Chapter Nine #2
“Now we wait.” I shrug. “We filed the complaint anonymously. And while I’m sure Lana will know it was us, she can’t exactly prove it either.”
“I’m starting to think this was a bad idea,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that shows off his thick bicep.
I stare longer than necessary before finally forcing my gaze forward.
“Perhaps. But we had to try. She has to know she can’t get away with this. Even if there’s nothing the police can do... At least she knows we’re willing to get them involved. Might give her pause the next time she thinks about trying something like this.”
“Maybe.” He blows out a heavy breath.
“You’re worried.” I point out the obvious.
“If you had been through half of what I’ve been through with Lana, you would be too.”
“Well, there’s nothing we can do now. The police will investigate, along with the university, and we will just continue on like we are completely clueless about any of it and hope for the best.”
“And if we end up with the worst?”
“Then are we really any worse off than we were yesterday?” I shrug, trying like hell to be optimistic about this situation when in reality, I’m kind of freaking out. Not that I would ever tell him that.
“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” he asks with an abrupt change of conversation.
“Not sure yet. Avoid my dorm at all costs. That’s about all I got.”
“I’m starving. Do you want to go grab something to eat?” He rocks back on his heels, the only indication that he’s not completely at ease.
“Um, I’m not sure...” I shake my head.
It would be so easy to take the olive branch he’s extending. The real question is, do I want to?
“Relax, Mais, it’s not like I’m asking you to marry me. It’s just lunch.”
“Just lunch...” I narrow my gaze at him, trying to figure out his play.
“As friends,” he clarifies.
“Friends.” I snort out a laugh like it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.
“What?” His brow furrows like he’s confused by my reaction, even though his eyes tell a very different story.
“We are not friends.”
“We could be.” He lifts a single shoulder in a half-shrug.
I stare back at him for a long moment, taking in the mess of dark hair that falls across his forehead, the scruff of facial hair, the intensity of his almost teal eyes, and I realize something I’ve always known.
I don’t want to be his friend. I want to be more.
.. I dismiss the thought instantly, not even sure where the hell it came from.
Just because I don’t want to be his friend doesn’t mean I want to be his enemy either.
Something changed between us last night.
I don’t know how to describe it, but the anger and animosity I felt toward him every time he was near.
.. as I stare back at him now, there’s no trace of those emotions.
I don’t want to throat punch him or shove him out in front of a moving car.
In fact, I don’t want to inflict any sort of pain on him at all, which is saying something bigger than I want to entertain at the moment.
“Come on. What do you have to lose?” He smiles, the sight of it damn near stealing the breath from my lungs.
He may be the ass of all asses, but damn it if he also isn’t the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Even after everything, when he looks at me the way he’s looking at me now, I feel that undeniable pull that I felt the day we met.
“My self-respect,” I fire back to cover up the direction my thoughts have gone.
He doesn’t so much as flinch at my words, his smile only widening, showing off that damn dimple that usually isn’t visible beneath his beard. Only when he smiles like this does it peek through. So I’ve realized.
“Breakfast or lunch.” He holds his hand out and I stare down at it like a snake poised to bite.
“Breakfast,” I finally say, ignoring his outstretched hand, which he eventually drops.
“Breakfast it is.” He takes off across the parking lot, turning only once to make sure I follow.
Stopping next to his car, he tugs open the passenger door, waiting until I climb inside before closing it, sealing me in. I have to bite my tongue to keep an insult from slipping past my lips. He’s clearly making an effort here. The least I can do is try to do the same.
“I never got the chance to properly thank you for last night.” He waits until he’s pulled out onto the road to speak.
“You don’t have to thank me. I only did what I thought was right.”
“Well, I appreciate it just the same. Not everyone in your shoes would have stood against Lana the way you did. Thanks to you, Joey is at home, sleeping it off, having narrowly avoided being assaulted by Lana while he was passed out.”
“I doubt he would have minded much.” I can’t stop myself from saying. “I can’t imagine any guy would complain about a pretty girl taking advantage of them.”
He seems to think over my words for a long moment.
“We’re not all monsters, you know,” he finally says.
“Just some of you.” I throw him a sideways glance.
“I deserve that.” He seems all too willing to let me take shots at him, but he doesn’t attempt to take any at me, which is rather unsettling.
I’ve grown used to the back and forth, the push and pull, Macallan giving as bad as he’s getting. But this... This kindness. This tolerance to my insults... I don’t know what to do with it.
“Who are you and what did you do with the cocky prick whose eyes I’ve wanted to gouge out for the last two years?”
“You really are quite violent, aren’t you?” He chuckles, the sound deep and melodic. I close my eyes for a brief moment, allowing it to wash over me before I force myself back to reality. “And as I said the other day, I don’t want to be your enemy.”
“Oh yes, the truce.” I roll my eyes.
“This isn’t about the truce. This is about me wanting to prove to you that I’m not the person you believe me to be.”
“Actions speak louder than words,” I remind him.
“Then let me prove you wrong.”
“Why? You’ve never cared to prove me wrong before. In fact, you’ve done quite the opposite.”
“Maybe I’m sick of the role I’ve been forced to play.”
“Or maybe you’re just ashamed that it wasn’t a role at all.” I can’t stop my mouth from speaking, no matter how much I try to.
“Or maybe you’re just scared to acknowledge that maybe you don’t actually know me at all.”
“I know you well enough to know not to trust anything you say.”
“If you give me a chance, I think you might be surprised by how wrong you are.”
“And who says I care enough to find out?”
He pulls the car into a vacant spot outside of a diner I’ve been to several times over the course of my life, not speaking again until he puts it in park and kills the engine.
“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t,” he finally says, exiting the car before I have a chance to respond.
I stew for a moment, my pride threatening to keep me rooted to the spot, but when he tugs open my door and gives me a challenging smirk, I find myself climbing out with new determination.
As I follow him inside the restaurant, one thing is crystal clear.
While the rules have seemed to change, we are most certainly still playing a game.
And even if that means I have to bide my time and play nice, I will walk away the winner.
And if the way he looks back at me is any indication, he knows it too.