Page 22 of Paper Hearts

“Yeah, so?”

Taking his hat, he puts it on my head. “You’re cute, Hads.”

Cute? Not beautiful or sexy?

“Shut up or I’ll stab you with my crutch.” I bite my bottom lip, tasting the sugar from the strawberry. I feel… wanted, wearing his cowboy hat, and I’ve never felt that anywhere else but next to him.

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” he says, bumping his shoulder into mine. “I’m your favorite person.”

“No, Arya is.”

His jaw flexes. “Not true. I can see it in your eyes when you look at me. You like me.”

Well, he’s confident, isn’t he?

I suck in a breath. “I like you.”

“You’re my favorite person,” he tells me, and by the unwavering sincerity in his, I believe him.

Pride swells in my chest and I don’t understand the feeling. “Kamila’s not?”

He snorts. “Fuck no. She’s a bitch.” I don’t know what’s happened between them but I haven’t seen her at the lake in weeks.

Ender clears his throat and shifts away. “What’s going on in there?” He tips his head back toward the house, unwrapping his popsicle.

“My sister and Chandler got in a fight.”

Ender’s mood suddenly takes a turn. His entire body stiffens, and I notice his jaw tightens. “Oh yeah?”

I nod.

He runs his hand through his hair, in a nervous gesture I assume. “Why are they getting married anyway?”

No sooner does Ender utter those words, I hear Chandler yelling, “Fuck you, ya stupid cunt. Wedding’s off.”

“They’re not now.” I glance over my shoulder to see the cloud of dust as Chandler’s truck speeds up the road.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” Ender asks, expertly changing the subject. His forehead creases in deep concentration as he watches Walker and Arya on the lake. They’re riding the Jet Skis.

“No.” Then I get brave. “What about you?”

“No. I’ve never had a boyfriend,” he teases, winking at me.

I laugh. “I meant girlfriend.” My words shake with my nervousness. “Have you?”

He half smiles, winking again. “Not one worth mentioning.”

“Ever?” I realize I’m fidgeting with my hair and hands. It’s ridiculous that his presence makes me so insane I can’t even focus on talking. “Or not right now?”

“Not right now.” He shifts his foot, and his leg touches mine. Neither of us move away.

“Have you ever had one?” I dare to ask, prying for information. I don’t know anything about Ender, other than he plays baseball and likes country music. I’m dying to know what makes the boy with sad eyes tick and why he is the way he is.

“Don’t be so greedy,” he mumbles, picking at the worn wood on the dock. He digs a splinter off and then tosses it in the water. “I’m not that interesting.”

He is interesting to me, though, and the more we interact, the more desperate I am for those details. Tilting his head, he glances over at me, silence thickening between us. “I think you’re interesting.”

He lifts his chin, his eyebrows knitted together. “You don’t know anything about me.”

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