Page 29 of Yes No Maybe

Air puffs from her like she’s been punched in the chest. “Don’t write about me, Jack Graham. I mean it.”

Her sternness is like an implosion, sucking in everything pleasant.

“What’s wrong? Why not?”

She takes a breath, calmly saying, “Is that why you talked to me at the party? Is that why you’re here?”

“That’s what you think this is? Me using you for fucking book sales?”

“Is it?”

“No! It’s me being goddamned neighborly.”

“Then youaren’twriting about me?”

Her crystal eyes turn to gray ice, making me cold and angry.

My frustration meter rises. “Not aboutyou. Not specifically.”

“But someonelikeme? Are you writing about a teacher, a homeowner, an annoying neighbor, or did you bypass all of that and go straight to someone who’s suffered serious burns?”

“It’s not like that. I take pieces of people all the time—that’s how it works. It’s not aboutYOU—Rowan. It’s a shade of you, a version in an entirely different world. You shouldn’t be insulted. You should be fucking flattered.”

“Flattered? Ha! There’s the arrogance you’ve hidden all night! I’m not one of your damn groupies. And this—” She motions to her face. “—isn’t a romantic novelty. It’s my trauma—one that willnevergo away. How could you try and capitalize on it?”

“I’m not! I don’t know what happened to you. I haven’t even asked.”

“But you will. I can’t believe I thought you were beingnice.”

“Rowan.” I force myself to calm down like a skilled negotiator in a hostage situation. “We don’t know each other well, but come on. We share nerdiness and a property line. Trust me. I’d never trivialize your trauma or violate your privacy.”

“You already have.” She stands, banging her knee against the coffee table. She swallows the pain and points toward the door. “I want you to leave.”

Her words hit me like a freight train, barreling me over. I hate that she thinks of me like that, even if it’s partly true.

My wine glass clinks as I set it beside hers. It’s all very civil—her escorting me to the door.

But my mind spins with anger at her distrust and the distance she keeps, like I’m a fucking predator or one of her bad-date assholes. Without even letting me explain.Who does she think she is?

Determined to change her mind, I turn abruptly at the door. She fumbles backward and raises her hands defensively.

Her reaction stops me cold, contorting my anger into an instant apology.

“Fucking hell, Rowan, I’m not going to hit you. Or hurt you. I wouldneverdo that. I’m-I’m sorry.” My tone is desperate. She can think many things of me, most are probably true, but never that I would physically harm her.

She takes a quick breath, hanging her head as if ashamed. “It’s been a long day. Were you going to say something? Go ahead.”

“I-I don’t want to now.”

She holds the door open, waving me onto the front porch. “Oh, come on, Jack. Do you honestly think you can come up with something worse than I’ve heard before?” She forces a sardonic smile to assure me that she doesn’t care.

I don’t buy it for a second.

Still, I meet her eyes, locked into giving her exactly what she wants. “Fine. I was going to say… You aren’t that fucking interesting.”

Her lips coil before she slams the door in my face.

Ten

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