Page 70 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

I approach, the smell of bacon and pancakes and hash browns making me salivate. “Where did you get this?”

Rhoads points as he lists off my favorite foods from my favorite places in town. “Bacon from The Local Waffle. Hash browns from Peggy’s. And pancakes from Stack ‘Em.”

“You went to three different diners?” My heart skips a beat. “Why?”

I meet his gaze and a thousand off-limits thoughts sprint through my mind at the tender expression on his face. He slips off the oven mitts and runs his hand along the back of his neck, a bit shy and uncertain. “Well, uh. You’re the breakfast expert, you know, and you mentioned these were the best. So.” He hands me a plate. “You hungry?”

He did this just for me?

“I could eat,” I say barely getting the words past my dry throat.

I haven’t figured out a way to talk about our encounter at the car wash. What if I imagined it all?

Then again, he drove around town and ordered three different breakfast items from three different diners and then kept them all warm in the oven, because I said they were the best? What does this mean? Does it mean anything? Do I deserve for it to mean something after how I’ve treated him lately?

I sit back down at the table and shove a bite of pancake in my mouth, barely suppressing a groan of delight. The bacon is melt-in-your-mouth delicious, and the hash browns are the exact ratio of crispy to fluffy. Am I dreaming?

I pick up the phone in front of me and press the power button to check for any texts while Rhoads fills his own plate. Oops. I’ve picked up the wrong one. As I’m setting it down, it vibrates and lights up, receiving messages.

I try not to look at the screen. It’s not my business who’s texting him. But better intentions aside, I see them anyway.

Candace

Can you meet now?

Or is later better? ;)

I suck in a breath too fast and cough out the tiny piece of hash brown I just inhaled. My heart threatens to push outside my body, and honestly, the rest of me wants to run, too. Despite everything I’ve been telling myself lately, this is proof I was right. Maybe Rhoads has been flirting with me, but clearly, I’m not the only one. And like I told him the other day, I’m not going to tell him how to live his life. We’re not dating, so it’s not fair of me to expect anything from him.

But I do.

I drop my fork. The realization lands like a free kick to the stomach, knocking the air out of me. I’ve let myself become more than just physically attracted to Rhoads. From the music wing and Mario Kart to the snow globes and pancakes, he’s shown more sides to him than I anticipated. I thought meeting his sister and being at his house meant something. And despite what I said to him on the field the other day about his reputation, deep down I don’t believe he’s the person everyone says.

But maybe I’m wrong. I’m not interested in being another girl he strings along.

I clear my throat. “You missed a text. Sorry, I read it by accident…”

He squints at his phone, his jaw ticking. “This isn’t what it looks like. Candace is helping me with a project.” His brows reach for each other while he explains. “She’s Jenson’s older sister. Ever since the…thing…with me and him, Candace and I have gotten closer. Not romantically or anything.” He looks up at me, like he’s expecting me to bolt.

My legs sure are itching, my feet poised to pivot and go. Instead, I scoop another forkful of hash browns and give him an opportunity to let me in. “What really happened with you and Jenson?”

Rhoads closes his eyes and breathes. “We’re just going through a rough moment.”

There’s more to it than that. I know there is. Candace aside, there’s some truth he’s not able—or willing—to trust me with.

Of course not. That would be a string to tie us together. Something deeper.

We finish studying, but again the wall between us is up. He knows all my baggage, but after everything he’s shown me, he still won’t share what’s hurting him.

It shouldn’t bother me that he wants to keep this secret. But I’ve been here before. If we have any hope of moving forward, we’re both going to have to decide the risk is worth it.

Thirty-Three

CHLOE

When I leave Rhoads’s house, I drive my normal “thinking” route through the back roads. Nothing but golden cornfields swaying in the breeze and farmhouses in all directions. Not a stoplight in sight. After a few minutes, I pull over to the side of the road and flip on the sound system, connecting my phone. Classical piano blares from the speakers. I curse and shut it off with a quick jab at the button. Yeah, so I’ve been listening to a different kind of music lately. It’s been a comfort, but right now it grates on my nerves.

Before I turn the sound back on, I cycle through the playlists on my phone and settle on an upbeat road trip mix full of catchy pop-rock ear-worms. Nothing drowns out my thoughts like repetitive lyrics and strong downbeats, and I want nothing more than to forget the memory of my own stupid voice flirting with Rhoads over the past few weeks.