Page 32 of Simply Yours

“Maybe?” he said sheepishly.

That one word sent her over the edge. With a growl, she swung the same crusty loaf of bread at his head again. He ducked, but not fast enough—she still managed to graze his shoulder.

“What?” he yelped, his arms flying up in a pitiful attempt to protect himself. “He needs to work for it, you know? I don’t just go tossing my friends under the bus?—”

“You tossedme!” she shrieked, punctuating each word with a jab of the bread.

“Iprotectedyou!”

Caitlin let out a disbelieving laugh, stepping closer, her heart pounding with frustration. “I don’t want your protection from him—I wanted him to text me! And in football terms—so you understand exactly what I’m saying—” she jabbed a finger into his chest, eyes blazing, “you blocked a pass, bro. And lost the game for me.”

Matthew rolled his eyes like she was being dramatic, and that only made her blood boil hotter.

“Ugh, drama queen,” he muttered under his breath.

Oh, that was it!

She hauled back and swung the loaf at him again with enough force to rival a Hail Mary pass. This time, the crusty bread snapped in half against his arm.

Several people nearby burst into laughter. She barely heard them over the rush of anger in her veins. Without hesitation, she chucked both halves at him. One bounced off his chest; the other smacked against his thigh before falling to the ground.

Matthew gawked at her. “It was more like there was a flag on the play, and you lost first down, okay? Sheesh.”

Caitlin made a strangled sound of frustration. “You sacked my quarterback.”

“Your quarterback was outta the game already,” he shot back, arms spread wide in exasperation.

“Then put him back in!”

“I’m trying!” Matthew yelled, pointing toward the booths. “Why do you think I put your table near the kissing booth?!”

Her eyes widened. “Ah-ha!” she shouted triumphantly, pointing at him in the exact same way. “I knew it!”

They glared at each other, mirroring each other’s stances, breathing hard from the verbal sparring. Then, in a move as familiar as breathing, they grabbed each other’s hands—index fingers still extended—and started slapping them together in an old, childish game they hadn’t played in years.

“Eeenie, meenie?—”

“That’s you—the meenie,” she cut in.

“Miney—”

“I’m gonna kick your hiney,” she threatened.

“Mo—”

“You pronounced it wrong,Hoe,” she smirked.

Matthew snorted. “My mama told me?—”

“Didn’t matter, ’cause you didn’t listen,” she shot back, eyes flashing.

“And you are not it?—”

“Oh, I’mit,” Caitlin interrupted, voice dropping into something fierce, something raw. She yanked her hand away and slapped his with force. “You just feel weird about it—which is why you’resabotagingthings!”

Matthew hesitated, rubbing the back of his hand where she’d smacked him. His usual quick wit faltered just for a second, and in that split moment, she saw something—regret, maybe, or guilt.

“It’s because you’re my bestie that I did it…” His voice was softer now.

---