Page 49 of The Publicity Stunt

I take a single step toward him and push the helmet onto his lap. “AM? Why do you have my initials on your helmet?”

“Chere.” He looks up at me, lifting his head first, then his eyes. I know exactly why he has them on the helmet. I just want him to say it. Confirm it. My fingers scratch the helmet’s surface and everything around us goes quiet at that moment—the background chatter, the beeping of the other cars in the parking lot. Everything.

Parker lifts his hand and points to the front of his own helmet and the HP etched onto it. “You wanted matching helmets,” he says.

“What?”

“In college, you said you wanted matching helmets.”

My mouth opens. No sound comes out. Tears sting the back of my eyes.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he starts and looks up. It takes all but half a second for him to extend his good arm and pull me into a hug. “No, no, no, no … please don’t cry.”

“You got us matching helmets.” My voice shakes. “Of course, I’m going to cry, you ass.”

“I never meant for you to find out. And, in hindsight, I should’ve done a much better job at hiding it.”

“You didn’t?”

He starts to pull back, but I tighten my arms around him. This hug ends when I say so. “I got this done for myself,” he says. “To have a little piece of us everywhere I go. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was a stupid thing to do.”

“It’s not stupid.” I can’t believe he did this. And I can’t believe I’m actually crying over it. He got them made solely because I said so? Who does that? He didn’t even expect to run into me. All he knew was that I’d wanted matching helmets.

He digs the tip of his chin into my head. “Does this mean I’ve made it weird?”

With my arms still wrapped around his waist, I tilt my head back to look up. “You are weird.” I nuzzle back into him and he laughs into my hair.

Slowly pulling away, his lingering fingers the last to leave my back, he takes the helmet from me and puts it on my head.

“Well, this belongs to me now. Just so you know,” I say.

He clasps the buckle below my chin, bending down to nudge the top of my helmet with his. “It always did, Chere.”

ChapterTwelve

Thirteen Years Ago

HAYDEN

Some friendships are special enough to withstand anything. The majority only pretend to be that strong.

April and I belong to the minority.

The lecture hall door opens and she slips in like a ninja, dropping noiselessly into the seat next to me, our elbows knocking together. Professor Wells stands at the podium, barely noticing her, and continues droning about game theory for the millionth time.

“That’ll be thirty bucks.” Logan leans in close, sticking out his palm.

I give my sleeve a shake to check my watch and April kicks her feet up on an empty seat in front of her. “What’d I miss?”

I turn a disapproving gaze on her and, without breaking eye contact, pull out three ten-dollar bills from my back pocket and hand my roommate his prize money.

April gapes. “You guys bet on me? Again?”

Logan stuffs the cash in the pocket of his black leather jacket. “A dollar for every minute.”

Wells’s laser pointer draws attention to specifics of the best response graph and April takes out her laptop. It has at least twenty Marvel stickers on it. The one on the far right is wearing off. Cyclops and Emma Frost.

I gnaw at the end of my pen and try not to focus on the awkward silence that ensues between us. It’s been three months since we kissed. Between classes, assignments, and college in general, I’ve been fortunate enough to keep myself distracted. April’s been pretty busy too. She took up a part-time job at the campus diner, joined the college newspaper, and, well, we hardly see each other more than once or twice a day. I’m not used to not having her around me at all times. I’m not used to missing her. Our situation isn’t ideal, but moving on never is, is it? But how the hell do you move on from someone who was never yours?