He shook his head. “Oh, far more important. I’m a teller. You’re the bank manager.”
“Doubt David would ever trust me with any kind of lock combo,” I said. “We used to sneak expired eggs and old tuna in each other’s lockers.”
“A budding love language if I’ve ever heard of one.”
I snorted. “David doesn’t believe in love.”
Weston frowned in disbelief. “Did he say that?”
“Every other month,” I promised. “He doesn’t think it’s “practical.””
“Practical.” The word pulled out another laugh from him. “Jesus.”
“Do you?” I asked, curious about the amusement in his eyes and disbelief in his tone.
“Do I?”
“Believe in love?”
He took a moment to think it over, fingers drumming on the counter. “Sometimes, yes. Most of the time, I really want to. With every fiber of my being, I want to.”
There was a thread of sadness in his words that he glossed over with another one of his crooked smiles. Now, there was a guy under rubble. He was masking in a way that was so professional, I assumed he’d done it his entire life. I knew that game well. It was how I’d kept my picking a secret from my family. It was why I ran around campus like a woman on a mission, when inside I was tucked in some corner, wondering if and how I was going to make it out of my darkness alive.
“Why are you friends with him?” I wondered out loud because I couldn’t take it anymore. First Hart and Nathaniel. Now, after talking to Weston, a seemingly well-adjusted (as much as a twenty-something college athlete could be) guy, I couldn't fit David’s puzzle piece with theirs.
“We like each other.” Weston shrugged as if it were that simple.
And then I considered maybe it was. Maybe all this time, David wasn’t some guy who hated every person he’d come across. Maybe it was the opposite.
“Wow,” I whispered to myself.
Weston’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“I think I’m the only person David doesn’t like.” It was a cold, hard realization that coaxed a humorless laugh from me.For years, I’d wholeheartedly believed David was as difficult and callous with everyone he met. My interactions with him were standard, not an exception.
But then there came the kiss… why had he kissed me? Some delayed attempt to connect? Hate manifesting into something physical? I never believed people when they said they could have hate sex, but now, I could see the possibility as clearly as I could see my hand in front of my face.
Weston didn’t refute my claim, but he didn’t look too convinced either. “I wouldn’t say he doesn’t like you.”
“Then what would you say?”
He took a moment. When he couldn’t find an answer, he puffed out his cheeks and blew out a weary breath. “I’d say he needs some time to warm up.”
“Almost a decade of knowing each other should be enough time to warm up,” I said flatly.
Weston tilted his head back and forth, considering. “Sometimes, depending on the circumstances, one might need a bit more time.”
I laughed. I appreciated the attempt to comfort. The lie was structured to mend a fence he had no hand in building or breaking. But it was clear as day that David liked everyone else —and they seemed to return the sentiment without hesitation— but he hated me with consistent dedication.
“This has been enlightening.” I started packing up my bag.
“Sorry… what?” Weston frowned as I stood up. “Are you leaving?”
“I’ve finished all I wanted to.” I nodded. “And I don’t want to stick around and wait for a guy who doesn’t want me around.”
“David wants you around.” Weston stood up, but didn't block the exit. His gaze flickered over my shoulder for a secondbefore landing back on me, pleading in those green eyes. “Trust me.”
“I don’t know you. I barely know him,” I said.
