“If I was sober you wouldn’t be talking this much.”
“Right. If you were sober, who knows what kind of shit you’d be giving me,” I snapped, irritated.
“You punched me, but I’m taking you home, and you have the nerve to talk to me like that?”
I furtively glanced at his perfect profile.
James’s nose was long and straight. It didn’t seem to get punched often. The tip curved slightly upward, giving him an enviable profile.
He blew a raspberry. “I can see you.” His lips wrapped around the mouthpiece of the vape pen. I decided to not take the bait and turned to the window.
“You should at least go to the ER.”
“Do you think this is the first time I’ve gotten in a fight? And no, I’m not talking about how you tapped me.” He chuckled.
Who could talk about violence so casually?
“And do you think you’re talking to a moron who’s impressed by your bad-boy act?”
“No, I just think I’m talking to a moron. That’s all.”
James slowed down by my house and got out to throw the empty vape cartridge in a trash can.
“Do you really care about the environment, or do you just want to go to bed with a clear conscience?” I asked, eyeing him from the open car door.
The white T-shirt covering his abdomen was stained with blood and torn in some places.
James smiled, then licked his lower lip with the tip of his tongue. He did that a lot. And it bugged me a lot. Maybe it was because I felt something crawl under my skin every time I looked at his mouth.
He got into the car again and pulled a new vape pen out of his tracksuit pocket.
“I don’t like you. You talk too much,” he said unperturbed, before putting the vape back in his mouth.
“So do you. And the feeling’s mutual.”
“Just ask your friends, I’m usually a man of few words.”
James was provoking me. I was sure that neither Ari nor Poppy would ever have the nerve to be with someone like him. And Amelia? I got lost in my thoughts and didn’t notice that he was glowering at me.
“Do you wanna get out or are we gonna keep making googly eyes at each other, White?”
I asked myself how he wasn’t in excruciating pain after getting beaten up like that.
“Do you usually go to bed like this?” I asked.
I saw him play with the power button on the vape pen. He turned it on and off, then shot me a threatening look.
“Get the hell out, princess. I’m saying this for your own good.”
14
June
“June!”
Tiptoeing into the house didn’t do me any good. My mom was already home, sitting like a ravenous lion ready to eviscerate a gazelle. And I was anything but graceful. I dropped a set of keys, bumped into the bookshelf, and barely avoided tripping over paintbrushes after the impact. What sane person had paintbrushes on display for decoration?
“June? Were you vaping?” She turned on the living room lights, aimed a lamp at my face, and went straight to giving me the third degree.
