That’s a good point, but I don’t know how to explain that I’m hesitant to trust myself alone with him. What if he kisses me and it sends lightning bolts through my brain again? What if we’re alone in his car and I don’t want him to stop? What if he doesn’t?
“I don’t understand what happened back there,” I say, as honestly as I can. “And I don’t know if we should do it again. Ever.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“Because… we’re not even dating,” I state, since I guess it’s the simplest explanation. I don’t want to bring up the fact that he sort of murdered my neighbors, and definitely broke into my house to scare the shit out of me, and absolutely followed me home from school yesterday, if not to intimidate me and find out which schools my siblings were at, still for some reason.
I don’t want to point out that I know he’s dangerous, and maybe nurturing a relationship with him doesn’t seem like the smartest move. Can’t admit that when he kissed me, my brain completely crashed and I turned into a lust-monster despite all that.
I don’t know what I’m most afraid of, but the fact that there are a host of options to choose from? Probably a good indication I should take a big step back. Especially since immediately on the heels of asking me out, he whips out “let’s not label it.”
It would be my luck we’d go out, he’d kiss me, I’d lose my mind and let him take my virginity, and then come Monday at school I’d see him in passing, flirting with someone else.
He’s not inside my head though, so he’s searching for some acceptable placation to offer me. “I just… I don’t really date.”
“Exactly.”
He frowns, uncomprehending.
“Look, I’m not going to pretend I’m not drawn to this whole ’bad boy’ thing you’ve got going on. I am. I have a type, and you’re sort of like… the bad boy on steroids, because it’s not just an air of danger, you’re actually dangerous. You’re the real deal. And I’m attracted to you anyway, obviously. Even though you’ve scared the shit out of me and made me lose… just, countless hours of sleep, and that probably means there’s something wrong with me. But I’ve seen my mom turn herself inside out over guys like that, guys who come at you with all they’ve got, but can’t be held. And I know it’s stupid, no matter how exciting it feels in the moment, and I know it’s asking for trouble, and that’s with guys who… don’t have your last name. With you, it’s not just unhealthy, it’s also legitimately dangerous.”
I force myself to look at him after spilling all that, expecting him to be insulted, annoyed, maybe defensive. Instead, he’s pensive, frowning off at a spot beyond me. “I can’t argue with that.”
If I feel disappointed, it’s because I descend from a long line of stupid fucking women.
“But it’s not dangerous if we don’t label it.”
Shaking my head, I say, “How do you figure?”
“Look, I’m not saying we could last forever. I’m not even saying it’s a good idea. But I like you, and it seems like you’re drawn to me—”
“And a moth is drawn to a flame,” I interject.
“But, why couldn’t we just… try it out for a little bit? Doesn’t have to be anything serious. You’re not stuck with me. I won’t dump you in a ditch if it doesn’t work out.”
Shaking my head at the sheer lunacy of such a proposition, I say, “Why?”
Vince stares at me, that vulnerability from earlier dancing in his eyes again. I can tell he wants to say something, but he’s struggling to get it out, and damn me to hell, it gets me. I wait, skittish, but convincible.
He swallows, looking away from me, then meets my eyes again. “You know awful things about me that no one knows. That no one may ever know… and you still care if you hurt my feelings.”
I can almost hear my brain emit a cry of defeat as my heart swells, seeing something in him that needs me.
Stay strong.
Poor brain tries one last time, but it’s no use—not with those big, brown pools imploring me to give in.
Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it!
When my mouth opens, dumbassery spills out. “What time?”
But then his handsome face lights up, and my heart fills with anticipation. I really like seeing that look on his face, knowing I put it there.
“I’ll pick you up at six.”
Despite the certainty that this is a very bad idea, I can’t help smiling as he winks at me and heads off for his car.
—
Scowling at my reflection, I rip the shirt over my head, tossing it in the floor with the others, and race to my closet. I settled on a pair of snug jeans and tall brown boots, but I can’t seem to find the right shirt. It doesn’t help that I really don’t know what we’re doing.