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His eyes darted from the table to her, to the floor, and back to me too many times to count.Please don’t come over here, please don’t be mad,I swore they were saying.
The first, I wasn’t giving another thought to, but the second? The second, it was too late for.
He was out—on adate.Instead of talking to me, instead of trying to work things out, instead of meeting up with me today and not pushing whatIthought was an important conversation to tomorrow.
And I felt so,sofucking stupid.
Mortified. Pissed. Anger simmered in my blood, pumping out of a heart that felt like it was slowly splintering open and—no. Nope. Screw that.
I dragged my eyes away from him and slapped my book shut, tossing everything into my backpack with a forced level of calm, hands shaking even though I cursed at them not to. Book. Notebook. Pencil. Pens. Phone. Keys. Trash. It felt like a fucking eternity.
I zipped my bag up, threw it over my shoulder, and walked through the coffee shop—that I was never, in my goddamn life, going to step foot back inside of again. Screw Inkcafé, screw the girl with the pretty little cardigan, and screw Neil.
I was done. Tapping out.Overit.
And I got it, I did. That that was the kind of girl he wanted, or thought he needed, or that wouldn’t disappoint his parents, orwhatever,but I still wanted to scream at him in the middle of Inkcafé and tell him that he was just as much of a coward as I was.
My throat constricted, closing up tight, and…shit.I threw my hand against my chest, shoving back against my traitorous heart.
Making a straight shot for the door, I heard Neil utter a quick, “Can you give me a minute?” as I passed by his table and shoved my way outside.
“Liv,” he called.
No. Nope. Not happening.
“Liv,please,” he pleaded.
I wasn’t going to—I swear, I wasn’t going to—but I turned on the heel of my foot anyway, despite every self-preservation instinct screaming at me not to.
I looked down at the ground, counted backward from twenty. But still, I felt like I was going to cry, and I hated myself for it.
“It’s not what it looks like,” he rushed out.
My gaze met his, and my stomach twisted and flipped over on itself just from looking at him, intensifying at the pity in his eyes.
I tightened my fists, nails biting into my palms. “You know what.” I huffed through the urge to cry. “It doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business. Obviously.”
“Itisyour business,” he said, his forehead creased with what looked like worry. But there was no way he was actually worried about me or what I thought when he was here with someone else.
“No, it’s not,” I gritted the words, my voice barely a thing. “Not anymore. You’ve made that pretty clear.”
“Liv…” He trailed off with a harsh breath, running his hand through his hair. It settled on the back of his neck and tightened around it. “It’s not like that,” he implored, but his words weren’t landing where they were supposed to. Somewhere that would stop making me feel so shitty.“I wouldn’t lie to you. She’s new to town—new to church—” he gestured through the window, pointing out the girl I was absolutely notgoing to look at again. “And my parents told her I’d show her around. That’s all this is. I swear.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I repeated, the words coming out before I could stop them. They were a lie. It did matter, but I hated that it did.
“It does,” he said. “The fact that I feel the need to explain myself to you right now is pretty telling of where my feelings lie. I don’twantto be here.” His brows furrowed. “I don’t want anyone else.”
I swallowed, my gaze crashing into his.
His eyes searched mine, and mine searched his right back, desperately looking forsomething.Anything that would make me stop feeling like this. Eyes burning, stomach heavy, throat thick with hurt and words I refused to say. Words that terrified me.
Especially when I was convinced he didn’t feel the same way.
I could see that he was still confused, still unsure about everything.
I ignored thestupidthing twisting inside my ribcage, wanting to murder it. Attempting to separate my thoughts, the feeling-obscured ones from the logical ones, I settled on, “But you don’t want me either, right?” I said, lacking the actual anger I’d intended behind the words, because I just felt… defeated.
He took a step closer. “I shouldn’t—”