as soon as the salt hits my taste buds, a deep groan escaping before I can stop it. I shovel a few more into my mouth as I consider my next move. There’s the option of continuing to be a cruel bitch, in the hope that Emerson will back off. Problem is, if he hasn’t taken the hint yet he probably never will, so I might as well just give up and start enjoying his company. At least for today. After the morning I’ve had, spending the rest of the day alone isn’t very appealing, and it’s not like Chrissy stuck around to keep me company.
Focusing on my burger, I allow myself to think about what might happen if I were to become friends with Emerson. Chances are, I could like him, maybe even really like him. He may even like me back. It’s a risk, but it’s time for me to start taking chances. No longer having Momma to worry about gives me the opportunity to start living my life for myself.
But am I game enough to try?
Swallowing the bite of my burger, I wipe my face with my napkin. “So what’s your damage?” I ask, convincing myself that he must have some sort of emotional baggage if he’s continuing to chase after me, despite me being a cold hard bitch. Even though I’ve carefully constructed this wall around me, there’s something about this boy that intrigues me. Something that makes me think I could care. Maybe.
Shaking his head, he gives me a sideways smirk. “I’m not giving it up that easy,” he says between bites. “Not until you give me something about you.” He pauses, taking a long sip from his milkshake and I feel the burger in my stomach threaten to make reappearance. Of all the topics he could choose, he couldn’t have picked something a little less intrusive? Granted I asked him, but isn’t it good manners to answer a question? You don’t answer a question with a question; that’s just rude.
Having never had a friend other than Chrissy, I’m a little unsure about the whole “getting to know you” part of things. Couldn’t he have started with my favorite color? Or brand of shampoo? Why did he have to touch upon the one subject I want to avoid? Wracking my brains while my heart beats at a rate rival to that of a hummingbird, I remember Chrissy saying that guys like girls who listen to them. I’m about to try and turn the tables on this conversation when he says, “Tit for tat, so to speak. Besides, it’s only fair. I’ve been sticking my neck out, trying to get you to notice me for the past few months. It’s the least you could do.”
I groan before tossing down a half-eaten fry. “Ugh. Must we talk about me? I’m really not that interesting. I swear.”
“You’re only not interesting to yourself. When people become friends they talk about their lives. It’s quite the concept. You should try it sometime.”
“Fine!” I yell, my voice too harsh and too loud, the thought of having to talk about myself making me angry. I realize that I’ve overreacted, but it’s too late. Looking around, I notice everyone in the diner glancing in our direction. I run my hand through my hair, focusing on my plate of food. This boy. He doesn’t pussy foot around me, putting me in my place every time I try to push back. Somehow he gets under my skin.
Taking a deep breath, I let the words spill from my mouth. “My momma loved her job more than me. Sometimes I wonder if she even loved me at all.”
The words sting more than I expect them to. They’re harsh and I can see my own sadness reflected on Emerson’s face. “That,” I gesture toward his face, “is why I never bother to tell anyone anything about myself. I can’t stand their pity.”
Shaking his head, he sighs. “It’s not pity, Presley. I can empathize is all.”
Feeling slightly more at ease with his admission, I set down my burger again. “Your turn then.”
“My dad was, and still is, always working—that is when he’s not off having one of his ‘episodes.’ He missed games, awards . . . pretty much every single
Focusing on my burger, I allow myself to think about what might happen if I were to become friends with Emerson. Chances are, I could like him, maybe even really like him. He may even like me back. It’s a risk, but it’s time for me to start taking chances. No longer having Momma to worry about gives me the opportunity to start living my life for myself.
But am I game enough to try?
Swallowing the bite of my burger, I wipe my face with my napkin. “So what’s your damage?” I ask, convincing myself that he must have some sort of emotional baggage if he’s continuing to chase after me, despite me being a cold hard bitch. Even though I’ve carefully constructed this wall around me, there’s something about this boy that intrigues me. Something that makes me think I could care. Maybe.
Shaking his head, he gives me a sideways smirk. “I’m not giving it up that easy,” he says between bites. “Not until you give me something about you.” He pauses, taking a long sip from his milkshake and I feel the burger in my stomach threaten to make reappearance. Of all the topics he could choose, he couldn’t have picked something a little less intrusive? Granted I asked him, but isn’t it good manners to answer a question? You don’t answer a question with a question; that’s just rude.
Having never had a friend other than Chrissy, I’m a little unsure about the whole “getting to know you” part of things. Couldn’t he have started with my favorite color? Or brand of shampoo? Why did he have to touch upon the one subject I want to avoid? Wracking my brains while my heart beats at a rate rival to that of a hummingbird, I remember Chrissy saying that guys like girls who listen to them. I’m about to try and turn the tables on this conversation when he says, “Tit for tat, so to speak. Besides, it’s only fair. I’ve been sticking my neck out, trying to get you to notice me for the past few months. It’s the least you could do.”
I groan before tossing down a half-eaten fry. “Ugh. Must we talk about me? I’m really not that interesting. I swear.”
“You’re only not interesting to yourself. When people become friends they talk about their lives. It’s quite the concept. You should try it sometime.”
“Fine!” I yell, my voice too harsh and too loud, the thought of having to talk about myself making me angry. I realize that I’ve overreacted, but it’s too late. Looking around, I notice everyone in the diner glancing in our direction. I run my hand through my hair, focusing on my plate of food. This boy. He doesn’t pussy foot around me, putting me in my place every time I try to push back. Somehow he gets under my skin.
Taking a deep breath, I let the words spill from my mouth. “My momma loved her job more than me. Sometimes I wonder if she even loved me at all.”
The words sting more than I expect them to. They’re harsh and I can see my own sadness reflected on Emerson’s face. “That,” I gesture toward his face, “is why I never bother to tell anyone anything about myself. I can’t stand their pity.”
Shaking his head, he sighs. “It’s not pity, Presley. I can empathize is all.”
Feeling slightly more at ease with his admission, I set down my burger again. “Your turn then.”
“My dad was, and still is, always working—that is when he’s not off having one of his ‘episodes.’ He missed games, awards . . . pretty much every single
Similar Books
