I shrug. “I’m sure you’ve got a few.”
“Are you trying to ask me out, Sutton?”
“No,” I say. “I’m just wondering if this is part of your game.”
“My game?” He’s laughing at me. “No,” he says, moving his tray over to lean his elbows on the table. “I do not take girls to McDonald’s to impress them. I was hungry.”
I look down. I shouldn’t have brought it up—shouldn’t have shown that it bothered me.
“And just in case you’re wondering,” he tells me, “no, I don’t have a girlfriend.” He says it offhandedly, but I can feel him waiting for me to look up.
“Good for you,” I say.
“Do you have a boyfriend I should be watching out for?”
I glance at him. “Why?”
“Don’t you think he’d be jealous that I’m charming the hell out of you right here in your local McDonald’s?”
“Oh, were you being charming?”
He stares at me, looking pleased, sort of devious. His brown eyes are deep and it’s a good thing he doesn’t look at me very often because they’re filled with electricity. I’d never finish my classwork.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks again, more seriously.
My face begins to tingle, almost like he’s asking me out even if he’s not saying those words. And I don’t want him to. “No,” I say. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I stabbed the last one.”
He nods, not giving away his feelings on the matter. Then he slaps his palm on the table, startling me. “Well, glad that’s out of the way,” he says. “I should go. Let me bring you home.”
I’ve already let him bring me to lunch and buy it; I can’t get back in his car. Although I’d love nothing more than to roll around with him in the backseat of his BMW, it could get very complicated. Especially if he ignores me afterward or, even worse, wants to date me.
“No thanks,” I say, standing up.
“But . . . how are you going to get home?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried,” he says. “I’m just curious.”
“Thanks for lunch.” I walk to the trash, dumping my tray before heading for the door.
“Anytime,” Cameron calls after me. And it sounds like an offer.
When I get outside, the sun is shining. I’m glad because that means Cameron won’t see me walking in the rain and I can spare myself the humiliation.
I’m just about to step off the curb into the parking lot when a white truck cuts across the lane and pulls up, nearly close enough to hit me. I jump back and gasp.
“Slutton,” Patrick calls, leaning out the driver’s side window. My heart begins to race as I look from side to side, trying to decide if I should start walking or go back inside.
“Get in the truck,” Patrick calls, shifting into park.
“Fuck off,” I say, but my wrist tingles where he grabbed me at the mall. I can still see the hate in his expression when he pulled me over the table.
“You owe me an apology.” He’s smiling, but his eyes are sinister. My gaze travels to his hand where it lies on the steering wheel. Even from here I can see the dark pink-and-purple scar. I wonder if it still hurts and if that’s why he’s such a raving asshole.
“Drop dead,” I tell him, and start walking. I just need to stay away from him.
The engine of the truck revs so loudly it makes me jump. Panic breaks across my chest.
