“No,” I say too fast. “I’m not ready to go back inside yet. I don’t want to ruin their fun with my sour mood.”
“Do you want me to take you home?”
The answer should be no.
“Liv? Is everything okay?” Thea asks, staring back and forth between Hayes and me from the doorway.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. I–”What am I doing?“I’m not feeling very well. Hayes is going to take me home.”
“Liv,” she warns, her eyes filled with concern.
I take my crown off, setting it next to the boa on the bench. “It’s fine.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she knows better than to argue with me. Once I set my mind on something, it’s hard to dissuade me. “Text me when you get home safe. And, call mefirstthing in the morning.” She hooks her pinky finger around mine before I step away. “Promise?”
“Promise,” I assure her. Kissing our joined pinkies, a habit we haven’t kicked since college.
“You better have a helmet on that thing, and she needs water, Hayes,” she shouts down her porch to him.
He nods seriously. “I’ll take care of her.”
“I’m sure you will,” she mutters, looking at me slyly as I back away.
“Do you have a jacket?” He asks when I meet him on the sidewalk.
“No.”
He shrugs his off, holding it so I can slide my arms through. “Here.”
I barely have time to register how warm it is from his body, or how his smell is infused in the fabric when he’s handing me a small bucket helmet.
“Is this what all your bitches wear?” The words come out before I have a chance to filter them, but he laughs easily.
“No bitches have been on this bike. This helmet has never been worn.” He pulls it taut on my head and buckles it under my chin.
“What about your helmet?”
“I don’t usually wear one.”
“That’s stupid. You could die.”
He smiles at my crassness. “Death doesn’t scare me.”
“Well, it scares me.”
“Do you want me to start wearing a helmet, Liv?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he agrees. Just like that.
“Tomorrow,” I push, because I expected more of a fight.
“I’ll get one tomorrow.” He straddles his bike, kicking the kickstand back with his heel. “Have you ever ridden on a bike?”
“No.”
He doesn’t say it, but I see the relief on his face from my response. “Plant your foot here,” he points to a metal bar behind his knee. “Grab my shoulders and throw your other leg over.
