A way out.
Not from heartbreak, exactly.
Nothing gets you out of that except time and ego reconstruction and maybe excellent mascara.
But a way out of humiliation.
A way to change the story before it calcifies around me.
He waits.
No push.
No fake charm offensive.
Just that big body planted in front of me and those steady eyes saying he’s serious.
Infuriating.
I exhale slowly.
“You are a terrible idea.”
His grin flashes like sunlight off a helmet.
“Absolutely.”
I point at him.
“That is not persuasive.”
“It’s honest.”
There’s that word again.
The last few days have been disgusting with honesty.
Maybe that’s why I don’t immediately run.
I shift my bag higher on my shoulder and give him my most skeptical pageant-queen death stare.
“I’m not saying yes.”
“Yet.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
I narrow my eyes harder.
He starts walking backward, still facing me, still grinning like the overgrown menace he is.
“Think about it, Texas.”
I should let him go.
Instead I call after him, “If I say yes, you are never calling me ‘baby’ again.”
