Chemical Romance (Heartstone)

“I’m okay. You guys can take your time and talk,” the girl says, grabbing the textbook and sliding it over to herself.

Again, I throw her a genuine smile before raising my eyebrows at him. “Well?”

At this, his chest moves on a sharp breath, and he stands up. “Come with me.”

With that, he turns around and leaves the common area, heading toward the back, probably to one of the private rooms where people go if they want more quiet or to hold study groups.

Good.

What I need to talk to him about needs privacy, and I’m not leaving until we’ve talked this through.

He picks an empty room at random, holds the door open for me and motions me to go in before stepping inside himself. As soon as he closes the door, I whirl around and blurt out, “Was it a date?”

“What?” he asks, standing by the door, his hands fisted.

“Last night,” I say, my heart pounding in my chest. “Was it a date?”

His eyes flick back and forth between mine as he takes his time. “No.”

“What?” I draw back, confused. “I don’t —”

“Are we done? I need to get back.”

I take a step toward him. “Absolutely not. We’re not done.”

His jaw clenches. Then, sighing sharply, he folds his arms across his chest and asks, “What else would you like to discuss?”

I stare at him in disbelief. “Uh, the fact that you’re lying.”

His eyes narrow. “Lying.”

I raise my chin. “Yes.”

“How do you figure?”

Yes, Penny, how do you figure?

That’s a valid question.

I’m not known for my interpersonal skills or the ability to solve the mysteries of human emotions or etiquette. But enough is enough.

I need to know.

What last night was.

The dinner. The kiss.

His ‘it wasn’t a kindness.’

I need him to tell me all that. Because I’ve gone over it a thousand times since last night. I even roped in Renn at the risk of her going completely crazy over these tidbits. We FaceTimed with Willow and Vi, and they — we, actually — have a theory.

And I need him to confirm it.

For the first time in my life, I’m trying something different. I’m trying something new and scary and that is to put myself out there. Which makes me realize that studying and focusing on grades, even being super hard on myself, is so much easier.

So. Much. Easier.

But then, Ruth always says that change is hard. That the things worth doing are always difficult.

“Because I’m not an idiot,” I say to him in response to his question, my palms sweating. “Because you took me out to dinner. You paid for it. You walked me back home. And then you kissed me. That’s a textbook date.”

His green eyes finally flash with something at the mention of our kiss, and he clips, “Well, if you’re not an idiot and you already know the answer, then why are you asking me?”

“Because I want you to admit it. Admit that it was a date.”

I know I’m pissing him off. It’s right there on his face. In his flashing eyes, but tough luck. He can’t take me out to dinner, kiss me and not tell me the truth.

“It wasn’t a date,” he says finally, his voice tight.

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” he says with gritted teeth. “Or did you forget what happened before the so-called date?”

He emphasizes date as if it’s a bad word, a repulsive word and I’m even more confused right now. “What?”

His chest moves sharply again and his voice gets even tighter. “It was a deal. You go to dinner with me, and I agree to tutor you. Granted, not my best moment. Not professional at all but the fact remains: I extorted dinner out of you. It was extortion. Not a date. Learn to know the difference.” He unfolds his arms then. “Now, are we done or not?”

“Why?” I ask when it looks like he’s ready to leave.

“Why what?”

“Why did you extort a date out of me?” I ask, almost losing all my courage but holding on nonetheless; I’ll do this even if it kills me. Which it very well may do.

Another sharp, impatient sigh. “Because I’m an asshole and I like to make people uncomfortable.”

“Okay, I agree with that. You are an asshole,” I say and his eyes narrow again. “But you’re also a liar. As I already told you.”

“I’m —”

“Why did you kiss me then?”

His jaw ticks. Then, “Refer to my earlier answer.”

This time I narrow my eyes. “You kissed me to be an asshole.”

“Yes,” he says. “Besides, it wasn’t a kiss.”

I look at him in disbelief. “I’m sorry?”

“It wasn’t.”

I shake my head. “What do you think I am, stupid? You think I don’t know things? You think I don’t know what a date is or what a kiss is?”

His jaw ticks some more. In fact, a vein shows up on his temple, beating and pulsing as he says, “You don’t. If you think what I did to you was a kiss.”