Page 33 of Sunshine
“I can think of much more exciting ways to pass the time.”
“I amnotgoing to sleep with you,” I say, but the insolent twinkle in his dark brown eyes makes me smile a little. It’s the twinkle I loved so much when we were sixteen.
I swat him with the towel. “Stop it.”
He raises his eyebrows, all innocence. “Stop what?”
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Can’t help it.” He spins his glass on the bar, a wet ring of condensation pooling underneath. “I’ve always looked at you that way.”
“Not true.”
“It is.”
I set my elbows on the bar and lean in, mirroring his smirk as I crook my finger and pretend that whatever I’m about to say is so personal that he needs to lean in too. And he does, a victorious grin dancing under his thick, dark mustache.
“You weren’t looking at me that way when you were making out with Kayla Noonan-Kearns at homecoming.”
It takes a second for Wade to realize the seductive tilt to my lips and the pleasant tone of my voice don’t fit the words coming out of my mouth.
“And you weren’t looking at me that way when you were breaking up with me in front of everyone at Howie Walker’s summer party.”
Wade’s throat bobs in an uncomfortable swallow.
“And you weren’t looking at me that way when you drove me out to the grad night bonfire, rolled out a blanket in the bed of your truck and promised me the night of my life, then drank so much beer you threw up on my feet.”
“Poppy—”
“It’s okay, Wade.” I straighten and take his empty glass before finding a clean one and pulling him another beer. “I’m over it. We’re older now. Smarter. Wiser. We know better than to makethe same mistakes we made as kids. We’re not the same people anymore.”
“Uh. Right.”
Wade takes a sip of his drink, watching me over the edge of the glass, and it’s clear he’s got no idea what I’m trying to tell him or why I’m calling out his shitty behavior now when I’ve let it slide for the last six months. He doesn’t realize the reminders are for me, because if there was ever a night I might finally fall for Wade’s quasi-charm, it’s tonight.
I risk another look at Dylan’s booth and wish I hadn’t. It’s empty, the drinks not even finished, a tip dropped carelessly on the tabletop. My heart plummets. They must be enjoying themselves to slip out of here so quickly and without even saying goodbye.
Were they in a rush to find somewhere they can enjoy each other’s company alone? Is he kissing her right now?
The possibility hits me like a punch, and I suddenly need a breather.
“I’m going to take a bathroom break,” I mumble to nobody in particular.
“I’ll be waiting,” Wade assures me.
“Lucky me.”
I step into the hallway that leads to the bathroom, the lights here dimmed and the shadows deep. Tears burn my eyes. How is a crush now at twenty-eight more painful than it was at fifteen? It doesn’t make any sense. I know so much more. I understand the way the world works. Why is it so hard for my head and my heart to get on the same page and accept that Dylan is not the man for me?
I dash at my eyes and walk faster, needing to splash my face with cold water before I try to finish my shift, but I don’t make it halfway down the hallway before someone takes hold of my arm and spins me around.
It’s Dylan, and he doesn’t let go as he towers over me with his blue eyes flashing and chiseled jaw flexing. Thick vein pulsing in his smooth, bronzed neck.
“Wade needs a bucket for the drool he’s dropping out there,” Dylan says.
My confusion lasts only a moment before a familiar sense of power rushes through me, hot and fast from my hairline to my fingertips. Power and yearning.
“So?” I retort.
