Chapter 4 Baby, Please Don’t Go #2
“Cilantro. Extra lime. Minimal bullshit.”
My brow spikes.
“But if there’s no fresh jalapeno, I walk.”
“Allison,” he says, serious,
“if it’s not fresh,
“it’s not goin’ anywhere near your mouth.”
Goddamn it.
My grin hits before I can fight it,
fast and foolish.
And now he’s grinning too,
loving that he made it happen.
I should’ve walked away ten minutes ago,
and now I’m giving him my smile.
He points his chin at it. “See? Soulmates.”
“Soulmates?” Elle makes a gag noise.
“You are not soulmates.”
Andrew drifts closer to whisper,
“That’s exactly what a jealous girl would say right before we end up together.”
I look to Elle.
Then back to him.
He’s gotta be joking. Right?
But my chest’s doing weird shit,
and I don’t like it anymore.
If he keeps going, he’ll wake up my heart.
“Okay…” I feign laughter.
“Stop fuckin’ with me.”
It slips out all spine, no balls.
“Allison,” he murmurs, intimate .
“I’m not fuckin’ with you.
“I'm bein' real.”
Elle scoffs. “Real.”
He turns to her.
“Tell Allison I don’t fuck around like this.”
Silence.
It just crowds us.
And we just stand in the middle of it.
“Elle—c’mon. Be honest,” he says, all humor stripped away. “You ever see me like this before?”
Elle groans. “He doesn’t, okay? Doesn’t date, doesn’t chase, doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t talk to girls unless they’re bleeding out, askin’ for jumper cables, or crying. C’mon, you know the Harding's 8 Deadly Don’ts.”
What the fuck is this girl saying?
All of Andrew’s pointed at me—
his eyes, his smile, his hips, his feet…
“I’m deadass about you.”
We’re caught staring for a heartbeat.
Then he says lower,
“Let’s leave. Just us.
“Anywhere you wanna go.”
I pretend to think—
“Mm. Yeah, no. Real tempting, though.”
His head falls back with a groan.
“C’mon, angel. You still tryna play hard to get?” His brow cocks, amused. “Act all tough if it helps. Don’t change what’s happenin’ here.”
Elle’s eyes widen very loudly. “Seriously? Screwin’ over me and your dead best friend in one night?”
Andrew tips his chin. “Allison.”
I narrow my eyes. “Andrew.”
“Come with me,” he repeats, softer this time.
Elle glances at her phone, muttering under her breath, “Cool. So I’ll just fuck myself tonight.”
Andrew pays her no attention.
I panic.
“Okay, so this was fun,” I rush to say, needing to get the words out before his force field pulls me back in. “Thanks for the invite, though,” I add, as if my pulse isn’t dry humping my skin. “I got a calendar full of made-up obligations and fake meetings.”
Sure, act dumb and dip out—an AJT classic.
I gesture vaguely behind me.
“Some other time?” I nod. “‘Kay?
“Cool.
“Bye.”
Andrew’s smile fades fast.
It’s all charm and jokes,
until I’m turning my back.
Then he bleeds.
“Allison—fuck, wait—”
I don’t. I keep walking.
Then his hand lands on my shoulder.
I spin around so fast I stumble back.
“Don’t touch me.”
His hands fly up.
“Aight, I got you. I won’t.
“I’m sorry.
“That’s on me.”
As soon as our eyes lock, I exhale.
“I don’t do people touchin’ me without my permission.”
His nod is immediate.
“Good. That’s how it should be.”
I turn for the door again.
Andrew moves quick, smooth, cutting me off.
He’s right in front of me.
This time, he doesn’t touch me.
But he does worse.
He looks me in the fucking eyes.
And holds my gaze.
“Aight. Okay. I get it. It looks bad.”
He yanks off his glasses
and wipes the nerves off his face.
“Fuck, this looks bad.
“I know it does.
“Jesus—what the hell am I doin’?”
He pinches his nose, eyes shut tight.
A stunned, dry laugh punches out.
“I just—I’m all over the place.
“I’m makin’ this worse, ain’t I?
“This is a mess.”
He slides his glasses into his jacket,
then drops the next words stripped down.
“But the thought of you walkin’ outta here?”
His shoulders fall.
“Nah—can't let you do that.”
And that stops me.
I stare at him.
One sentence,
and I’m rethinking everything I told myself on the way to the door. “Glad you finally caught up to how batshit crazy this all is.”
His lips fall lopsided.
“Believe me—I’m feelin’ every damn second of it.”
I squint.
“And yet, you went full speed ahead.”
“Yeah, I fuckin' did, and I ain't sorry.”
I’m fighting a smile,
glancing at the door behind him,
fidgeting in place.
I should leave. I really, really should.
“Hey—Sonny,” he says,
trying to pull me back to him.
“Please, please. One second.
“That’s all I’m askin’.”
My gaze moves back to his. He grips it tight.
“I know I’m comin’ on strong.
“But I ain’t playin’ with you.
“Not even a little.”
He leans back, searches my face, afraid he lost me. “I just met you and you already got me fucked up. I been tryin’ to be chill—swear to God, I have.”
His hand lifts halfway to my arm,
then drops, closing into a fist.
“But if you go right now? I’m fucked.
“I’ll be seventy, still pissed I let you walk.”
He drops his fist to his side. “No bullshit.”
We stare at each other,
trapped in the moment.
“Andrew,” I sigh.
“Allison,” he edges.
He grins.
“Yeah… I fuckin’ love when we do that.”
I roll my eyes. “You have a girlfriend.”
He looks at me sideways. “If you wouldn’t mind, I prefer not to label her as my girlfriend.”
“Fine,” I say. “You have a relationship, then.”
“A relationship? Nah. More of a…
“recurring problem I haven’t fixed yet."
I press my palm to my forehead,
looking at the door.
Then my eyes drift back to him.
‘Cause they’re stupid
and don’t listen to a fucking thing I say.
“I don’t date.” I hold up a finger—
“Let’s just start there."
Andrew watches me like I’m a wild animal in a very pretty dress.
“I don’t sit across from guys at tables.
“With food. Or coffee. Or drinks.
“I don’t do the whole slow-burn, will-they-won’t-they crap.
“I don’t do fuck buddies, or casual,
“or whatever the hell you got goin’ on with your recurring problem.”
I slash the air, crossing it all out.
“I abso-fucking-lutely do not share anything with anyone. Not men. Not blankets. Not my favorite songs. Not food. Not even with God. You could be dying of starvation, I’ll eat the last bite. Won’t even fake cry at your funeral.”
A grin pulls at him.
I ignore it.
“I don’t remember birthdays or anniversaries.
“I don’t hold hands.
“I don’t do morning texts because I don’t do mornings—fuck mornings.”
And he’s just staring at me,
with those fucking eyes.
“I don’t want your hoodie.
“I don’t want to sleep next to you.
“I don’t care about your childhood,
“your past,
“your family.
“I don’t care about how your day was.
“Don’t want you caring about mine.
“You ask about my day?
“It's fine. It’s always fucking fine.
“I don’t do small talk—
“it makes me want to punch drywall.
“I will text back with my entire soul or not at all—either annoying as fuck or dead. There’s no in between.
“And everything will always be on my time.”
“Cuddling? Nope. Aux cord? Mine. Forever.
“Can’t cook worth a damn.
“Don’t wanna hear your playlists.
“And I don’t care about feelings.
“They’re exhausting. I’m exhausted.”
A breath.
“So, yeah.”
I gesture up and down my body.
“Seriously. Red flags all around.
“I’m territorial, possessive as hell, a control freak,
“and selfish as fuck, with a bad mouth—”
I hold up a finger. “Not filthy—bad.
“Don't get the two confused.
“Trust me. I’m doing you a favor.
“I’m not the girl you’re looking for.”
Then his slow smile unfolds, lazy and lethal.
I narrow my eyes. “What?” I snap.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
“Just listenin’ to you list out all the shit you’re gonna end up doin’ with me.”
Audacity drips off my laugh. “Excuse me?”
He’s full-blown grinning now.
“Sounded a whole lot like a wishlist.”
His eyes roam all over me.
“Dessert. Hoodie. Sleeping next to me.
“Hand-holdin’. Mornin’ coffee.
“Aux cord fights.
“Passin’ F-bombs back and forth.
“All that shit you claim you don’t do?”
He tips his chin up. “You will. With me.”
My next words rush out. “I will not—”
“Yeah. You will.” He takes a slow step closer.
“And I’ll be the only one.
“Though you keep actin’ like you know what I want.”
His eyes don’t budge from mine.
“But what if it’s you?”
My stomach falls. And falls. And falls.
He huffs, scratching the back of his head.
“Yeah… probably why I can’t walk away from you.
” A dry laugh slips out. “I should be able to. I’ve done it every fuckin’ time.
But this? You? Nah—I can’t. And I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ you walk out, either.
” His fingers tighten around the albums. “Yeah. Big fuckin’ problem. Swear to God, didn’t see it coming.”
All fight drains out of him.
What’s left lingers when he says,
“I’m afraid to take my eyes off you.”
He’s not playing. He’s not pretending.
He’s fucking terrifying.
His eyes move between mine.
“Way I see it? I’m stuck in a fuckin’ bookstore, trying to break it off with somebody I never gave a shit about…
while trying to figure out how the fuck to keep you from walkin’ out that door.
But I can’t do the first thing because—” he pauses, then repeats himself, quieter this time. “—I’m afraid to take my eyes off you.”
Then comes the bones of a smile.
“And what's fuckin' crazy?
“I don’t give a shit about doing it right.
“Not if I lose you trying.”
I stare at him. Only him.
A second ago, I was fine.
Now, not so much.
Now, I'm melting.
And I don't fucking melt—I soak.
“You’re not stuck, Andrew,” I whisper—
“You’re stalling.”
As soon as I say it, something hits him.
I see it behind his eyes first,
then the realization spreads across his face.
All I can think is—shit, what? WHAT?
He leans into one hip.
“I asked you out, what—six times already?”
He squints, counting on his fingers.
“Coffee. Drinks. Dinner. Dinner. Dinner again. Tacos—which, c’mon, that’s its own damn thing. Don’t start.” A shake of his head, still wrapping his brain around it. “Every single time, you shot me down. Tried to leave. Twice.”
The air slips out of him
like he’s finally figured it out.