Page 72 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

My face burns, my whole body pulsing with shame. I have to go. Fast.

In my mind, Rihanna’s “Shut Up and Drive” drowns out the classic rock song playing over the speakers.

There’s no way to avoid Rhoads and the girl, so I just march straight ahead with every intention of ignoring both of them, pretending I’m super focused on my destination.

“Chloe?” Rhoads says as I pass. I keep going until his hand rests on my arm. “Hey.”

I whirl around. “Oh. Hi.”

Rhoads’s expression looks like I slapped him. He blinks at me for a few seconds, then says slowly, “Are you okay?”

A high, nervous laugh bursts from my mouth. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You didn’t finish Greg & Lou’s bacon earlier, and now you’re here.” He emphasizes this last part because he knows this is the place I come to heal. Knows my wounds but hasn’t been open to sharing his. He searches my face, his gentle hand still searing a mark on my arm.

Distantly, I think I should move away. But I can’t. He’s not holding me tightly, not physically. But my body won’t get the memo that I’m upset, and he’s the reason why.

“I just didn’t want to go home yet.”

“You’re mad.”

I shake my head.

“You are. Did I mix up the diner orders?” He tries for a sheepish grin.

The corners of my mouth tighten. “This isn’t about food.”

“But there is a this. Just tell me what I did or said.”

The girl stands behind him, watching this awkward exchange with a puzzled look on her face. She’s wearing Rhoads’s—Jenson’s, but it might as well be Rhoads’s—leather jacket.

“There it is,” I say under my breath. The proof I’ve been looking for. Because either that jacket means less to him than I thought it does, or it means way too much to me.

Maybe he lets all the girls wear it. Maybe for him, it’s just not that deep. No feelings, no shared secrets. No strings.

To Rhoads I say, “You didn’t do anything, Rhoads. You didn’t say anything. Enjoy your next breakfast.” Cringing at how lame I sound, I turn on my heel and stalk out of Peggy’s, adrenaline carrying me all the way to my car.

Thirty-Four

RHOADS

“Go after her, dummy!” Candace smacks me on the back of the head.

“Chloe, wait!” I charge into the parking lot, but by the time I spot her car, she’s already pulling out onto the main road. Hands shaking, I dial her number. It goes straight to voicemail. Either she ignored it or she turned off her phone. Expletives stream out of my mouth.

“Oof, I think we need to wash your mouth out,” Candace says. At my glare, she drops the humor.

“I screwed it up, C.”

She points. “If you’d just told her how you feel, you would be kissing her right now instead of watching her taillights.”

She’s right. I kick a small rock. “So what do I do now? She obviously thinks I’m shady and playing the both of you.”

“As if you could ever play me.”

“Not the point, Candace.”

“Right. You just have to get her to talk to you. Or at least to listen. Leave her a message.”