“Corn mazes don’t make sense. I’m following my gut and my gut says this way.”
“Well, mybrainsays this way,” I huffed at him, taking a few steps in the direction I wanted to go. “But using one’s brain is something you don’t have much experience with,” I muttered.
He whipped around, his scowl obvious even in the darkness. “What did you just say to me?”
Had I meant for him to hear it? Maybe. Yes.
No.
“Nothing, I was kidding,” I squeaked out, throwing my hands up at him.
He stormed a few steps closer and as much as I wanted to retreat I held my ground until he was right up in my face, hunched over me with his nostrils flaring. “I knew you always thought I was a meathead when we were in school. Clearly you still do.”
There was pain mixed with the fury in his expression, and I wished I could take it back.
“No, I—”
“Just stop,” he said, the disgust in his voice clear. “If your big brain wants you to go that way then go.”
I expected him to step away, but he stood his ground in front of me, blocking my path, daring me to move past him.
“Andrew, I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I meant,” I said quietly, staring up at him as his black eyes searched my face. The damage was done and my apology sounded hollow.
He was hovering too close. Angry, hurt, and scrutinizing me the way he used to so long ago. I felt exposed under his gaze, like he could see through me to everything I was desperate to keep buried. That my jabs at him were a defense mechanism againstmy mortifying one-sided attraction. I wanted him to look away, to finally take a step back so I could breathe again, but he continued to claim the air around me until I felt like I was suffocating.
The wind blew through the stalks, setting off a ghostly clatter. Neither of us seemed to comprehend the insanity of hashing out old hurts under the stars surrounded by acres of dead corn.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, but his face still didn’t soften. The crease between his eyebrows etched deeper and it set off something primal in me. I’d really hurt him and I needed to make it right.
Andrew started to say something, then stopped himself, moving slightly away from me and immediately making me wish that he hadn’t.
“You...” He shook his head like he was angry that it was all he could manage to get out. “I just...”
I opened my mouth to apologize for the third time, but before I could, he grabbed my wrist and wrenched me closer to him, pulling me off my feet and sending the air rushing from my lungs in a single startled gulp. His grip was tight, pinning my arm against his chest, where I could feel it rising and falling like he’d just run a race. My heartbeat sped up and my entire body tensed, poised for whatever was going to come next.
His black eyes settled on my mouth and I shifted, uncomfortable as ever under his scrutiny.
“You drive me fucking insane, do you know that?” he finally grunted at me, still gripping my wrist in his hot hand, holding me way too close.
I lifted my chin, ready to say the feeling was mutual, but he kept talking.
“You always have. You’re judgmental. You’re bossy. And you think you’re the smartest person in the room.”
He ended up inches from me, breathing hard, but instead of scaring me each insult just made me angrier.
“I’mjudgmental?” I roared back loudly enough to get a blink of shock out of him. “You used to call me ‘noodle arms’ and said that you were surprised I could lift my backpack. You said I had flipper feet. You told me I was so pale that I was practically neon.” I could’ve kept going about the many ways he’d made me feel insecure, but I felt like I’d made my point. “You had no right to talk about my body. You made me so self-conscious!”
As I repeated his little digs back to him I was struck by the realization that they were all pretty tame.Everyonetold me I was pale, but only Andrew saying it had left me feeling bruised.
It was his turn to look remorseful. Each reminder of the way he used to judge me chipped away some of the hard edges from his expression.
“Well, I’msorry.” It came out as a roar. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. But you have no right to talk about my brain. Or lack thereof.”
He was still clinging to me like he knew I’d take off running the second he let go. But what Andrew didn’t seem to realize was that I wasn’t going anywhere.
I couldn’t.
Something sticky and complicated was cementing my feet to the ground and keeping me from looking anywhere but at him. A big part of it was because I didn’t want him to think that he was intimidating me, but even more, his scalding grip was a sense memory of what had happened between us the last time we’d been this close. And because despite everything that wasgoing wrong between us in this moment, I still had the completely unhinged hope, deep down, that maybe it could happen again.
