He hesitated. “You—what were you were talking about?”
“She thinks I stress out your grandfather?”
His eyes closed. “Damn.”
“How? What did she say?”
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. What were you talking about?”
“She thinks I’m bad for you. I think she called me a myrtle. But in a bad way?”
“Amyrtle?”
“Noah. Tell me why she thinks I stress out your grandpa.”
He sighed. “She said it’s not healthy for him to be reminded of the past so often.”
I leaned back. “Do you think she has a point? About me stressing out your grandfather?”
“Honestly, Abigail, I don’t care.”
“What about your dad?”
“What about him?”
“Why doesn’t he want you seeing me? Whyareyou seeing me? What are we doing?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know!” I yelled, finally at my breaking point, unable to handle my anxiety and bouncing nerves anymore. “I don’t know what we’re doing! Are you just hooking up with me to piss off your dad?”
“Why would yousaythat?”
“Because it makes as much sense as anything else I can come up with! I don’t even know what we’re doing. I mean, we’re notserious, are we?”
He rocked back on his heels. His voice went flat. “You said you didn’t want anything serious.”
“What?” I felt thrown, like I’d suddenly gone from the attack to the defense.
“You’re looking for a summer fling, right?” His expression didn’t change. “Something casual.”
My throat went dry, though my eyes did not. I blinked rapidly. Really shot myself in the foot there, hadn’t I, spending all summer talking about flings. Of course he thought I’d be fine with one. “I don’t want a fling.”
He looked at me sharply. “What?”
My throat was too clogged to speak, so I shook my head instead.
“You said you wanted a summer fling.”
“I meant in the abstract.” Blinking hard, I looked down at my feet, my pink nail polish glinting in the light. “Not with you.”
“Be a little more clear, Abigail.”
“How much clearer can I be?” I cried. “I don’t want aflingwith you, or to be your revenge hookup to get back at your dad. Ilikeyou! I want to spend all my time with you and I wish we were serious and it’s tearing me apart not knowing what we’re doing!”
He looked stunned.
Hot shame rolled over me. I was an idiot.Stand your ground, I told myself, even though I wanted to cry. No one could be mad someone liked them. It was flattering, even if they didn’t return the sentiment—wasn’t it? “Don’t worry,” I said stiffly. “I won’t be a bother about it.”
