Page 75 of I Knew You Were Trouble

“Okay…” I say hesitantly. I don’t want to talk about her “rebelessons.” I don’t want to think about the money she paid me to help her get a guy that I no longer want her to go after.

“Well, we didn’t even get halfway through my list.”

“That list is huge.”

“Exactly. So I was hoping to hire you for another month or five. Tackle them all one by one.”

Month orfive? “Candace… I don’t think—”

“I know I’m not the easiest student,” she butts in, her voice tense and determined. “But I’ll get better, I promise. I’ll be more badas… badas… flexible, and you won’t have to drag me into stuff. Just sort of hold my hand through it. Metaphorically, of course. You don’t have to actually hold my hand. I mean, unless we’re bungee jumping or something together and then you must definitely hold my entire body, you got it? Not that I’m suggesting bungee jumping because heights are level blue and I need to work up to that before we go for the biggies. I know that sounds like the same old Candace, being all bossy and controlling, but I’m going to change, I know it. If you help me, anyway. I’ll be less bossy and more gung ho about breaking rules and—”

“Stop.” I put my hand up. Frustration runs its slimy tentacles up my neck and curls my tongue, and I find myself biting my words out at her. “I can’t listen to that anymore.”

Pain and confusion twists her features, and she blinks those dark brown eyes. “Sorry…?”

I take a deep, shaky breath, my nerves wound so tight I can’t seem to control them. I grab at my hair, tugging on the ends, hoping for some sense to come through my tone. “Damn it, Candace, I can’t help you anymore, okay? I don’t want to.”

“Pete,” she says, her voice small, taken aback. “I didn’t mean to… I mean, if you don’t want to teach me, if I’m taking up too much of your time…”

I let out a sigh, but it comes out like a growl, and I hate that I’m scaring and confusing her. Words don’t come easy to me when I have to fish them out of the depths of my heart. I tug and pull at them, wanting them to break the surface, but they keep coming out in inarticulate chunks. “Stop.” I pause for a second and add, “Please. Just give me a second to paste together coherent sentences.”

She nods, and the inside of her lips folds in between her teeth. She’s so damn cute, just like that, just how she is. Why in the hell doesn’t she see that?

I scratch at my eyebrow, my hand trembling against my forehead. My jumbled thoughts feel like a Rubik’s Cube, slowly piecing themselves together and then breaking apart before I can complete a solid side.

I try to start from the beginning, from when I started falling for her, but for the life of me, I don’t know when that was. So I pluck a random memory instead.

“You remember the first shift at the mini golf that we worked together?”

Her brow furrows. “We’ve worked a lot of shifts together.”

“That one in particular. It was in September, couple years ago.”

“Doesn’t ring a specific bell.” She pushes a loose strand of her hair into her hat, freeing her face from any frayed strands. She probably doesn’t even realize she’s doing it—perfecting what she considers to be messy or flawed.

“You saw my tattoos for the first time.”

A lightbulb flashes behind her eyes. “Right. And I lectured you non-stop.”

“For a good portion of the shift, yeah.”

“And you hated me so bad.”

I shake my head, grinning at the floor. “The opposite, actually.”

“Yeah right.” She rolls her eyes to the ceiling and crosses her arms. “Tolerate isn’t the opposite of hate.”

“I more than tolerated you.” I take a step toward her, shifting the air around us. Her teasing smile fades, and I hear her gulp. Her arms are still crossed, and I reach out for her hand, plucking it from against her and linking our fingers.

The Rubik’s cube in my head finally gets a side completed. I stare down at our joined hands, trying to ignore how shallow her breathing is.

“I like you, Candace.” I let out a breathy chuckle at how high school it sounds, how those words hold so much meaning, but not enough meaning. “A lot.”

She shakes her head, a frown curling her lips downward. “You can’t possibly like me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m annoying as heck. I’m too naïve and too goody-two-shoes for anyone to like me just how I am. Why do you think I went through all the trouble to change?”

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