Page 31 of Don't Say You're Sorry

EASTON

FOUR YEARS AGO

“What the hell happened to you?” Adam asks as I fall into the passenger seat of his car.

I dragged him to a party last night, and I was still a little drunk when we woke up this morning, so he gave me a ride to school and waited in the parking lot for me to finish practice.

“Suicides,” I rasp, closing my eyes, my entire body spent.

“Seriously? Again?”

I shrug. “Coach is a sadist, but I deserved it today. He knew I was hungover. But hey.” I hold up a hand. “I didn’t puke this time.”

He chuckles and high-fives me. “Good job, superstar.”

“Thanks.” I smile. “What are you drawing?”

Sliding his iPad into the compartment of his door, he opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“It’s me again, isn’t it?” I tease.

He huffs. “Get over yourself. It’s not always you.”

“But it is mostly.” I lean in closer, lowering my voice even though there’s no one here to hear me. “Admit it. I’m your favorite person, aren’t I?”

He turns his head to look at me properly. “Yeah. You are,” he says seriously, and I damn near preen.

Rolling his eyes, he playfully shoves my head away. “You want something greasy and disgusting to eat to make up for the suicides?”

I groan at the thought. “Fuckin’ right.”

I keep my eyes closed and relax while he drives, taking us to a drive-thru and getting our food to go. Instead of taking it home, we park in the parking lot and eat in the car, watching a movie on his iPad balanced on the dash. He wouldn’t let me peek at his drawing, but he’ll show it to me when it’s finished. He always does.

“Can I have some of that?” I ask around the last mouthful of my cheeseburger.

Adam looks over at me, the hot dog paused halfway to his mouth. “You just ate two cheeseburgersandtwo slices of pizza.”

“And a whole bag of chips.” I mimic his adorable British accent, waving the empty bag of fries at him.

He laughs, handing me his one and only slice of pizza. “Here. You can have this.”

I hand it back to him, tipping my chin at his hot dog. “Gimme a bite of that.”

“No.” He pulls it back. “If you wanted a hot dog, you should have gotten one of your own.”

“I want yours.”

He raises a brow, still not giving it to me. Before he can say anything else, I snatch his wrist, lean over the inner console, and bring it to my mouth. He splutters, gaping at me as I close my lips around his hot dog and take a bite out of it. I look up at himas I swallow and lick the sauce from the corner of my mouth, just like he did a minute ago.

His nostrils flare, his chest expanding with a long inhale. “Are you fucking with me?” he rasps on the exhale, his eyes flaring with heat.

“Areyou?”

He frowns, and I wait, holding his gaze. His brows perk as it hits him, proving what I already knew. He’s not fucking with me. He has no idea how fucking hot he looks wrapping his goddamn lips around that hot dog right in front of me.

I uncurl my fingers from around his wrist, wiping the sauce from my mouth and sucking it off my finger. His eyes darken, and I smirk, enjoying the look on his face.

“Now you know how it feels when y—” I pause, pulling my head back to look at him properly. There’s a bruise on the outer corner of his left eye. I didn’t notice it until now. It’s small, but it looks fresh. “What happened to your eye?”