Page 26 of Merry Me
“Breathe, Trouble,” he said softly, like I was being dramatic for having afull-blown existential crisis.
“Easton,” I wheezed. “Why—why would you do that?”
His thumb kept stroking, and I had to resist the urge to throw open the truck door and roll into traffic.
“After everything,” I continued, my voice rising. “After I—after we—Why would you do something like that?”
Now that my initial shock was wearing off, there was a strange ache spreading through my veins instead. One that was unwelcome and unacceptable and…fucking agonizing.
His eyes went back to the road, but his face was suddenly serious. No teasing. Just…Easton. The one who used to tuck my hair behind my ear and say he wanted to know all the ways I was broken so he could love every single one of them.
“You should know me better than that to think that just because you said you were done…that it meant I was done too,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Although, I guess the reason you broke up with me in the first place showed you didn’t actually know me that well, huh?”
I rubbed at my chest, trying to get the aching sensation to go away. “I’ll pay you back. It might take awhile…okay, a long while. Unless I win the lottery, which could happen. I knew a girl at school who went to a random gas station on a family vacation in Wyoming and won twenty thousand dollars…”
“You’re not paying me back,” he said, cutting off my word vomit mid-sentence.
I was very aware that I was rambling, but what else were you supposed to do when you found out that your ex-boyfriend, your very famous ex-boyfriend, had paid for your tuition…after you had broken up with him?
I sat back against the seat, huffing, trying to decide if I should be mad or just…drown in whatever the hell this was.
Generosity? Love? Guilt?
Or maybe all three wrapped in a six-foot-something, unfairly hot Hollywood package?
I needed answers. I needed clarity.
I needed to stop fantasizing about climbing into his lap.
“I’mgoingto pay you back,” I insisted, pulling my phone out of my legging pocket—thank fuck for that particular invention—and sending an SOS to Casey and Riley.
Easton hummed noncommittally and then mercifully stopped talking as I tried to come to terms with what he’d done.
My phone buzzed in my hand, and I pulled up the message like it was a lifeline while trying to ignore the fact that Easton seemed to be paying a lot more attention to me than he was to the road.
Casey: He kissed you!
I gaped at my phone before quickly angling it so that Easton couldn’t see the screen. I definitely didn’t want him seeing the texts since they were obviously going to be about him.
“Something wrong?” Easton asked, entirely too innocent.
“Nope,” I lied, gripping my phone tighter.
Me: Why would you say that?
Riley: Well, what else would be an SOS?
Me: A lot of things, actually. If he kisses me, it will be more than an SOS situation.
Casey: What exactly constitutes being worse than SOS?
Me: Constitutes. Big word, Case-face. But, I don’t know. How about DEFCON 3 or maybe 10? I feel like you guys don’t even know me right now.
Riley: I’ll just make a note in my phone to ensure I have these rankings right for next time.
Me: Good girl.
Me: But also…focus. This may not be a DEFCON 3, but it is an emergency.
