Page 69 of A Little Crush
I messed up.
I took something that didn’t belong to me.
Or maybe it did belong to me, and I messed it up anyway.
Neither option makes me feel any better.
She deserves more than a sloppy, drunken kiss from a guy who couldn’t speak without slurring his words, let alone throw together a decent kiss that doesn’t taste like ass. And then to apologize for it afterward? Yeah, I get why she feels like a discarded piece of trash, when my intention was to prove the opposite. She’s so much better than an asshole like me. But I get it. I get it, and I want to make it better. I just don’t know how.
After we land, Iris meets me outside the airport for the usual Poppy hand-off. It’s pouring rain. I shouldn’t expectanything less after the shitty forty-eight hours I’ve endured, but it still manages to crawl under my skin, leaving me testy at best. At least there’s an awning covering us for now, though the trek to the parking garage is a different story. Yeah, we’ll be soaked in seconds. As I buckle Poppy into her car seat in the back of the SUV, Iris makes sure to throw in a few digs about the loss while Rory hangs back, her nose glued to her phone and her dog sitting at her feet.
I drove us to the airport for our flight out, but I have no doubt she’s trying to hire an Uber so she isn’t stuck in the car with me on the ride home. I’m sure the flight was miserable enough for her. Even so, I can’t let Rory disappear without smoothing things over. I can’t.
“Are you even listening to me?” Iris snaps from the front seat.
I wasn’t, and she knows it as well as I do. Ignoring her glare from the rearview mirror, I drag my hand along Poppy’s light blonde hair and lean in for one more forehead kiss before unfolding myself from the back of the SUV. “I’ll see you in a week,” I tell her before closing the door.
Tires squeal as my ex pulls away from the curb, leaving me alone with a woman who wants nothing to do with me. Perfect.
Tucking my hands into my pockets, I stare at the side of Rory’s face and wait for her to look at me. She doesn’t. She’s pretending I don’t exist. Like I can’t tell she’s ignoring me or that Iknowshe can feel my stare despite her best attempt to prove the opposite. She’s so damn stubborn, and so damn determined to act like everything’s normal, when it clearly isn’t. I want to smack her ass for it.
“Cancel the Uber,” I announce.
Rory’s gaze cuts to me, her lips gnashing together in annoyance. I know she wants to tell me no, or even lie about the whole thing altogether, saying she didn’t hire a someoneto pick her up when we both know she’s far too calculating to have not taken advantage of the last two minutes in order to create a game plan that’ll take her away from me as fast as possible.
“Let me give you a ride, Squeaks.” I soften my tone, hoping it’ll be enough to sway her into complying.
“Not necessary.”
“Please?”
Maybe I shouldn’t push it. Maybe we could both use the space. But I can’t help myself. Seeing her like this? Feeling the distance she’s created both emotionally and physically after I finally got her back? It’s too much.
“Please?” I repeat. My tone is even softer but just as desperate. I keep my feet planted where they are on the pavement, watching as she debates whether or not to give in.
Nostrils flaring, she opens her phone and jabs at the screen with a little too much force before shoving it back into her pocket. “Fine. I cancelled it.”
“Thank you.”
Moving closer, I reach for her luggage, but she tugs it closer to her. “I’ve got it,” she tells me. “Hades, come.”
I want to push it. To tell her my dad raised me better than to let her carry her own shit, but I don’t. It won’t get me anywhere, anyway. With a wave of my hand, I motion toward the crosswalk, and she leads the way with Hades trailing behind.
As soon as Hades is in the back with Rory’s luggage and I’m behind the wheel, Rory tucks her headphones into her ears, squashing any hopes I had of us talking shit out. We drive in silence, neither of us uttering a word as the water pelts against the windshield. It’s more tense than the flight. Without any buffers. Only me and Rore and a snoring German Shepherd in the back. Fucking perfect.
Honestly, I didn’t even think it was possible, but withevery passing mile, the tension grows and grows. It reaches a feverish pitch, making me so damn aware of every movement, every fucking flutter of her lashes or twitch of her fingers, that I swear I’m losing my mind. I’m not sure how much more I can stand without breaking from the pressure.
When we reach her parents’ house, she takes out her headphones, twisting toward me in the passenger seat, and surprising the hell out of me. I figured she wouldn’t wait for the car to stop before climbing out of it like the devil himself is sitting in the driver’s seat.
“Just so we’re…clear, or whatever, we’re good,” she announces, though I don’t miss the way she’s staring at my hairline instead of looking me in the eye. “You. Me. Poppy. The rest of the month. Everything’s fine, I’d just prefer to-—”
“How come you haven’t kissed anyone?” I interrupt. I shouldn’t have, but the question’s been plaguing me ever since that morning, and after wracking my brain for the last few days, as well as the entire flight, I want to know why. She’s beautiful. Kind. Sweet. She’s like a flame, and every sorry sucker out there is the moth, myself included, despite my best intentions to keep my distance. So, how has she never kissed anyone? It doesn’t make any sense, but I don’t think she’s lying, either. Not about her innocence. Not when I could see the shame and embarrassment swirling in her pretty gaze as she admitted the truth about Dodger. “How come you haven’t kissed anyone, Squeaks?” I repeat, though I know the odds of her giving me an answer aren’t exactly in my favor. Not when considering our history together. “Tell me. Please?”
Her silence feels heavier than a damn elephant as she runs her tongue along her front teeth, staring at me before coming to some kind of conclusion. One I’m not sure I’ll like.
“And on that note, I’m going inside,” she announces. “I’ll see you…next week.” Reaching for the door handle, she exits the passenger side as the rain pours from the dark, angry clouds above us. With a squeak, she yanks open the door to the backseat and retrieves her luggage as Hades darts toward the covered porch without any instruction from his owner.
Rotating on the black leather so I can still see her, I push, “Rory.”
