Page 16 of Don't Take the Girl
"Yeah, I guess I did," I mumble, my thoughts scattered as she turns down our street. My heart quickens, a sudden tension I wasn't prepared for.
"Does pizza sound good for dinner? I don't feel like cooking tonight."
When my mother pulls into the driveway, I see London in his backyard, shirtless, splitting wood. My annoyance instantly kicks into overdrive. For starters, it's summer. Who splits wood in the summer? There's no way he couldn't spare a minute to text back? It's not like there's a cold front on the horizon. And secondly, I know he heard my mother's car pull into the driveway, and he hasn't even spared me a glance.
"Sure, pizza sounds great, Mom," I say. My hand grips the door handle, and I strengthen my backbone, reminding myself of all the words I promised to give London when I saw him, no matter the consequence. No regrets.
My mom starts toward the house and then pauses, remembering my leg. "Laney, do you need help?"
I wave her off. "I'm fine, Mom. I'll be in shortly," I say, my eyeslaser-focused on London as I stomp my way across the yard as best I can with a bum knee.
The second I'm a foot away from him, and the axe he's been swinging is on the ground as he gathers the split wood, I push my finger into his shoulder. "Why are you ignoring me?"
"I'm not," he says, not even bothering to look at me as he puts the wood on the rack.
"I texted you," I say, crossing my arms.
"I don't have my phone." He swipes a bead of sweat off his eyebrow and finally spares me a glance. It's a sideways glance, but it's a look all the same, one that melts me even though I'm so mad I could spit. I hate boys. It's unfair how much they can affect us and how hard it is to let them go when they're not good for us.
"It's right there." I arch a brow and point to it laying on his discarded shirt.
"I've been busy," he blows out exasperatedly.
"You expect me to believe you've been chopping wood all morning?" I put my hands on my hips as he puts another log on the chopping block.
"No, I mowed the grass and vacuumed the pool first. Now I'm doing this."
He refuses to meet my eyes, so I force him to by stepping in front of the chopping block. "You left me on read."
His eyes slowly come off the ground and find mine, but his expression is unreadable when they do. He's not seeing me. He's looking through me. He doesn't want to look at me, let alone talk. I swallow down the hurt. When I went through all the scenarios that might play out the second I got home, this was one of them, and it sucked then as much as it does now, but if this is it, I'm not walking away with things unsaid. He's going to own his part.
"That's it, then? You slept on it, and the way you see it, last night didn't happen? Nothing has changed?" I state firmly, and he stands, unmoving. I clench my fists so I don't punch him instead. Rejection sucks. Last night, he seemed concerned about our friendship, but right now, it feels like the end of the road. "Whatever, I'll get your hoodie back to you," I add as I step around him. "I won't be?—"
His arm wraps around my waist. "I don't want my hoodie back. I like it when you wear my things."
"And I don't believe you. You're only trying to placate me because you think you'll hurt my feelings. You not making up your mind isn't killing me; it's just wasting my time. And I deserve better than that," I grind out as I push his arm away.
Both arms wrap around my middle, and he spins me toward my house and directs my gaze to my windowsill, where the shirt I wore to the party last night sits neatly folded. His lips brush my ear, his voice low and deliberate, “You were saying?"
"Why give me your shirt and not respond to my text?" His arms loosen, and I turn around. Ghosts of annoyance still mar his stupidly handsome face, but the shirt and the fact that he didn't let me walk away mad tell me there is something else. "I still want you to kiss me."
He inhales deeply and closes his eyes. "I can't."
"Why not?" I ask, and he subtly shakes his head. "Will you stop avoiding me and just tell me? I'm a big girl, London. If you changed your mind and are having regrets, just say that."
His eyes flash open. "My dad wants to take your mom to dinner."
"Okay…" I draw out, not understanding how that affects us.
"My dad hasn't gone on a date since my mother walked out and never looked back. He deserves a shot at happiness. There can't be a you and me if there's a them."
"That sounds like a cop-out if I ever did hear one. I saw you first. I want you, and I think you want me to."
He swallows hard, and the way his coal-dark eyes lock on mine, I know I'm right. "It's not that simple."
I step into him. "Yes, it is. You were mine first," I say as though that settles it.
"Is that so?" A soft smile tugs at the lips I've dreamed of kissing again since the moment they left mine.
