Page 20 of When We Were Young

That doesn’t make it feel better.

“Uh. Okay.” I glance at my watch and shimmy away from him so I can prepare to rise. The urge to leave overwhelms me. “Um, I should probably get home.”

He puts his large hand on my thigh, just above my knee, and leans forward. He dips his head, and his eyes search my face. But I’m embarrassed, and I turn my head to the side.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “What’s wrong?”

When I don’t answer right away, he uses a few fingers placed beneath my chin and gently guides my head upward. Still, I can’t manage to look him in the eye.

“Please, tell me what I did wrong. Is it because she’s a girl? I swear it’s all closed-door romance and she’s only sixteen⁠—”

My eyes dart to meet his now.

“What?” My heart races. He’s a creeper? “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” I scramble to stand, but he’s just as fast and positions himself in front of me, blocking my way out of the aisle.

“Move,” I order him.

He runs a hand through his hair but holds his ground. “Please, tell me what I did wrong first?”

“I said move.”

His facial features fall, and he steps aside. When he does, I race past him.

“Get your stuff and meet me at the door so I can lock up,” I say the words without even looking back at him.

“Lizette,” he calls after me. I ignore him.

A minute later, I’m at the door waiting for him when he stalks over. He’s sulking, and he stops to stare at me.

“If you’re going to kick me out and be mad at me, at least tell me why.”

How the hell does he not know why?

“You buddy-read romance books with another woman. I’m sorry, a child. A sixteen-year-old child.”

“What are you saying?” There’s genuine confusion in his voice.

“I’m saying it skeeves me out that the man I’ve spent so much time alone with dates sixteen-year-old girls, and⁠—”

“Ew! Don’t be gross!” He drops his bag and grabs his hair with both fists. “Christ, Lizette. I’m not dating her. You think I’m some kind of perv?”

I fold my arms across my chest and stare at him. “What is it then?” I challenge.

“She’s like a little sister to me! Not a woman. I mean, she’s a female, sure, but you know what I mean.”

“So, you’d read romance novels with your little sister?” I challenge.

He narrows his eyes, then tilts his head.

“If I had one, and reading—even if it were romance—was the one thing she loved, and she came from a shit family where no one even noticed her unless it was to knock her around.” He sucks in a breath and continues before I can stop him. “And if she had no friends except a guy like my brother, who seems oblivious to the fact that she’s not just another one of the guys, and maybe needs someone to care about her interests outside of their shared ones? Then, yes. Fuck, yes, I absolutely would. And I wouldn’t care who knew it.”

He’s staring at me with a piercing gaze. I feel like an idiot for assuming the worst of him.

“Okay.”

“What?” he asks. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m off my rocker now.

“I said okay.”