Page 50 of Over You
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I wasn’t with you.”
He stopped in the middle of the walkway and grabbed my face, pressing his lips against mine in a hard kiss. “I’m sorry I did this to us.”
“I’m sorry I left.”
His fingers laced through mine, and suddenly, everything seemed right.
I’d told myself I would be okay without him. That leaving him was the right choice, and I had to believe those things just to get out of bed those first few months. Convincing ourselves that we’re right is human nature, but I was learning, it was fate’s job to convince us when we’re wrong.
When we finally made it to the top of the hill, I noticed the tiny chain barrier enclosing the formation. Two feet from the ground and nothing more than a single chain drooped between metal post would keep me from touching the rocks. And that caused a twinge of disappointment to shoot through me. I wanted to touch them for the sheer fact that it gave me a connection to the past. It was in some way, freezing time for a moment.
Spencer released my hand and approached the tiny chain divider. He nudged it with his shoe. “That’s bullshit.” Staring straight ahead, he shoved his fingers in his pocket. “How are you supposed to touch them?”
“You aren’t.”
“That’s what your bucket list thing was, right? To touch the rocks because they’re older than dirt?”
I bit at my lip. He hadn’t forgotten.
Spencer’s gaze went from the chain to the rocks and back. He bumped the rope again, and a devious smirk curled his lip. That look of mischief was the same he had given me before we trespassed to ride horses. The same one he had given me when he talked me into jumping off the Santa Monica Pier—naked—at three a.m. on my twenty-first birthday. It was identical to the one that had crossed his face when he told me to move in with him. That smirk always precluded a bad idea that was good.
I pointed to the sign with a red line over a walking stick figure. “That says, ‘Do not cross the barrier.’”
“Since when have I followed instructions, babe?” He motioned his chin toward the stones. “Come on.”
“No.”
“You afraid to break the rules?” He straddled the chain, then looked around. “No one’s even out here except tourists.”
When I shook my head, he flapped his arms and clucked like a chicken. People stared.
“You go ahead. I’ll stand here and be sure to take your picture when you get arrested.”
“Arrested?” His head dropped back on a laugh. “For stepping over a chain?”
“The sign warns against it.”
“I can pretend I don’t speak English, which means I can’t read English.”
“There’s a stick figure with a red line through it.”
He gave a flippant wave and stepped back onto the sidewalk, sulking as he wrapped an arm around me. “You never were a rebel.”
“And you only pretend to be one.”
He blew an arrogant snort. “Really?”
That was evidently the wrong thing to say because he scooped me into his arms and hopped right over the barrier. “Spencer!” I slapped at his arm. “Put me down.”
“Patience, babe.”
I kicked my legs. He laughed. I pinched him. He laughed harder.
“You’re squirrely, you know it?”
