“Breakfast or lunch.” He holds his hand out and I stare down at it like a snake poised to bite.
“Breakfast,” I finally say, ignoring his outstretched hand, which he eventually drops.
“Breakfast it is.” He takes off across the parking lot, turning only once to make sure I follow.
Stopping next to his car, he tugs open the passenger door, waiting until I climb inside before closing it, sealing me in. I have to bite my tongue to keep an insult from slipping past my lips. He’s clearly making an effort here. The least I can do is try to do the same.
“I never got the chance to properly thank you for last night.” He waits until he’s pulled out onto the road to speak.
“You don’t have to thank me. I only did what I thought was right.”
“Well, I appreciate it just the same. Not everyone in your shoes would have stood against Lana the way you did. Thanks to you, Joey is at home, sleeping it off, havingnarrowly avoided being assaulted by Lana while he was passed out.”
“I doubt he would have minded much.” I can’t stop myself from saying. “I can’t imagine any guy would complain about a pretty girl taking advantage of them.”
He seems to think over my words for a long moment.
“We’re not all monsters, you know,” he finally says.
“Just some of you.” I throw him a sideways glance.
“I deserve that.” He seems all too willing to let me take shots at him, but he doesn’t attempt to take any at me, which is rather unsettling.
I’ve grown used to the back and forth, the push and pull, Macallan giving as bad as he’s getting. But this... Thiskindness. This tolerance to my insults... I don’t know what to do with it.
“Who are you and what did you do with the cocky prick whose eyes I’ve wanted to gouge out for the last two years?”
“You really are quite violent, aren’t you?” He chuckles, the sound deep and melodic. I close my eyes for a brief moment, allowing it to wash over me before I force myself back to reality. “And as I said the other day, I don’t want to be your enemy.”
“Oh yes, the truce.” I roll my eyes.
“This isn’t about the truce. This is about me wanting to prove to you that I’m not the person you believe me to be.”
“Actions speak louder than words,” I remind him.
“Then let me prove you wrong.”
“Why? You’ve never cared to prove me wrong before. In fact, you’ve done quite the opposite.”
“Maybe I’m sick of the role I’ve been forced to play.”
“Or maybe you’re just ashamed that it wasn’t a role atall.” I can’t stop my mouth from speaking, no matter how much I try to.
“Or maybe you’re just scared to acknowledge that maybe you don’t actually know me at all.”
“I know you well enough to know not to trust anything you say.”
“If you give me a chance, I think you might be surprised by how wrong you are.”
“And who says I care enough to find out?”
He pulls the car into a vacant spot outside of a diner I’ve been to several times over the course of my life, not speaking again until he puts it in park and kills the engine.
“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t,” he finally says, exiting the car before I have a chance to respond.
I stew for a moment, my pride threatening to keep me rooted to the spot, but when he tugs open my door and gives me a challenging smirk, I find myself climbing out with new determination.
As I follow him inside the restaurant, one thing is crystal clear. While the rules have seemed to change, we are most certainly still playing a game. And even if that means I have to bide my time and play nice, I will walk away the winner. And if the way he looks back at me is any indication, he knows it too.
