Page 39 of A Slice of Love

Scooting back over to my spot—because, if I’m being honest, I miss the feel of his jeans rubbing against my bare legs—I frown. “Afraid so.”

“What to talk about…what to talk about,” he mutters, racking his brain for anything to say.

I should probably go with something safe. Something that won’t set me off. Something that won’t make him look like the bad guy.

Screw that.

I fold my hands together and lean against the table, pursing my lips.

“Gee, Jonas, what should we talk about first? Should we discuss you pretending to like me and stringing me along for months? Maybe that time Ifinallygained enough courage—after months and months of pep talks and practiced conversations in my head—to invite you to do somethingotherthan write in those stupid notebooks of yours and you let me down?” I slap my hand against my head. “Wait, I’m remembering that wrong. First youlaidme down and let me give you something youknewmeanteverythingto me.Thenyou broke my heart and refused to ever speak to me again.That’swhat happened.” I hold my hand up when he opens his mouth. “No, no, you’re right. That’s all too silly. Let’s talk about the weather. Definitely the weather.”

He sits there, mouth dropped open, eyes full of surprise.

Good. I’ve shocked him—just like he shocked me by leaving me.

You know what they say about turnabout…it’s fair play.

I wrap my hand around my water, taking a long pull of the cool liquid, watching Jonas over the rim of the glass.

His green eyes, which were shining bright when he first walked up, are growing darker and darker as the seconds tick away.

I glance up, checking to make sure the lightbulb hanging above us isn’t short-circuiting.

It’s just fine.

I look back at Jonas.

He’sfuming.

“I don’t know what pisses me off more, Frank—the fact that you think I fakedanyof what we exchanged in our notebooks, or that you think I’m pathetic enough to string a girl like you along formonthsall in hopes ofmaybescoring. Or maybe I’m mad at myself for not realizing how damn self-centered you are for not stopping to think for one second that I was hurting too.”

Hewas hurting?

“What the hell do you mean by ‘a girl like me’? What do you meanyouwere hurting? You had no right to hurt.You”—I stab a finger his way—“leftme.” I point at my chest, at my heart, the biggest thing he left behind.

“You ate lunch in the library and firmly believed in doing homework over the weekends. You were meek. You hid.” He chuckles sardonically, bringing his glass up and downing half of it in an easy chug. “I was the captain of a state-championship-winning football team, for crying out loud. All I had to do was wave my fingers and I could have had any person in that school.That’swhat I meant by a girl like you.” He leans across the table again. “I didn’thaveto talk to you, Frankie. I fucking wanted to.”

“I—”

“I’m not finished,” he snaps, cutting me off.

I don’t back down. I don’t let his anger intimidate me.

I’m happy he’s mad. Being mad is better than the silence I’ve gotten in the last four years.

“Do you truly think all I did was play you? So, what, I got what I wanted from you—what you think I wanted—then just booked it out of there and never spoke to you again? Mind you,youwere the one who threw yourself at me. I never asked for what you gave me. You made that choice all on your own before you even uttered an invitation and you know that.”

He’s right.

I made the choice to give Jonas my virginity long before I worked up the courage to invite him over. We shared a connection because of those notebooks. They were a way for us to share everything about ourselves that we never had the nerve to say out loud.

Like how, while he loved his father and was proud of his accomplishments, Jonas didn’t want to be like him, counting every penny to get through until the next paycheck.

He wanted security.

He had dreams—big dreams—and he wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way.

“Besides, I didn’t have a choice in leaving you. I had to.”

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