I snatch my hand away and glare. “Well, thank you for pointing that out. Now I’m going to be super self-conscious about my mutant hands.”
“Don’t be. Some guys might find it sexy. Mostly gay guys of course, because those hands are kind of butch—”
“Shut up!”
“Fine. I won’t mention them anymore. And I’ll try not to stare. No promises, though. They’re like giant attention-drawing satellites.”
He thinks he’s funny. He’s so not.
“Why do you hate me so much?” I ask.
He looks at me for a moment, and blinks his crazy-pretty eyes. “I don’t hate you, Taylor. Why would you think that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because when you’re not getting off on annoying me, you’re either ignoring me or scowling at me. And at the auditions you told me we weren’t going to be friends. Why would you say that?”
He sighs and rubs his eyes. “Because we’re not. Why, do you want to be friends?”
“Not particularly, which is really strange because usually I’m desperate to be everyone’s friend.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He waves his hand dismissively, which, I conclude, should give me free rein to punch him in the stomach. “Nothing. Forget it. Whose turn is it to ask a question?”
“No, I won’t forget it. What do you mean by that?
“I think it’s my turn,” he says, ignoring me. “So, are you dating that Connor guy?”
The question takes me by surprise. “What?”
“Did I stutter? Are you dating him?”
“Dating him as in…?”
“Oh, Jesus, Taylor … as in going on dates. Seeing him naked. Fucking him.”
“What?!” I’m so angry, I can barely breathe.
“The point of the exercise is to answer the question,” he says calmly. “Honesty, please.”
“It’s none of your business!”
He leans in and lowers his voice to a whisper. “Do I need to get Erika over here and tell her you’re not completing the exercise she assigned? She wants us to share, remember?”
The thought of Erika thinking badly of me makes me want to vomit. On him. “You are such a butthead.”
“And you’re being evasive. Answer the question.”
“Why do you care if I’m”—I want to shock him by saying the “F” word, but I just can’t push it past my lips—”dating him?”
“I don’t. Just curious. You two looked pretty friendly earlier. In fact, it looked like he was going to feel you up in front of the whole class.”
“God, you’re disgusting.”
“Just answer the question.”
“No!”
“‘No,’ you’re not dating him, or ‘no,’ you won’t answer the question.”
“Both.”
“Well, that’s impossible. If it’s ‘no’ to the first you’re automatically saying ‘yes’ to the second.”
“Stop. Talking.” My face is white-hot.
“So is your answer to my original question ‘no’ or not?”
“No, my answer isn’t ‘no.’”
“No?”
“No!” Dammit, now I’m confused as to what exactly I’m saying “no” to.
By now, I can feel a blush crawling down onto my neck. I almost want to laugh about his assumption that I could be “dating” anyone, let alone someone as charming and good looking as Connor.
I’d kissed a few boys at various high school parties, but that was it as far as my experience went. Their sloppy mouths and probing tongues never gave me the urge to take it any further. If sex were baseball, I was still on the bench. The only action my bases had seen was courtesy of my own curious hands, and even then, I’d never achieved a homerun.
Of course, Holt doesn’t know that.
I open my mouth to tell him I’m riding Connor like a rodeo bronco, but the look in his eyes stops me. Amid all his hard edges and stony stares, there’s something fragile about him, and I can’t do it.
I look at my feet and sigh. “No, I’m not dating him.”
Holt’s frown lessens. “Good. Just stay away from him. I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
Flashes of my father saying the exact same thing about every boy who bothered to look sideways at me jolt through my brain, and suddenly, my newfound freedom doesn’t seem so free anymore.
“Maybe I like the way he looks at me,” I say, and jut my chin. “And if I ever decide to date him, I sure as hell won’t need your permission. You’re not my big brother, you’re not my father, and you’ve already made it very clear you’re not my friend, so excuse me if I don’t run my dating choices past you. Connor is a nice guy. I could do worse than date him.”
Anger flashes in his expression, but he composes his face quickly. “Fine. Date the whole school for all I care.”
“Maybe I will.”
Before he can say anything else, Erika yells for us to move to the next person, and he’s gone.
I’m left standing there wanting to rant at him some more, but Phoebe’s in front of me, and the only thing she wants to talk about is Holt. How handsome he is. How tall he is. How intense he is. How much she wants to “date” him.