She looks at Tate again. "You both deserve exactly what you'll get."
Marianne stomps back to her car, almost snapping off a heel before she gets there and drives away without looking back, tiressquealing on the turn and echoing through the early morning emptiness.
"Well, that was interesting," Tate says from behind me. "The plot twist I didn't see coming."
I close my eyes, already feeling the pounding at the base of my skull, the beginning of a headache. "Don't."
"You like me."
"Can we not?—"
"You told your ex-girlfriend, in front of me, that you like me. We should probably acknowledge that, especially after all that's been happening since I moved here."
I make myself turn around, something heavy settling on my stomach.
"I was trying to make her leave," I say.
It's a weak defense, and we both know it.
"By confessing?"
"It worked, didn't it? She's gone, and she won't mess with you anymore."
"Did you mean it, though? I mean, based on your past behavior, I would never think in a million years that you liked me, but here we are."
Fuck my life. "Yeah. I meant it."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"You certainly have an odd way of showing it."
"It's because you piss me off daily. You ignored my parking diagram on purpose. Filed a retaliatory noise complaint and then framed it like a trophy. Lied about opening a dive bar. And I like you anyway. I've liked you since you told me my bar was mediocre and smiled while you said it. Since you won that parking lot argument, and I retreated back inside, furious, but hard as..."
Tate stays rooted to her spot. Arms still crossed, but she's not as stiff and tense anymore.
"I lied because you were an ass."
"I know."
"I kept lying because I'm stubborn."
"I know."
"The pastry case was when I should've told you the truth."
"Tate, I don't care that you lied. I care that Marianne spray-painted on your window because of me."
"That's not your fault."
"It's my ex. My problem. My fault."
"She made her own choices." Tate bites the inside of her cheek. “Can we back up a tick here? You went back inside, furious andhard. Care to elaborate on that?"
"Not particularly, no."
We're just a few inches apart. My hands are fists at my sides because if they weren't, they'd be on her. In her hair, on herwaist, pulling her closer. Tate's eyes flick to my mouth. Once. Quick. Then back to my eyes.
