Page 78 of The Pretender

She releases a breath, and I add, “I brought you some coffee. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I really didn’t, although a stupid grin still tugs onto my face.

“Sure you didn’t,” she says, pushing past me.

“Wait!” I put the mugs down on the dock and catch up to her easily, grabbing her around the arm. “Calm down. I really didn’t mean to scare you.”

I can’t see her features clearly in the dark, but I can only imagine the glare she’s giving me.

“I really was just bringing you some coffee.”

She doesn’t try to pull away this time and I take that as a good sign.

“My iPad is at the bottom of the lake,” she notes with a tremble in her voice, and it does something to my stomach.

“I’m sorry. I know how much you love it. Maybe we can stop on the way home and pick up another one?”

Our sponsorships have been picking up with our new videos. I’m sure she can afford it.

“My treat,” I add, when she doesn’t say anything. “Since I’m the one who made you toss it in the first place.”

I want to add that if she watched her horror movies on a TV, inside the house, like a normal person, this wouldn’t happen, but since she doesn’t, this is what it’s come down to. Her scaring herself out here in the dark and losing her precious iPad.

“That’s sweet of you,” she returns, touching the top of my hand with hers. “But that’s not necessary. I was the one out here on the dock.” She pulls out of my grasp. “I didn’t think you would come out here.”

Her comment sends regret swirling around in my gut. She’s right. Most of the time when I’m aggravated or upset with her, I retreat and not speak to her for a while. Hence the two-month silence after her final prank.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I shouldn’t have been such a dick to you after the last prank.”

We’re in the dark. I don’t have to look at her face when I say this.

“I was so angry at you.”

I tuck my hands in my pocket. “I had no right to be, but I still lashed out at you. You were only playing the game I started.”

“I didn’t mean to let it go on as long as it did,” she says, and I shake my head.

“I just didn’t—”

I stop, catching my breath.

“What I’m trying to say is that I don’t normally connect to anyone like that.”

“But you and Maverick are friends,” she adds, “and Rowan.”

I nod. “It wasn’t the same.”

I confided in her. I told her about my dreams, and we both shared in the excitement of making it in our respective fields.

“I’m sorry,” she says for probably the hundredth time.

I reach out for her hand and like she knows it’s there, she takes it, threading her fingers through mine.

“I have my phone,” I offer. “It’s not your iPad, but you can at least finish your movie.” I reach into my back pocket and pull out my phone, the screen brightening the space around us.

She smiles. “Is this your way of accepting my apology?”

She knows me well.

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