And the silence feels like a wall.
“I wanted to talk to you,” I start, trying to sound casual.
He just looks at me, those gray eyes unreadable. I notice the bruising before I can finish my thought. A black eye, a split lip, faint swelling along his cheekbone. My stomach tightens.
“What happened to you?”
“I’m fine.” His voice is low, rough. The kind that could either melt you or cut you depending on the second.
“Doesn’t look fine,” I say, stepping closer. “Did someone—”
“Drop it, Chloe.”
The way he says my name—it’s not gentle this time. It’s an order.
I swallow, the sting of rejection hot in my throat.
“I got my car back,” I offer, trying to shift the subject, to find some normal ground. “The garage called this morning—”
“Good for you,” he cuts in.
Good for me.That’s it?
I stare at him, waiting for some trace of the guy from last night, the one who put his jacket over my shoulders and kissed me like he meant it. But he’s gone. Replaced by this stranger with a bruised mouth and a tone sharp enough to draw blood.
“Here.” I pull out the jacket I have been carrying in my backpack all day. I was so tempted to wear it, but I didn’t know what type of rumors that would have started up. Now, I ‘m just glad I didn’t.
I thrust his jacket toward him. “Thought you might want this back.”
He doesn’t take it. Just looks at it. At me.
“My jacket,” he says flatly.
“It’s not like I want it––”
“Are you sure, Chloe? Cause last night, you practically begged forit.”
I can feel my blood boil just under the surface. “Excuse me?”
He cocks an eyebrow at me. “I know what you’re doing. Do you think I will chase you down and beg you to keep it?”
“No.”
“Unless this is your way of throwing yourself at me again. Do you think this little act will make me care? News flash,princess,you are not the first girl I have given it too. Most of them just hang them in their bedrooms and fantasize about it. I think you are just deluding yourself here. What? Are you not like other girls?”
My jaw drops. The words hit like a slap, hot and humiliating.
“Wow,” I breathe. “You really are a dick.”
He smirks, but there’s no humor in it.
I shove the jacket at his chest. He takes it this time, but the motion sends another jolt of anger through me.
“You know what? Forget it.”
I swing my bag over my shoulder and turn toward the path. My pulse is pounding, half from rage, half from something else—hurt maybe, or confusion. I don’t even know. I just know that the guy who made me feel safe last night now makes me feel small.
Who the hell does he think he is?
