Page 85 of Things I Read About
“Please, I want to explain.”
He yawns as he starts the engine. “Fine.”
“I am not… I mean, that wasn’t really me. Or I wasn’t really myself, I guess,” I start, looking over at him while he just drives. “For once, I just wanted to try to be… the fun girl. The flirty one. Not the scared sister, or the quiet friend, or whatever.”
No reaction.
“Then Kat rushed in our final day and said we had to go. I was going to leave you a note with my number but what could I say then? I couldn’t keep up the fearless, fun, flirty thing and I thought if I told you the truth about everything, you’d be mad.”
“Not mad,” he says, his voice calm.
“You’re not mad?”
“It was one night, Sally. Not even. Quit stressing out about it. It was two people having a fling and the fling ended.”
I fight the urge to touch him. “No, it didn’t end. Not for me. I thought about you all the time. I tried to find you, but you’re like a ghost, not one social media profile, not even LinkedIn. But it didn’t end.”
He clears his throat. “It did.”
“It didn’t. Are you saying you didn’t think about me? Didn’t wonder about me at all? That you don’t feel anything between us now?”
He stops the four-wheeler by the feed house.
“No, I don’t. It was a couple days of fun. Nothing more. And good thing, because I can’t trust a word out of your mouth anyway.”
“I didn’t lie to you!”
“Bull.”
“I didn’t tell you the whole truth but I’m telling you now. I missed you, I thought about you all the time.”
He lets out a laugh. “Like, during your dates with the football star?”
My jaw falls open. Is he jealous? Of Joe? Joe was the first guy I could even bring myself to date.
Nate hops off and heads to the door of the little hut that holds all the feed and equipment.
I march up behind him still talking. “Sadie set us up because I was so sad and—”
“Good for her.”
“Nate.”
“Listen, how many ways do I have to tell you that this is not a big deal? It meant nothing, it means nothing now, and it’ll still mean nothing when I move to Chicago after this gig is over with.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Understandable. I don’t believe you either.”
He starts to grab a bucket, but I step around him to block his path.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye or leaving you my number. I’m sorry.”
“Okay, I forgive you.” He shrugs, moving past me.
What the heck?
“What does that mean?”
