My heart stutters. “What?”
His eyes lift to mine. “Let me take you out. Give you the real foot-popping kiss you imagined.”
I blink again, because I’m not sure I heard him right.
Did he really just say that?
My breath gets stuck somewhere in my chest, and I can’t quite seem to get it out. My brain is scrambling to make sense of his words, but it’s like they don’t compute. Like they don’t belong in a world where Austin Rhodes says stuff like that to me.
He can’t be serious.
“Austin.” I shake my head, already trying to backtrack. “You don’t have to do that just because you feel bad.”
Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? Guilt. Pity. A knee-jerk reaction to something he never meant to happen. A moment he regrets.
“I’m not doing it because I feel bad,” he says, his voice low and raspy, making my skin break out into goosebumps. “I’m doing it because I want to.”
My stomach flips, fluttering like crazy.
He moves closer. Barely. But enough that his knee brushes mine. Just the lightest touch. So light I could pretend it didn’t happen if I wanted to. But I don’t want to.
He places his hand on mine and moves his thumb. Just once. A slow, gentle sweep across the back of my hand.
He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it—until he glances down. And then he does it again. Slow. Soft. Over and over.
I don’t want to move. Don’t want to breathe wrong and shatter whatever is happening.
My heart is pounding like crazy. I can’t look away from him, and I don’t know how to say what’s building inside me. That part of me wants to trust this. Wants to believe him.
Even if it’s not real, I want to know what it’s like. Just once. To go on a date. To feel wanted. To pretend, just for one night, that someone like Austin could want me.
But the other part—the louder one—won’t stop whispering that I’m reading it wrong. That I always read it wrong.
Still, I nod. “Okay,” I whisper.
His smile blooms, his perfect teeth flashing. Those dimples pop and it’s so unfair how good he looks when he smiles like that.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, his thumb still brushing my hand.
“Yeah.”
He lets out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Then he leans in just a little closer. “I’m gonna give you the best damn foot-popping kiss in history.”
I try to roll my eyes, but it’s useless. The corners of my mouth curl up against my will.
Because for the first time in a long time, I want to believe it.
Even though I know I shouldn’t.
22
MAISIE
Ichange my outfit four times before I admit I’m spiraling.
There’s a mountain of discarded clothes in the corner of my bed—sweaters, tank tops, dresses I haven’t worn since high school—piled up in a heap that’s growing by the minute.
Too casual.
