“Strangers and telling people where you live?”
I’m not good at this stuff—knowing the right thing to say when other people are hurting. All I know is a lifetime of suppressing every single emotion until I no longer feel anything.
“You’re safe with me,” I say, hoping it’s a good start.
“Yeah?” she whispers before biting her lower lip.
I put the car intoDrive.“Yeah. There’s really nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe.”
“Thanks,” she says timidly.
I stop at the light, stealing a quick glance at her as she picks at her pink fingernail polish. “You’re beginning to have that effect on me.”
“What effect?”
“I don’t know if there’s a name for it.” I scratch my neck just as the light turns green. “When I was fifteen and in my last foster home, there was a ten-year-old girl who they took in, but the husband treated her like a dog. One day, I’d had enough, and I took a baseball bat to him. So I guess this protective feeling is something like … touch her and I’ll kill you.”
Through the corner of my eye, I see June’s mouth open, then quickly clamp shut. Did I go too far?
“For the record, I didn’t actually kill him. He was just hospitalized for a while, and I spent time in juvie.”
She doesn’t speak for the rest of the drive to her apartment, so I bite my tongue. Anything I say might only make it worse. When we arrive, I park on the street and hop out to open her door. This manners thing is growing on me. Callie will be so proud.
Just the thought that I give a shit about anyone being proud of me is an unfamiliar feeling. I don’t know if I like it—caring what other people think.
June steps out of the car and adjusts her bag over her chest, keys ready in her hand. But she doesn’t look at me. “Thanks for the ride,” she murmurs before heading straight to the building.
“I’ll walk you up to your apartment,” I say, following her.
“I’ve got it.”
“Are you mad?”
“No.”
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
She pauses her hand with the key in the lock, keeping her back to me. “I think we’re moving too quickly.”
“Too quickly? You asked me to kiss you, and I did not. I’m still not going to kiss you. I just want to make sure you make it to your apartment safely.”
“It’s just up a flight of stairs. This door automatically locks behind me. I’ll be fine.” She pulls open the door and removes her key.
“So this is it? This is what I get for being honest with you? You told me about someone kidnapping you. That doesn’t change how I feel about you. So why does the fact that I now feel even more protective of you change things between us? Because I beat up a fucking awful human ten years ago? Because I spent time in juvie?”
“Is that it?” She turns, holding the door open with her shoulder. “Have you only hurt bad people? Never good people? Have you ever gotten in trouble for doing something wrong that wasn’t an act of protecting an innocent person?”
Did Callie tell her I took Rupert’s car for a joyride? I didn’t hurt anyone, not even the car. Maybe I’ll just tell her everything. If she can’t handle it, then clearly, she’s not worth my time.
I inhale a long breath, readying the words, but I choke on the truth.
“Ya know what, June? Fuck it,” I say. So much for telling her everything. Why give her any more of myself when I know she can’t handle the truth. “This is why I don’t date,” I continue. “One minute, things are great. Some girl is batting her eyelashes at you begging for a kiss. The next, she’s either giving you the cold shoulder or sending your ass down the street to take a shit at a convenience store.” I head toward the car. “Hope you enjoyed your chicken dinner and fancy tea. Nice knowing ya.” I climb in my car and slam the door. Thankfully, fate’s on my side because it starts on the first try. So I shove it into gear and floor it, leaving a little tire rubber on the street.
When I have to slam on the brakes at the red light, do I look in the rearview mirror to make sure she gets inside the building safely? Of course, because I like her, even though I now hatehow muchI like her.
For the rest of the evening, I sit on my sofa with a beer in my hand and two more in line on the coffee table while Monroe and Naomi screw each other’s brains out in the bedroom. It’s loud and annoying, but by the end of my third beer, I slump to theside, pull a blanket over part of my body, and pass out for the night.
“I’m only waking you up because you’re Monroe’s friend, and he likes it when I’m nice to you,” Naomi says, smacking my cheek several times.
