“Really?” He seemed incredulous. “I write sometimes too,” he added, massaging the nape of his neck a bit bashfully.
“I write about my mood. About whatever comes to my head,” I explained quietly before taking another sip of my milkshake.
“Do you want to be a writer?”
“No, it’s just my way of . . . it’s an outlet.”
William continued to nervously massage his neck and nodded like he understood.
“What are you writing?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound too curious. Even though I was.
“Whatever comes to my head at the time. In your opinion, what leads someone to write?”
“Good question. It’s kind of like what sports are for other people. It’s therapeutic.”
“I agree. But I think it requires a certain sensitivity,” he commented, fiddling with his straw.
“Yeah, except sometimes I don’t show that kind of sensitivity.” I smiled. William cracked up.
“Not at all. You know how to be tough, but that’s not synonymous with insensitivity. I’ve seen you lose your temper more than once.”
I put my palms on my cheeks to hide my embarrassment.
“This really is good.” I changed the subject.Oh, Will, give me good food, and you’ll win me over.
“I told you it’s the best in town. Wanna try some?” He motioned at his juice.
I nodded and passed him my cup. Our knuckles brushed accidentally. William looked down, then smiled as I hid behind the glass.
“How do you make friends with all these moves?” he asked, trying my milkshake.
“Well . . .”
I didn’t know if I should answerWhat friends?orIf I had your kind of friends, I’d rather be alone.Speaking of which . . .
“Will, I have to talk to you.”
My stomach did a flip as I heard those words.
That asshole James Hunter was back at our table.
I looked down. I had no intention of seeing his smartass face again.
“Now,” he demanded impatiently.
William muttered an “Excuse me for a second, June,” then got up and walked a measurable distance away with James.
But I had very sharp ears.
“Let me have an evening to myself.” Will’s voice was tinged with irritation.
“An evening to fuck White? Nasty.” James always used the same sarcastic tone no matter the subject.
“Don’t be a dick. What’s your problem with her, what’d she do to you?” My neck stiffened involuntarily.
“Do I have to spell it out? Can’t you see it?”
So he wasn’t just a dick by nature? There was an actual reason why he hated me?
