“You’re sad today,” he says over the loud music.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
Jake gives me a knowing look. “Do you know how many times you’ve smiled tonight?” I can barely digest his question with the way my hand is burning from being on his chest, the way the other is tingling being engulfed in his.
“Three.”
“That sounds like a good amount.” I shrug, trying to sound calm as ever. As if the fact that he was watching me and countingmy smiles hasn’t affected me at all. Documenting my happiness as if it’s some sort of scale he needs to measure.
Jake shakes his head slowly, his eyes set on mine. “Not for you,” he says matter-of-factly, his voice deep and sure. “Not by a long shot.”
I swallow hard, too moved by the notion to form a thought. I clear my throat, trying to gather myself as words tumble out in a flirty response. “Have you been watching me, Mr. Cooper?”
His lips curve deeper into an endearing grin. “I think I’ve been watching you longer than I realized.”
Warmth kisses my cheeks as the blood rushes to them, swooshing in my ears. My heart thuds erratically.
“Stalking is definitely illegal,” I tease, forcing myself to maintain the lightness I have with him above all else.
His smile tilts to one side. “I think I’ll take my chances.”
His wide hand stays firm and centered at the base of my back, and I zero in on the way his pinky nearly trails the waist of my jeans. His hold is strong. Secure. Like he would keep me here forever if he could.
When the song ends, he releases me and nods toward the door, taking my hand and pulling me to follow behind him. When we make it out the door, he drops his hold on me. I feel the absence immediately. I shove my hands into my back pockets, trying to ignore it.
We’ve taken a few strides down the darkened street, our steps slow and sluggish even though the temperature has dropped to fifty degrees. Our breath puffs into dissipating vapors before us as we walk in comfortable silence.
I think about how easy it is to be with him. How the air always feels lighter when he’s near, like my world forgets its heaviness for a little while. I wonder if he feels the same, and when his eyes catch mine and the tension thickens, I know hehas to. It’s too bold of a feeling to miss—the way the quiet vibrates like the earth has held its breath too long, waiting for one of us to break it.
“So, tell me why it was a bad day,” he says, breaking our silence.
“Who says it was a bad day?” I want to keep my lie. I want to pretend that everything in my life is just as it should be, but I don’t know that I’ll be able to. Not with him.
“Well, for one, the smile thing.” I nod as I flatten my lips into a pursed line. “And two, you said alcohol is for bad days that need good moments. And you had quite a bit of it.”
I let out an airy laugh and give him a side-eye. “Should I be concerned that you remember that? This is getting more stalkerish by the minute.”
“Oh, it’s top-tier stalkerish.”
I laugh.
“Borderline creepy, honestly,” he doubles down.
I laugh even harder, and he chuckles, too. After a few beats, our laughter subsides, and he asks again. “Seriously, tell me why your day was bad.”
I take a deep breath, wanting to keep it all inside. Wanting to keep every broken piece of my life hidden from view so he can keep thinking I’m the same wholesome, bubbly, spunky-for-all-the-right-reasons girl he’s grown to like. I don’t want him to see the truth—that I’m a dark cloud on a shiny day. That I’m a spitfire because I had to be in order to survive. That nobody loved me enough to stay.
He grabs my hand from my pocket, stopping me midstep, and slowly pulls me back to him.
“Alana,” he commands.
My eyes dart to his, and my breath quickens with his plea. “Please? I want to be there for you. It made me…” His tongue peeks out to wet his lips as he releases a breath, and mine catches in my throat. “My whole heart hurt seeing you sad like that and not knowing why. Please tell me.”
I stare at him, his beautiful eyes not blinking as they pour into mine. In this moment, I want to give him all of me. I want to let the façade I’ve built around me fall away like scales. His beautiful lips press together as they wait for me to speak. But I can’t. I’m completely mute. My tongue is caught in my throat at just the way he said myname.
“You can talk to me. I might not be able to fix anything. But I can be here. I can listen. It’s okay if you don’t want to, but—”
“My mom left when I was seven,” my mouth blurts before my mind can stop it. His jaw slacks slightly, and I push myself to continue before I lose my courage to speak at all. “Yeah,” I look down at my feet, my hand still in his, and I try not to focus on the way the tingle of it is traveling up my arm.
