Chapter 14 #2
“David wants you around.” Weston stood up, but didn't block the exit. His gaze flickered over my shoulder for a second before landing back on me, pleading in those green eyes. “Trust me.”
“I don’t know you. I barely know him,” I said.
“And you’re trying to change that.”
I froze, eyes narrowed. “What?”
Weston rubbed the back of his neck. “The dare thing… the kitchen thing.”
My heart dropped. “David told you about that? All of that?”
Not only did he have friends, but he shared stuff about us with them. This entire time he’d been acting like once out of sight, I was out of mind.
“Look, why don’t you come hang out? I’ll buy you a drink,” Weston offered. “Those recruiters are gone, so the conversation is more relaxed.”
“Hard pass.”
“I feel like I said something wrong.” His shoulders sagged. “That wasn’t my intention. Far from it.”
My gaze softened a bit as I looked at him and saw a guy who just wanted to help his jerk of a friend out. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve helped me more than you know.”
“He’s good at that,” an unamused voice interrupted.
Weston and I glanced over my shoulder to find David. He had his hands in his pockets, a suspicious gaze toggling between both of us. “What exactly did he help you with?”
“Clarity,” I said, offering only Weston a smile before leaving.
I didn’t even make it up the stairs before I felt David at my elbow.
“Where are you going?” he asked so casually you’d think we were at an airport terminal, waiting to be shuttled to our gate.
“Home.” I’m growing fond of one-word answers. They provided a kind of freedom. Maybe I didn’t owe anyone an extensive explanation of the split-second decision. Maybe I had the right to change my mind and goal.
“And the one-on-one?” David kept in step with me, an easy feat considering his legs were longer and he was in better shape than me. It was vital that I started running regularly again. What I could recall from our cross-country days, I had more endurance than he did.
“You’re relieved of your duties.” I dared to look at him, and I was just in time to see a flash of confusion color his eyes.
“You came clean?” he asked, sounding impressed.
“No.” I frowned, irritated that his admiration had been within reach for a second, and I’d wanted to grab hold. “I decided I’m dating Haven.”
He chuckled. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You two would be a nice couple.”
“I thought so.”
“So, how did we break up?” he asked.
I wrinkled my nose and stopped walking. “What’s it to you? You’re free. Released from duty. Go do whatever it is you do.”
“When I go back home, I’d like to have some sort of inkling of what the gossip mill will be touting,” he said.
I sighed because, with the way people talked back home, I’d want to know the same thing. “Fine. I’m thinking of saying you cheated, and I cried to Haven, and she nursed me back to health and into a deep, more profound love.”
“Cute,” he said flatly. “But I’m not a cheater.”
“It’s fiction.”
David shook his head. “You’re not telling people I cheated on you. Next.”
I scoffed. “Next?”
“Next scenario.”
We glared at one another, gazes burning as we stood our ground.
“Fine,” I gave in. “You didn’t know anything about me and weren’t interested in learning.”
“What?”
“A disinterested boyfriend,” I said. “Not a cheater but standoffish. It fits.”
“It does not.”
“David, it fits,” I snapped, frustrated that he was fighting this hard.
“You prefer the in-between moments in seasons, when spring’s still cold and winter days are bright with sunshine.
The quilt on your bed was a project you finished with your grandma, made up of your favorite childhood clothes.
On weekends, you don’t get out of bed until eleven, but spend the rest of the day feeling guilty, so you cram in a boatload of things on your to-do list. You binge the same show every fall.
It’s called The 100. You skip the last season, though, because a character named Bellamy doesn’t get his due justice, and it makes you cry.
And I’m fairly sure you have an anxiety disorder that results in excessive picking. You hide it concerningly well.”
My ears roared as if I were trapped behind a waterfall. Before I could resurface, he continued.
“You tell everyone you want to work in politics or the nonprofit sphere, but from the looks of your multiple sketchbooks, you want to create something new, not work in someone else’s old system,” he said.
“But you lack natural talent and, for some reason, you won’t enlist your drive.
When you get tired, you wink, one eye after the next, because you think it helps energize you.
Your sisters treat you like the baby because you are, and you like coddling, but don’t enjoy the aftermath of them looking down on you.
You can be a leader, but something about them makes you always defer.
I can’t tell if you’re unable to trust your potential or if you believe they’re smarter than you.
They’re not; you’re one of the smartest people I know.
One of the most intriguing people I know. Your favorite color is orange.”
My head was spinning. I didn’t know whether to address the TV show, sketchbooks, picking, or favorite color.
“I’m not a disinterested boyfriend,” David said firmly. “Next.”