Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
“ H e’s crazy.”
Rose nods her head, offering me the same placating look she’s worn this entire lunch. I feel bad. It’s got to be hard holding such a pinched expression. But after the week I’ve had, I can’t find it in me to set my childhood best friend free. I need to rant like I need the deep tissue massage I can’t currently afford.
Bitching to Rose is the best I can get on my current budget. And like any great friend, she’s letting me drown my sorrows in a basket of french fries and a bottomless milkshake.
“No, seriously, I have never met a bigger asshole.”
“Maybe it was an accident?”
“Yeah, because pouring an entire drink down the drain, then tossing its plastic carcass in the garbage is an easy mistake to make.”
Rose tries her best to smother a smile. I appreciate the effort.
“Let’s face it. He hates me.”
Her not-smile grows wider. “A decade ago you would’ve been ecstatic that he even knew you existed.”
I give her the stink-eye. “Not true.”
“You were in looove !” She draws the word out, turning it into the worst song I’ve ever heard,
“Shut up! I was not in love.”
“Babe. You spent half a day baking treats for his entire basketball team.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I was there!” Rose throws her head back laughing and I’m glad one of us is having a good time.
I shake my head. “Yeah, I know. You were making weed brownies.” I flash her a look. “You aren’t exactly a reliable witness.”
Rose meets my eyes, sobering a bit at whatever she finds in them. “You went through a lot of trouble for him. Did he even thank you?”
I smile, refusing to answer. If I did, Rose would realize just how well I remember that day. How well I remember everything.
So, I shrug, taking a long sip of strawberry frappe.
“You have an extraordinarily bad picker, you know that?” Rose waits until I quirk a smile. “Remember Rob? You thought he was the sweetest guy in the world.”
“Yeah.” I snort. “Until he slept with half the Freshman floor.”
Rose shakes her head at the memory. “I fucking hate Rob.”
“It’s all in the past. I have way better instincts now.”
“Oh, really?”
I wave a fry between Rose’s brown eyes. “Yes, really. I’m older. Wiser. I’m better at reading people now. And my spidey senses are telling me that Taylor hates my guts.”
Rose steals the fry from between my fingers. “Fine, maybe he hates you. But you know what that means, right?”
“What?”
Her eyes sparkle. “It means you’ve caught his attention.”
My next bite tastes sour. “I don’t want it.”
But Rose isn’t giving up. She leans forward, holding my gaze as she says, “All you ever wanted was for him to notice you in high school. Congratulations, Ayla. He notices you now.”
Rose might be a great friend.
But she gives shit advice.
I don’t care if Taylor sees me. Frankly, I wish he was as indifferent to my existence as he had been a decade ago. This Taylor isn’t the same kid who used to run up and down a basketball court, giving away his smiles for free. That Taylor’s attention felt warm and fuzzy. Back then, he was pure sunlight.
Now, he’s a winter breeze. Catching his eye comes with a chill that lasts all day.
I would know.
I’m hit with a wave of it when I make the mistake of offering him one of my homemade rice krispie treats.
Until this very moment, I had almost convinced myself the drink debacle was an accident—an unfortunate mistake I was overanalyzing. But Taylor squashes that hope with the look he gives the treat in my hand.
“Not interested.”
“They’re good,” I promise with a laugh. “If you want one, you should take it now. The Havens have already devoured half the pan.”
I look down at my outstretched hand and the pastry I’ve placed on a paper plate. I won’t admit the truth…that I made the rice krispies with Taylor in mind, knowing they’re one of his favorite sweets. They’re a peace offering—what the matcha should have been. And I’m willing to look past the incident if he is. That’s what my offering represents. He just has to take it.
But Taylor looks away. “I don’t like sweets,” he says, an abject lie. The man packs a cereal bar for lunch almost every day. I’ve seen him chug energy drinks like his life depends on it. The only thing he doesn’t like is me.
He starts to turn, leaving my hand outstretched to empty air. And I know it’s childish. I shouldn’t do it. But I can’t help the wave of anger that overtakes me. Without even realizing it, my lips part and I say something stupid.
“You could just throw it away if you don’t like it. I know that’s your MO.”
Surprise flickering through his wide eyes. But if there’s remorse in his expression, he tempers it by the time he faces me.
“I’m only going to say this once, Montes: I don’t want anything from you.”
The ice in his tone sends me a step back. He’s not joking. There’s nothing playful about his choice of words.
“Why?” I spit out. “What did I ever do to you?”
For the first time, Taylor laughs at something I’ve said. And I so dearly wish I never heard the sound.
“Because,” he drawls, stealing the step I gave away. “I don’t like you. I never have. And I never will.”