Page 45 of A Little Too Late
“Uh-huh,” Reed says in a tone that’s entirely too self-satisfied. “And did you ask her what she thought about it? Sheila? Enlighten us.”
My new friend drops her eyes to her wine cup. “Well, the purchase valuation is as steamy as this hot tub.”
“So they’re overpaying?” I shrug. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Maybe the Sharpesloveit here. They see a good thing, and they want to keep it. Theylove it so muchthey don’t want to let it slip through their fingers. A concept that’s tricky for you, I understand. But some of us get it.”
Reed gives me another brown-eyed stare, which I’m forced to return.
And now I want to slap myself. Spending time in his presence requires a difficult balance. The trick is remembering why I’m angry—but also holding that anger in.
Oops.
Nobody says anything for a long moment. But then Sarah rises from the water. “You know, it reallyishot in here. Maybe I should move along.”
“Yeah,” Raven agrees, grabbing for her towel.
“Same,” Sheila and Halley say simultaneously. They both stand up, too.
They are all gone in under sixty seconds.
I hate my friends.
Reed doesn’t budge, of course. “We sure know how to clear a room,” he says.
“You make me insane.” I want to add,please get on the next flight.
“That’s a good thing,” he says.
“What?” I shriek. “Because you live to torture me?”
“No,” he says in a low voice. “Because you still care. It’s still alive.”
“What is?” I demand. “My anger?”
“Your fire, Ava.” He props an elbow on the tub’s edge and faces me. “Your spark. You didn’t leave our mess behind by becoming dead inside. You didn’t let your heart turn to stone like I did.”
I blink. “You did?”
“I thought so. But now I’m not so sure.” His big brown eyes study me at close range. “Sitting here with you makes me want to feel things again.”
“Which things?” I hear myself ask. It comes out sounding coy, too.
He chuckles, and his eyes take on a dirty gleam. “There are so many fun answers to that question. Are you sure you want to know?”
“No,” I say quickly.
“All right. Then I won’t tell you.”
I feel a startling amount of disappointment. It must show on my face, because Reed chuckles again. “Honey, look. Maybe there’s a way we can remember that there were more good times than bad.”
The only sound as I hold his gaze is the water burbling against our skin. There were so many good times. That’s the problem. Are you supposed to judge someone on the one awful thing they did? Or are you supposed to creak open the rusty hinges of your heart to recall all the times he was good to you?
I’m at war with myself right now, and I don’t know how to call a ceasefire. He smiles, and suddenly I see the boy I fell in love with. His wet hair and that handsome jaw are outlined against the starry sky. And his face is so familiar that I feel like crying.
“Here’s an idea,” he says softly. He tucks a damp tendril of my hair behind my ear. “Maybe we could split a pizza after class.”
My mouth flops open at the boldness of this little callback to our youth.
Then the jerk leans in and kisses my top lip so sweetly that goosebumps rise on my shoulders. He kisses my bottom lip, too.
