Page 95 of The Prince of Broken Crowns

He releases a nervous breath before hopping out and shutting his door. Then he rounds the car and opens my door.

I’m trying not to grin, but this whole gentleman thing is amusing to me.

“Thanks,” I tell him as he closes the door.

He chuckles. “You say that with so much humor.”

I offer him an apologetic look. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m still struggling with this gentleman thing. Like I said, I’m not used to it.”

We start toward the taco truck, a light breeze and chatter filtering through the air.

“You should probably get used to it. Well, I mean, if we continue to hang out.” He fumbles over his words.

“Do you want to continue to hang out with me?”

“I do. You’re the realest person I’ve ever met.”

“Same for me about you. Although, I’m super curious what you need to talk to me about tonight.”

His gaze sweeps the area, and anxiety hums off of him. “At the lake. I don’t want to talk about it here.”

“Are you sure it’s not bad?” I ask guardedly while zipping up my jacket.

“It’s … weird,” he replies as we near the truck. “I actually don’t know how to label it.”

I wait for him to give me an idea of what it is, but he remains silent for a beat.

“Maddy,” he finally says in all seriousness, and I think, Oh, he decided to tell me. “I want you to do me a favor. And I know you’re not going to want to do it, but I really want you to do it.”

“You’re rambling,” I point out with my hands shoved in the pockets of my jacket.

“I know. I’m sorry.” The strands of his inky black hair dance in the breeze as he comes to a stop just short of where the tables are. He sucks in a deep breath and stares at the asphalt as he shifts his weight. “Will you please let me pay for dinner?”

That was so not what I was expecting him to say.

“No,” I start to protest.

He glances at me while stepping toward me. “I know you don’t want to take handouts, but this isn’t a handout. I’m taking you out, and it’s like the whole thing with me opening your door. It’s something I want to do because it’s how I was raised.”

“Paying for my food is more of a date thing,” I stress. “When friends go out, they pay for themselves.” Speaking of which, I need to see if I was right about him paying my bail. I’ll ask later, once he’s told me other things. Maybe once he opens up, I can get all the truths he’s been keeping from me out of him.

He swallows audibly. “Then this can be a date … I mean, if you’re okay with that.”

My heart slams against my chest. “You can’t just change the rules so you can pay for my food.”

“I’m not changing the rules. I just …” He sighs, shifting his weight and massaging the back of his neck. “Please just let me pay for you.”

Every one of my instincts is to say no, but then he reaches out and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. I’m not even sure he means to do it since he jerkily pulls back, as if he’s surprised himself. Whatever the reason, I find myself dumbly nodding, confirming that I’m as big of a dumbass as other northside girls. Because I know better, and yet, here I am, falling into a royal guy’s world.

Shit.

He relaxes. “Thanks.” It almost looks like he’s about to touch my hair again, but then he hastily stuffs his hands into his pockets.

We start toward the taco truck again, quietness wrapping around us.

“So, tryouts are coming soon,” he says—thank God—breaking the awkwardness. “Are you nervous?”

“Truthfully, and I swear to God, if you tell anyone this, I will ruin you, gothic princess,” I pretend to scold, and he grins. “I kind of am. I’m not sure why, other than this feels like an entirely different league than what I’m used to. I’ve been looking at some of the PRs for people who were on the team last year, and holy crap, I’m getting worried.”

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