“You’re sorry?” I give him an apprehensive look.
“It’s no excuse, but I had a pretty bad experience with someone about a year prior that made me a little skittish. The day I lashed out at you was actually the same day I found out she had enrolled here. Honestly, it had nothing to do with you.”
“Weirdly, that doesn’t make me feel better.” I adjust my bag that suddenly feels way too heavy on my shoulder. “Not for what you did and not for how horribly you treated me after.”
“I get that.”
“Are you talking about Lana? The girl who made you skittish...” It’s an educated guess based on what he said the last and only time we spoke about her.
“She’s batshit.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Insult her for loving you.”
“Lana feels a lot of things toward me. Love isn’t one of them. She doesn’t even know me... Not really.”
“You dated during high school. I’m sure she knows you well enough.”
“No, we fucked. Once. At a party. I didn’t even know her name before then. She pursued me after that and when I told her I didn’t want more, she went psychotic and started stalking me. Trust me, she is not who you think she is.”
“I think I’ll be the judge of that,” I say, though I can’t deny his words give me pause.
“Suit yourself. Just remember, I warned you.”
“Noted.”
“Look, I can’t change what happened. I wish I could,but I can’t. All I can do is apologize and hope we can move past it.”
“And if I don’t accept?”
“I guess that’s your prerogative. Though, as I said before, I make a much better friend than I do an enemy.”
“And is that what you’re offering? Friendship...”
“Why do you say it like it tastes bad on your tongue?”
“Maybe because it does.”
“I’m trying to be the bigger person here and admit my mistakes. Is it too much to ask that you at least give me a chance to prove I’m not the villain you think I am? I was nineteen, Mais. A dumb kid with a fuck ton of growing up to do.”
“And you expect me to believe you’ve accomplished that in the last two years?”
“I’m a work in progress.” He shrugs and there’s something so endearing about the way he does it that I almost want to accept what he’s offering.
A truce. A friendship of sorts. I can’t deny that it’s enticing. But I also know what happened the last time I let my guard down around Macallan Stewart. And you know the saying... Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. And I have no desire to be the fool.
“I don’t want to be your friend,” I finally say. “But that doesn’t mean we have to be enemies either,” I admit.
“Not being enemies is definitely a start.” He smiles, and this time, the dimple on his right cheek pokes through, barely visible through his dark facial hair.
“Good.” With that, I resume walking, resisting the urge to roll my eyes when he pivots and matches me step for step. “What are you doing?”
“Walking you home.”
“I thought we established that I don’t need you to walk me home.”
