“Princess, you are anything but normal,” I say, laughter bubbling inside me.
She shrugs, looking a little chagrined. “I don’t know how to change.”
I laugh. “I wouldn’t change you for anything.”
Her eyes shoot to meet mine. There’s a vulnerability there, and I see something else. Hope? “I feel like I’ve known you for a really long time,” she says.
“Yep.” She likes me. She likes me lots. I’m suddenly more full of confidence than I have been in a long time. “If you tell me you want me to stay away from you while I’m camping in your backyard, you just say the word.” I wait a pause. She doesn’t say anything. “But if you don’t tell me to stay away from you, I’m going to keep trying to get to know you. And then when you get back to NYU, I’m going to take you out to dinner.”
Her brow furrows. “A date?”
“Yep.”
“You’re kind of cocky, aren’t you?” she asks.
“Yep.”
“Why were you in prison?” she blurts out.
This time it’s me who freezes. “I thought you knew about all that.”
She nods. “I knew you were there, but I don’t know why.”
“Do you care?”
She shrugs.
I mirror her actions. “What does that mean?”
“My dad was in prison,” she admits. “And not many people know that so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread it around.”
“What for?”
“People do stupid things when they’re desperate,” she says.
Yes, they do. “I made a mistake,” I try to explain. But it’s difficult to speak about why I did something stupid trying to protect one of my brothers. I can’t even begin to explain it.
“You didn’t hurt anybody, did you?” she asks. She looks at me out of the corner of her eye.
“No,” I admit. “Just me. And my brothers when they put me in jail.” I heave a sigh. “I disappointed everyone, including myself.”
She smiles and says, “So what did we learn from today?” She looks all bright and sunny and reminds me of my eighth-grade science teacher, who I had a massive crush on.
“I learned never to grab you when you’re trying to walk away from me.”
She nods. She says very quietly, “I learned that I really like sharing my chocolate milk with you.”
My gut twists. “I like talking to you,” I admit.
“Me, too,” she whispers.
I touch my eye again. “You pack a mean punch. Remind me never to walk up on you in a dark alley.” I think about it a minute. “Or a dark barn.”
“Or a sunny picnic area,” she grumbles playfully.
I laugh. “Wait till my brothers hear that you punched me.”
“Will they think it’s funny?”
“When my brother Logan met his fiancée, Emily, she punched him in the face.”
She covers her mouth with her fingertips. “Oh,” she breathes.
“He says if you ever meet a girl who punches you in the face when you deserve it, you should marry her.” I laugh. I still love that story. “Logan put the moves on Emily within seconds of meeting her, and she broke his nose.” I lift up my injured arm. “You just broke my arm. Not quite the same effect.”
“Well, you weren’t putting the moves on me,” she says with a laugh.
“Oh, I was,” I admit. “I’m just not as smooth as Logan.”
“Thank God,” she breathes. I scrunch my eyebrows together, which makes her rush on to say, “If you were any less subtle, you would probably scare me to death.” She grins. “I like it.”
“You want me to stop trying to put the moves on you?” I ask. I wait anxiously.
She heaves a sigh. “No.”
“Don’t sound so excited about it,” I grouse.
“I don’t know what to do with all these feelings,” she admits.
My gut twists. “Me, neither.”
“So, what do we do now?” she asks.
I hold up my injured arm by the wrist. “I think I need a doctor.”
She rushes to turn the truck back on. “I almost forgot you’re injured!”
I didn’t forget. And I won’t forget to be careful with her from now on. But she likes the way I make her feel. That’s a good start.
Reagan
The doctor says his wrist isn’t broken, thank goodness. It’s just strained. It’s not even sprained. He recommends that Pete take an anti-inflammatory and rest it. Pete seems satisfied with that.
The questions about Pete’s quickly blackening eye were a little unsettling.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to call the police so they can arrest the person who assaulted you?” the nurse asks. She’s been flirting with him ever since we walked in the door.
“I’m sure. It wasn’t intentional.” His eyes meet mine over her head as she wraps his wrist. Her hands linger a little too long on his, and I see his eyes lower to look down her top. She makes a twittering noise when she catches him.
“You’re new in town?” she asks. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” She looks him in the eye and smiles. “I’m certain I would remember you if I had.”
Pete smiles at me and rolls his eyes. “I’m from the city,” he says. He plays with his piercing, and I can’t draw my eyes from his lips, watching him as he toys with the hoop with the tip of his tongue.