Three #2
And at some point as I watch her through the windshield as she walks away, as I think about what she said, as I catch sight of fucking Ben glowering in the distance, a wild, ridiculous lightbulb pings above my head.
The first time I entered Barefoot Joe’s, I was an eighteen-year-old from out of state and so completely ignorant of the deep-seated rivalry that all but splits this college town in half.
I had no idea back then that the boardwalk diner was Cove College territory, and that, as an HCU student, I was essentially forbidden from entering.
I learned pretty quickly, though – nothing like a little friendly hazing to put the new freshman in her place – and I never came here again.
Until today.
As a bell tolls above my head and announces my entrance, my hackles rise, my head on a swivel like I’m freaking prey on the lookout for a threat. Though, I guess I’m actually the predator. I’m on the hunt. And it doesn’t take me all that long to track down exactly what I’m looking for – who.
Stationed at the opposite end of the counter taking orders, Heath does a double take when he spots me sliding onto a stool. When I wave stiffly, he glances over his shoulder, laughably dorky as he points to himself and mouths, ‘Me?’
Lips pressing together, I nod sharply.
Jesus, that smile. Put it away, I almost command. I don’t need it right now. I don’t need the unfamiliar, somewhat daunted way it makes me feel, not when what I’m about to do – God, I can’t believe I’m about to do it – is plenty daunting all on its own.
‘Well, well, well.’ The very image of smug, Heath glides in my direction, snagging a plated slice of apple pie on his way and dropping it in front of me, and I guess it’s a really bad time, considering I’m about to ask for a pretty major favor, to gloat that he clearly doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does – I fucking hate cooked fruit.
‘You come all the way out here just to see me?’
‘My place is, like, five minutes away.’ Not exactly a detour. ‘But, yeah. Guess I did.’
Surprise paints his features, like he didn’t think that was actually the case – or maybe he just didn’t think I’d actually admit it.
‘Okay.’ Palms flat against the counter, he looms over me, making my five-foot-nine frame feel more like five-foot-nothing. ‘I’ll bite. What’s up, pretty girl?’
Well, shit. Here goes nothing.
‘I wanna get him back,’ I blurt out, well and truly ripping off the Band-Aid. ‘Ben, I mean.’
Heath’s expression drops. ‘Seriously?’ He huffs incredulously, briefly dropping his head as it rocks from side to side stiffly. ‘Shit, Dani, why? You know you could do a lot better.’
It takes me a second to realize my mistake, and a lot less to splutter a hasty clarification. ‘No. No. God, no. I mean, I wanna get him back. Like, revenge.’
His soft ‘ah’ sounds oddly . . . relieved.
‘So, what?’ Heath drops his forearms to the counter, regarding me quizzically as he settles at eye-level. ‘Want me to slash his tires or something? You strike me as someone who’d know how to do that all on her own.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, pressing a hand to my chest in a touched gesture that isn’t really all that sarcastic. ‘But no. I . . . I think we should date.’
There. I did it. I got it out. The utterly outrageous scheme that came to me in some kind of demented waking nightmare, founded quite simply and solely on the vicious need to make Ben squirm, has been sufficiently verbalized.
To Heath’s credit, he doesn’t even flinch.
He does, however, seem to malfunction for a long moment – a minute, really. ‘I’m sorry,’ he eventually drawls, voice a low rasp. ‘I think I just hallucinated. You what?’
‘I think we should date,’ I repeat – and abruptly realize that I’ve done that misspeaking thing again. ‘Or pretend to date.’
‘Or?’ Heath raises his brows, the corners of his mouth lifting too. ‘Which one is it, Daniela? Kind of a big difference.’
‘Pretend,’ I clarify firmly. ‘Obviously.’
‘Obviously? Ouch.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Don’t think I do. Why is it so obvious?’
Something akin to a stifled scream scratches my throat. ‘It’s a yes or no question, Heath.’
‘Honey, I don’t remember hearing a question.’
Briefly dropping my head back, I take a moment to sigh at the ceiling before looking at the smirking man intent on driving me insane again. ‘Will you pretend to date me, or not?’
‘Why?’
Did I not just say? ‘To piss off Ben.’
To make him jealous, if we’re getting into the technicalities of it all.
Seethingly, debilitatingly jealous. Even more, to embarrass him.
If I managed to do it without even trying, if everyone thinks that was what I was doing anyways, then, God, imagine what I could do with a little effort.
It’s . . . well, it might not be perfect, but it’s something.
Heath hums thoughtfully, leaning forward until I have no choice but to remember the last time we were this close, until I’m squirming and fisting my hands in my lap to stop from spinning myself around and hauling ass out of here. ‘And what’s in it for me, exactly?’
‘You get to piss off Ben.’ I frown. ‘I thought that was obvious.’
Kissing his teeth, Heath props his chin in his hand. ‘Tempting, but not good enough.’
Deadpan, I offer, ‘You get to pretend to date me.’
‘Oh, well, then I’m sold.’
For some reason, that doesn’t sound quite as sarcastic as I think it’s meant to. ‘Well, what do you want?’
‘Hmm.’ He leans back a little, the quirk of his mouth promising something I don’t think I want to hear. ‘Loaded question.’
‘Say something dirty and see what happens.’
‘Don’t worry, Wednesday. Not interested in my next swim being piranha-infested.’
‘Might make you swim faster.’ I raise a hand, my pointer and middle fingers crossed. ‘Here’s hoping.’
‘Is this how you get people to do things for you? Insult them?’
‘Is it working?’
He pauses to think about it, white teeth tugging on his lower lip. ‘Little bit.’
‘Okay, then. We have a deal?’
‘Hang on a second. Jesus. You don’t do anything at human pace, do you?’
My spine straightens, my fingernails digging into my palms. ‘I’m not a robot.’
‘I didn’t say that.’ A tiny frown creases a sun-kissed forehead. ‘I know you’re not. Robots can’t kiss.’
God knows I’m not a blusher, but I can’t deny the heat that burns my cheeks. ‘We’re not talking about that.’
‘No? You just barged into my work, begging me to be your boyfriend, but you won’t talk about a little kiss.’
‘Little. Thanks.’
‘I have a couple better descriptors, but I’m not allowed to talk about it.’
‘Fine. If you pretend to date me, we can talk about it. We can even do it again. Congratulations.’
Heath laughs, he smiles, but he still doesn’t agree, and now I’m really getting frustrated. ‘C’mon, Belfort. You’re seriously gonna miss a chance to get under Ben’s skin?’
Still chuckling a little, he sighs at me.
He stares at me. He thinks about me, I think, and my offer, and his eyes get this weird, blown-out, freaking sparkly quality to them.
And then he leans forward again, even freaking closer, the concept of personal space clearly lost on the man. ‘You’re a history major, right?’
‘Minor.’ My frown returns with a vengeance. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Me too,’ he replies, without answering my question. Before I can press further, he distracts me, dangling a freaking carrot right in front of my nose. ‘I gotta retake a class I failed last year. Help me pass it, and I’ll do whatever you want.’
‘You failed a class?’ On instinct, I reach out, tapping him on the forearm as I tut quietly. ‘It’s your senior year, Heath. You can’t fail anything.’
As uncomfortable as I’ve ever seen him, he shifts, dismissing the concern that catches me off-guard as much as it seemingly does him. ‘I won’t fail it again. Right?’
Even though I brought this up, even though this is my dumbass idea, I hesitate.
I think about it, even though it’s all I’ve thought about since it popped into my head this morning, even though I’ve driven myself half mad thinking about it.
I wonder if it actually is the great idea I think it is.
If it’s truly a genius stab at revenge. I watch Heath’s hand extend toward me, and I pause before grasping it.
I do, however, grasp it.
I shake it.
I agree, ‘Right.’