Page 33 of Exes That Puck
“It was actually a funny meme,” I admit. “The person should not take AP.”
He laughs, and the sound loosens something in my chest. “Poor kid can’t spell whether.”
We sit in the warm quiet of his truck, and I find myself really looking at him. The way he holds himself differently, more relaxed but also more intentional. Like he’s learned to sit with discomfort instead of immediately acting on it.
“And how do you spell whether?” I tease.
He looks at me with a smirk. “W-h-e-t-h-e-r.”
I smile at him. “I knew you could do it.”
“Thanks to that meme.”
I roll my eyes, knowing that he’s only saying that to make me laugh. “You’re such a liar.”
He chuckles, searching my face.
I lean in, and he shakes his head slightly.
“What?” I joke.
“Kare,” he warns. “Kara,” he corrects himself.
He can’t keep eye contact with me. That’s also something new. His presence feels refreshing, calm. He’s staring at his lap, and I want to know what’s going on his head.
“Hey,” I say softly, reaching for his face.
He goes still under my touch, eyes searching mine. “Kare—”
“Kara,” I repeat jokingly as my fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
He tugs his chin away from my touch, and I inhale, afraid that he’s rejecting me. It’ll be the first time he’s ever rejected me, and it feels like a stab to the heart. I know I broke up with him. I told him to stay away. I asked for space, but that hurts.
My fingers linger, barely touching his face.
He inhales and exhales dramatically, looking out the window. Then he wipes his face. Is that frustration? Did I read this all wrong?
He shakes his head slightly. His expression slightly turning like he’s fighting some internal war.
“Zeke,” I breathe, afraid of what comes next.
He scratches his chin, exhaling.
“Fuck it,” he mutters.
He kisses me with an intensity that steals my breath. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. His hands tangle in my hair, and the way his lips move have me wondering why I’d ever say no to him. I kiss him back, needing him like I need air. I’ve missed this so much. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer across the center console.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. He touches my lips with his thumb, eyes dark and searching.
“What now?” he whispers.
The question hangs between us, loaded with so much hanging in the air. I don’t know if this is a good move. I know what the smart answer is. I know what Payton would say, what my rational brain is screaming at me.
But I also know what I want and have been craving but denying myself.
“We need rules,” I say finally. “Clear ones. Before this goes any further.”
He nods immediately. “Okay. What kind of rules?”
