Page 68 of Fight Or Flight

Doubtful.

She just lost her mom.

That’s the only person she misses.

Not the lovesick fool standing beside her.

“Truce,” she agrees.

One word. That’s all it takes for me to be able to breathe again. Well, not really, but it sure feels that way. I wasn’t kidding, man, this week has been rough. It’s not like I could talk to anyone about it either. No one is pro Brooklyn and Eric, and no one knows I’m about to sign my life over to my country. Everyone looks at me and sees some stupid kid who acts before he thinks and makes a goddamn mess out of everything he touches.

They’re not all that wrong either. The proof is in my track record.

Secretly meet with a recruiter, check.

Lie to everyone you know about deciding to join the Army, check.

Fail your road test, again and again, check.

Rob your uncle’s car and crash it, check.

Fall for the girl you swore you’d protect at all costs, check.

Scare the fuck out of the girl while she’s grieving her mom, check, check, check.

Let’s see what else we can add, shall we?

The lunch lady clears her throat, drawing both mine and Brooklyn’s attention to the food that sits under the heated lamps. Scrunching her nose, she goes with the turkey burger and we make our way down the line. She grabs two apples, a snack-size package of Oreos, and a bottle of water. I add a carton of milk to her tray because she can’t wash the cookies down with water—that would be a sin.

Once we reach the checkout, she turns to me.

“Can you open the front zipper of my bag? I think I shoved my lunch card in there this morning.”

Instead of digging into her bag for the card, I grab mine from my pocket and hand it to the lady. She swipes it and I take Brooklyn’s tray. Meeting her confused gaze, I tip my chin toward the packed lunchroom.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

A faint blush covers her cheeks and a memory of her straddling me in the back seat of her mom’s car flashes before me. Her cheeks were a pretty shade of pink then, too.

It’s probably not in my best interest to be thinking about that right now.

If I’m going to save this thing of ours, I can’t be thinking about all the ways I might get those cheeks to blush. That being said, I make a mental note of how much she really liked it when I played with her boobs. Those cheeks were on fire!

Fuck me.

I’m hopeless.

Clearing my throat, I shrug my shoulders.

“It’s not a big deal. Where do you want to sit?”

Oh, great, I suddenly sound like Alvin from the chipmunks.

“Anywhere is fine,” she replies.

I lead her to a quiet corner of the lunchroom, ignoring all the curious stares. This school is too fucking small. Everyone knows everyone’s business and before Brooklyn even stepped foot in these halls, they knew her story. But that’s probably not the reason they’re staring. In four years, I’ve never had lunch alone with a girl. I’ve never whipped out my spending card or carried someone’s tray.

I tame the urge to yell Apocalypse and focus on Brook, watching as she takes a seat on one of the empty benches. Like the doting boyfriend I’m not, I set her lunch down in front of her before moving to the bench across from her.

---