Elsie
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The very moment the words left my mouth, Will’s face hardened before my very eyes.
“What?” he asked, as if he could’ve possibly misheard me, despite the only sound in the kitchen being my own, erratic heartbeat.
“Why don’t you want me to date Theo?” I repeated slowly enough to infuriate him.
“Why are we still talking about him?” he gritted out.
“You really hate the idea of me dating him that much?”
“Yes,” he said, jaw clenched hard enough I worried it might break.
“Why?”
“Because the two of you don’t make any sense together!”
“In your opinion,” I dismissed. “Next reason?”
Please make it a good one.
“Because you can do better.”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “Not good enough. Tell me the truth, Will. Why don’t you want me to—”
“Because I don’t want you to date fucking Theo!” he exploded. “God. Just stop saying his name.”
“Why?” I asked, barely breathing.
“Why what?”
“Is it because he’s a secret psychopath?” I asked, watching as he blew out a slow breath. “Or maybe you’re worried that I’m a secret psychopath out to kill your friend?”
“Elsie,” Will said in a warning tone.
“Or are you basically telling me that there’s no other reason I shouldn’t date Theo other than you not wanting me to?”
“Yes.”
It wasn’t good enough.
If he liked me, now would’ve been the time for him to tell me.
Maybe I’d been an oblivious idiot. Maybe he had hated me all along. Maybe the friendship I’d thought we’d shared was really just delusions from the writer’s side of my brain, trying to romanticize something that wasn’t there.
And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want me to date his friend because he didn’t want me to have any reason to stick around longer than necessary.
Because after all, I was just another girl who needed him. Someone he felt obligated to help, even at his own expense.
A stream of curse words ricocheted through my head, and I mentally berated myself for being so stupid. I opened a cupboard, looking for an emotional support snack, and finding it pathetically bare, slammed it shut.
“Shit!” I yelled, unable to keep the overwhelming feeling of frustration inside of me. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“You’re pissed at me,” he noted.
“No shit.”
“Is that your word of the day, or—?”
“Just go home, Will!” I spun, fighting the urge to growl at him. Fighting the urge to push him out the door myself, because I was scared if I got my hands on him, he’d realize just how stuck on him I actually was.
Instead, I just glared at him, hoping it looked intimidating enough to send him on his way. After all, why should he waste a perfectly good night tending to my feelings when it was clear he couldn’t wait for me to get the hell out of his town.
“Shit,” I repeated, this time deflated as I stared at him, standing there, looking perfect and gorgeous and broody with his arms crossed over his chest, and all I could do was throw a tantrum. And for what?
“Damn it, Elsie. Just tell me what I did!”
“Nothing!” I yelled, fingers gripping my hair hard enough to hurt. “You did nothing!”
“I did nothing?” He scoffed. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? I mean, the only thing you’re guilty of is not being romantically interested in me, and I don’t see how that’s anyone’s problem but my own for thinking, maybe for a second, that you might possibly be interested in me.”
He stilled, as if the mere idea of it horrified him.
I laughed, manically and continued. “See! The very idea of it is so absurd that it left you speechless. I guess I was just an idiot for even thinking it was possible in the first place, because why would someone like you like someone like me?”
“Someone like me, meaning what?” he breathed, taking a step closer.
“Quiet. Solitary. Reclusive,” I said flippantly, retreating farther back now that he was daring to cross the imaginary barrier that had existed between us.
“And someone like you, meaning?” he said, now in the center of the kitchen.
“Loud. Annoying. Hyper.” I pressed myself nearly against the wall in the corner of the kitchen, pretending to fumble with something on the counter beside me.
“I mean, now that I’m saying it out loud, it’s so obviously ridiculous that I ever thought you could like me.
I guess it proves what a great imagination I have, though, right? ”
He was too close now. Far too close for comfort.
“Say that again,” he said.
“What?”
“That. That ridiculous claim you just made.” His words sounded bitter as hazel eyes narrowed down on me.
“About not being interested in me?” I said a bit more boldly, now that I saw that familiar glint in his eyes.
Arguing was good. I knew this dynamic with him. I was comfortable with it.
“That’s wrong.” He shook his head. “You’re wrong.”
“You’re telling me I’m wrong?” I scoffed, somehow infuriated, even though if I was going to be wrong about anything, I desperately wanted to be about this.
But the thing about Will—every word exchanged between us felt like a challenge. A dare. It had been from the beginning, and I wasn’t ready to set that aside now, even when my insides were hammering with what ifs.
“You hate that, don’t you?” he said, getting impossibly closer until he was near enough that all I could see was him.
I breathed out, mind hazy from his proximity as I tried to remember what stance I was taking and why.
Why was this the hill I’d wanted to die on a minute ago, when Will was right here, caging me against the wall and looking like he wanted to prove a point I didn’t know why I was fighting?
And God, did I want him to succeed in that.
But then I remembered.
“Theo!” I shoved his chest hard, if only to give me the space to think clearly for at least a second. “You were an asshole to Theo tonight. Why? Because you’re pissed I went out with your friend?”
“Look who’s catching on.”
“Well, it doesn’t involve you.” I huffed. “I don’t know if you’re worried that me dating your friend might make me stick around in town longer or—”
“What?”
“Or if you’re freaked out because you think I’ll somehow be around more often now, but—”
“You are way off base.”
“What? It makes sense. Maybe you’re just mad because you can’t wait for me to get the hell out of your town and—”
Will reached out, holding onto my arms as he anchored me in place. The contact stole the words from my mouth, forcing me to take a breath and swallow down the sob that was threatening to break free.
How could he do it? Make me furious and euphoric and devastated and hopeful all in a day. He pulled out the whole spectrum from me, forcing me to feel each and every feeling to an agonizing degree.
I didn’t know if I hated him for it or loved him.
“I’m not mad,” he said, staring down at me with blazing intensity.
“Then what?” I cried, desperate to see what he always kept so carefully guarded. That part of him I was finally getting more than just a glimpse of.
“I’m—” he started, then clenched his jaw shut. “I—”
“What, Will?” I stared up at him, daring and furious. “If you’re not mad, then what are you?”
He looked down at me, a million thoughts playing over his face in a single second before he threw away any semblance of restraint.
“I’m jealous.”
And then he pulled my face toward his and kissed me.