Page 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Maggie

" Y ou're texting about me to your friends?" Xavier sounds both shocked and offended at the same time.

My face burns. "No! I mean—Laney's the one texting about you. She's had this weird crush on you since the summer."

I don't mention that Laney’s crush on Xavier is less of a spark and more of a fireworks show gone rogue. Although, maybe the words on the screen spell it out just fine, because Xavier's eyebrows shoot up, the bruising around his eye less dramatic in the dim hallway light. "She doesn't even know me." He pauses, then adds, "I've never even talked to her."

"I know. Laney's just—"

"What the fuck… " He's glancing down at the incriminating texts again. "She's talking about seeing me naked? "

Go figure: the poster boy for bad decisions, somehow still most girls' daydream.

"Yeah. Laney's kind of… all in. Over the top with everything. But like I said, it's just a crush. She thinks you're hot and asks about you sometimes." I reach for my phone, trying to sound casual. "It's kind of become this running joke between us."

"A joke?" His voice carries an edge, and he won't relinquish my phone.

"Not like that. Just…" I wave my hand, struggling to explain. "She gets all flustered whenever you're around, so I tease her about it. It's just silly… it's hard to explain. I guess you have to know Laney."

Xavier runs a hand through his messy hair. "Think I'm good, thanks. "

"Look, Laney's just…" I sigh, trying to find the right words. "She gets caught up in the whole rich-guy fantasy thing. You know—mansions, fancy cars, living the dream. A lot of girls are into that whole idea."

"But not you." Xavier's eyes lock onto mine, intense and searching.

Heat creeps up my neck, because it feels like a fine line between what he just asked and asking about one rich guy in particular.

"No," I tell him. "Not me."

He studies me for a second, like maybe he's aware of that fine line, too. "Because you can't stand rich guys." He pushes, still holding my phone hostage.

"I never said— That’s not…" I start to protest, then catch myself. I've asked so much of him these past few weeks. These past couple of days, even. Pressed him about his preconceptions about me. The least I owe him is a shred of honesty about my preconceptions about him. "Okay, fine. You're right. I used to be like that. I had this whole preconceived idea about anyone with money."

I search his eyes for a flash of victory. Any smugness at calling me out on the hypocrisy my admission just revealed. But there's only curiosity. And a connection that slides into place almost as if my words were the key that unlocked it.

There's an intensity in his look too. It causes my throat to go dry and makes it hard to swallow. My fingers fumble behind me until they find purchase with the edge of the table. Something to grip onto.

“I mean, your world has private jets,” I tell him, my voice still softer than usual. “Mine has gas stations with questionable hot dogs—yet here I am, telling you things I’ve never told anyone.”

Xavier lets out a quiet huff of laughter, dropping his head for a second before looking back up at me.

"So, yeah, I get it now," I admit. "That being rich isn't a character flaw, just like being poor isn't." Our eyes meet, then mine duck to the floor. "I had a couple of… experiences—with entitled, rich assholes. And I guess I just went ahead and extended the backlash of that to all rich guys." I roll my eyes, shifting. "Which, now that I say it out loud, is really embarrassing."

When I look back at him, Xavier blinks. Almost lazily. Only his expression is still alive and intense. More intense than before, even .

"These rich assholes… did they hurt you?"

"Just my pride." I duck my gaze again. "And my feelings." I slide my fingers along the edge of the table and when they bump against the glue bottle, I fiddle with the cap, twisting it one way then the other—because I need to focus on something other than my words. Or him.

Admitting stuff like this to people is hard for me. Really hard. For most people, I guess. Maybe it's just human instinct—that we all want to come across as infallible and problem-free. Like we've navigated every road bump in our path so far and come out un-rattled. Which is weird, since any person unscathed by the jagged edges of their past would probably be freakishly un-relatable. Still, it sucks admitting those weaknesses out loud. To the person we want to appear most un-rattled by.

I feel the weight of Xavier's gaze on me.

"Shit, I'm sorry." He clears his throat. "I mean, I'm sorry you had to go through something that messed with your feelings like that."

"Yeah. It sucks." I shrug but still don't look at him. "It was a couple years ago… Life goes on, right?"

When I do finally look up, his eyes are still on me. His expression serious.

Time seems to slow to a steady, pulsing silence.

"Yeah." He clears his throat again, then glances back down at my phone as he extends it to me. Time resumes its regular, familiar pace. "So…" His brow arches. "Arrogant and moody, huh?"

Just when I thought I could look at him without being embarrassed, my face heats, no doubt to a pink that falls somewhere in the same color family as my hair. I attempt a dismissive shrug as my fingers curl around my phone. "Among other things."

"Such as?"

"Such as…" I decide to go with honesty. We're on that road anyway, no point veering off now. "Loyal, talented, observant…" I meet his eyes. "An amazing big brother."

He sniffs, his gaze dipping to the side and then back. "Total player," he adds pointedly .

Shit. Guess he saw that one, too. "I'm sorry," I say. "About that text."

He shrugs. Then sighs. "It's fine." Then he adds, "Not a lie. Also, not like any of my friends haven't asked about you."

"Your friends have asked about me? " It's something that never even occurred to me.

"Yeah, why are you so surprised?"

Heat creeps up my neck again and spreads across my cheeks this time, because apparently, I'm fully settling into all over pink tones for the night. "I don't know… I just…" My hands fidget with my phone. "I wouldn't have thought the people you hang out with would… notice me, I guess."

Xavier lets out a laugh that echoes through the room. "You have pink hair and dress like an episode of Powerpuff Girls. You're surprised people notice you?"

My face burns even hotter. I open my mouth, but the words tangle on my tongue. "Well, I meant, in that kind of way…you know."

"No, I don't know." He crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his head slightly, an unmistakable flicker of amusement in his eyes that makes my stomach do a weird flip.

"Like, notice me enough to ask about me." The words tumble out in a rush, and I wish I could grab them back. But they're already out there, hanging awkwardly between us like a string of Christmas lights in July.

"Plenty of guys have asked about you… You're hot. Guys notice hot girls."

"You think I'm hot? " This conversation is officially happening in another dimension. My mind is blown and scattered into confused particles.

Xave's eyebrows lift, a hint of that smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth. "What? This is like, some big revelation to you?"

Mortification sweeps through me. God, does he think I'm fishing for compliments? "Yes! Yes, it is. You just said it yourself—I have pink hair and dress in eclectic outfits… I thought that made me cool. Not hot. "

"Girls can be cool and hot at the same time." He presses his tongue against his cheek, his smirk pure trouble as he watches me. "I mean, it's rare; but it happens." He motions toward me with one hand. "I mean, obviously. "

My mouth opens but nothing comes out. I'm literally speechless. Which might be a first for me.

Xavier seems unfazed. "Also," he adds, "I said you dress like a Powerpuff Girls episode, not eclectic. Which sounds more like… hip and unexpected."

An offended noise escapes my throat. "I'm hip and unexpected."

He tilts his head slightly, watching me with a slow, knowing grin, sliding his hands casually into his pockets like he has all the time in the world. "Okay. You're that too."

And I think… maybe—he's flirting?

Holy crap… I think he's flirting with me. Which is something I'm entirely unprepared for. Seriously—a gal needs advance notice if Xavier Rockwell is going to flirt with her. It's like a law or something. If it's not, then it should be.

My eyes dart around the room, searching for anything to break the charged moment. They land on Xavier's guitar case propped against the couch. And I remember the more important topic we should be discussing right now.

"So? Did you end up going?" I ask, my heart rate skipping ahead a beat. "To Cam's place?"

I hadn’t realized how much I cared about his answer, until I'm waiting for it. Because I'm way more than just curious. I'm nervous. Anxious about what he'll say.

I care. A lot.

Xavier follows my gaze to his guitar. Now that the swelling has gone down, the shadows highlight his sharp cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw beneath the bruises.

His shoulders roll back slightly, and I catch the subtle wince as the motion pulls at his bruised ribs. When he shifts, the light by my crafting table catches on his messy brown waves, and my fingers itch to reach out and brush back that one stubborn strand falling across his forehead.

I inhale a breath as I wait for his answer.