Dear Love, I Hate You (Easton High)

“So…” I dry my tear-slicked cheeks with the heel of my hand. “You bringing me my homework, huh?”

He smirks. “Only excuse I could think of.”

“We don’t even have a class together.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, but she doesn’t know that.”

He draws a small laugh out of me.

A thick silence descends over us, and if this were any other conversation, any other guy, I’d hate this silence. Call it awkward. Uncomfortable. But with Xavier, it’s…

Actually kind of hot?

For the first time since he burst into my room, Xav gives me a full body scan, drinking in my bloodshot eyes, wet pink hair, my pajamas shorts and the thin tank top putting my pierced nipples on display. Desire smolders in his eyes, and I’m positive our minds just traveled back to the hood of Mr. Richards’s car.

The tension is so thick even the sharpest blade couldn’t cut through it, and I feel the need to speak before one of us does something stupid like pick up where we left off.

Because we wouldn’t want that, right?

Fine. Maybe I want to kiss him again—okay, maybe I want to do a lot more than kiss him, but I can’t stop wondering where the confession debacle leaves us. Does he still see me the same way? Even with people saying all these things about me? With the world calling me a backstabbing slut?

If he were smart, he’d cut all ties with me. It’s only a matter of times before people find out I’m Love. He should run while nobody suspects him. He can still save his future, his mom’s reputation, and himself.

But he has to do it now.

“Is that why you came over?” I fail to clear the pit in my throat. “To apologize?”

Or to say goodbye?

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Xav shocks me by saying.

I can’t speak.

“Aveena, why would I be saying goodbye?” he insists.

Damn it, Vee.

Ever heard of using your inside voice?

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Xavier’s eyes light up in understanding.

“Did you… Did you think I was going to abandon you?” He sounds pained by the very little faith I have in him. “Right when shit is hitting the fan?”

“It’s just… You have an out,” I explain. “They already think it’s me, but you still have a chance to save yourse—”

Xavier lifts my chin up with his finger, letting our eyes meet. “Vee, do you remember the night we got pulled over?”

His question comes as surprise.

How could I forget?

Xav helped me navigate an anxiety attack, calmed me down in a way no one else could.

“Of course I do.”

“So, you remember what I said to you? During your anxiety attack?” he questions. Events unravel before my eyes like a movie I’ve memorized scene by scene. I was hyperventilating. Xav grabbed my hand and said, “I’m here, Vee. You’re not alone.”

I recall his reassuring words aloud.