Page 27 of A Little Crush
“You gonna tell me why we’re here?” Dodger asks.
“Yeah of course,” I rush out. “Should we wait for your order, first?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” He settles back in his chair and folds his strongarms, letting me take the floor as the Bean Scene’s customers hustle and bustle around us.
Now or never, Rore.
“So…” I start.
Dodger’s mouth curves up. “So.”
“I have a…” Something clogs my throat, and I clear it. “A situation.”
He pulls back, surprised. “A situation?”
“Yeah.”
Dropping his voice low, he murmurs, “Need me to ask my sister for a tampon or something?”
I fight the urge to laugh and cover my face. “Not that kind of situation. And also, your sister’s not here, so…”
“Then, I’m glad it’s not that kind of situation.” Relief swallows his handsome features as he steals my coffee, taking a sip while waiting for his own order to be ready. “What’s up?”
What’s up? Well…where do I start?
Dodger’s parents are my family’s friends, but would I say we’re particularly close? Not really. Not when he’s like, fifteen years older than me and was touring the world with his band by the time I hit kindergarten. Okay, that might be a bit of a stretch, but not by much. We never even really spoke more than once a year until a little while ago when we wound up staying in the same town. It didn’t hurt when Tatum started dating the guitarist in Dodger’s band, either, but even so, close is definitely not a term I would’ve used to describe our relationship, or at least, not until recently. After the wedding announcement, Dodger could see how nervous I was to come back to Lockwood Heights, so he offered to be my safety blanket. And now, here we are.
Just say it.
“So…” I reach for my coffee, taking a long swig.
“Is it just me or are we going in circles?” he challenges, though I don’t miss the mirth dancing in his kind eyes.
He’s right. We are.
“Jaxon called you my boyfriend,” I blurt out.
His brows kick up. “He did?”
“Yeah.” I gulp. “And I can totally correct him or whatever, but I just…I guess I felt like I should give you a heads-up.”
“So you cantotally correct him,” he volleys, mimicking my own words, “but you didn’t when he first mentioned it?”
My nose wrinkles in shame. “Not exactly.”
With a low laugh, he steals my coffee again but doesn’t bring it to his mouth. “Are you coming onto me, Squeaks?”
“Not at all.” My nose wrinkles even more. “No offense.”
His smile grows like this is the most amusing conversation he’s ever had.
That makes one of us, buddy.
“None taken,” he retorts. “So, if you’re not coming onto me, why didn’t you correct him?”
