens, looking down at me with that stupid half smirk on his face. “For tonight, I’m going home. Alone.”

The skin where he kissed me tingles, which sends disappointment into the pit of my stomach.

“That’s it?” I doubt, frowning.

One of his brows rises. “Did you expect more?”

What a tease. “With you, I’m not sure.”

He winks.Actuallywinks at me.

“Good.” Mischief dances on his face. “It’ll keep things interesting.”

I want to say something else, but he doesn’t give me the time to before slipping away.

As he walks through the crowd of people, Dawson takes his place in front of me. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

I look from him to where Dixie is talking to a group of girls all wearing the same jersey.

When I glance back at Dawson, I nod.

He rubs the back of his neck with his good hand, shifting from one foot to another. “I wanted to apologize for the other night.”

“You don’t—”

“I do,” he insists. “It was screwed up of me. I wasn’t… I’m not in my right mind lately. It’s no excuse; it’s just the truth.”

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