Page 17 of The Odds of Happily Ever After
I had to give him credit for that, even though he only proved me right. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll take the bus.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Ate that I saw you.”
His eyes searched my face.
“Anyway, I’ve got to go,” I said as I inched my cart forward. “Have a good one, Professor.” Turning to the shelves, I pretended to study the products on display. I couldn’t let him know that he affected me in any way.
“Luna.”
Despite myself, I glanced over my shoulder and found him watching me, his face blank.
“Take care.”
I nodded automatically. “You too.” Then I forced myself to focus on checking off my grocery list.
It was only when I hit the snacks section that my heartbeat slowed to its normal rate. Chloe was right—I needed to start working out. Clearly, my respiratory system needed help. Why else did it go into hyperventilation mode whenever Gabe came around?
Or maybe that was my blood pressure. Maybe he annoyed me so much I was getting early onset hypertension.
It wasn’t that Gabe was a bad person. He had good intentions for the most part, but I’d been burned by his hot and cold behavior before—like that time last summer when he spotted me walking to the bus stop carrying bags full of thrifted clothes. I’d recognized his car even before the passenger window slid open.
“Get in,” he ordered like I was a dog he’d trained to go fetch.
Sweat trickled down the back of my neck, sticking my baby hairs to my skin, and my arms ached from the weight of myhaul. Despite that, I refused, because his tone got on my nerves. “No, thank you. I’m taking the bus.”
His eyebrows, as thick as his dark hair, pulled together. “Luna.”
“See you around, Professor,” I said as I continued walking.
The next thing I knew, a car door slammed and heavy footsteps gained ground behind me.
“Let me drive you home.”
“I’m good.”
He caught up to me and gently tugged the bags from my hand and left shoulder.
“Gabe! Give me back my stuff.”
Without a word, he strode back to his car, opened the back door, and plopped my bags on the seat.
I followed him, fuming in self-righteous anger. “You can’t just take my things. I said no.”
He closed the back door and opened the passenger side. “Get in, Luna,” he said with an implacable set of his chin.
I pretended I was getting in only to step aside at the last minute to open the back door. He read my intent, blocking the door with a single step.
“It’s a ten-minute drive with air-conditioning and a comfortable seat,” he said.
“That doesn’t make up for the grumpy driver,” I shot back.
His jaw ticked. “Do you always have to be difficult?”
“Do you always have to be a jerk?”
“Apparently, sometimes I’m a grumpy driver instead,” he muttered.
