He waited for me to answer, unfazed by my death glare.

Sighing, I finally answered. "Look, Jockstrap, I don't talk about this shit," I said, placing him back in his category so he'd know his place.

"You're not going to get me to shut up by labeling me," he said dryly. "Friends talk to each other, so spill it.

"Gah, you're a pain in the ass. I don't talk about this shit, even with friends," I said, emphasizing the word like it had a bitter taste.

"Well, there you go. Maybe that's your problem. Maybe it's time you start trusting someone," he answered flatly.

"Trust gets you nowhere," I said stubbornly.

"When was the last time you trusted someone? Or have you ever trusted anyone?" he fired back, seeing through me so acutely that panic clawed its way up my throat. How was he able to see through my shield?

"You've got to stop trying to save me Sport-o. Just because you couldn't save Mitch doesn't mean you can save every person you meet," I said meanly.

He flinched at my words. I looked down, trying to convince myself that I was glad. Maybe now he'd back off. I didn't care that he looked hurt. Well, maybe I did. I knew my words were cruel. Surely he wouldn't stick around for my verbal barbs. I didn't apologize though. Instead, I kept my head down, waiting for the inevitable. Several minutes passed and he didn't move. Finally, no longer able to resist, I looked up through my curtain of hair that obscured my face from view.

"You might as well know, Mads, you're not going to scare me away. So stop trying."

"Why? What is about me that you find so goddamn appealing: my lack of fashion sense, my monk-like behavior or the fact that I'm a social leper? I mean, seriously. I'm a void. When are you going to realize that?" I asked in a raised voice.

"I don't think you're a void," he said quietly.

"Well, then you're in the minority because everyone else does. They always have and always will."

"They're wrong. You're anything but a void."

"You don't know me. Being a void is a small price to pay for all the bad things I've done."

"What bad things?" he asked, leaning forward on the couch with his hands clasped together in his lap. His whole demeanor suggested interest in every word I uttered. The attention was unlike any I'd ever received and prickles of unease ran up my arms. He was slowly chipping away at the wall that surrounded me. A wall no one had ever bothered to scale before.

"I'm sure you've heard them all," I finally answered, meeting his eyes.

"Why don't you tell me your version."

"I can't," I whispered.

"Why not?"

"Because, I don't talk about my past. Ever."

He sat back slowly on Donna's awful couch and stared at me intently for a moment. "Okay, fair enough. Let's study instead," he said, patting the spot next to him.

"Gah, studying sucks ass," I griped as a ploy while I worked to control the emotions raging a silent battle inside me.

"Nice try. I could tell last week during tutoring that you're a lot smarter than you let on, so no excuses. I need to study anyway."

"So, study at home then," I said.

"I want to study with you, although the quietness of your house is a little unnerving. I'm used to chaos, courtesy of the Terrible Two."

"Terrible Two?" I asked.

"My twin sisters. They're three and holy terrors," he said with obvious affection.

"Twins?" I asked enviously. I would have loved one sibling, but two would have been amazing.

"Yeah, the beauty of fertility drugs, which my parents thought I needed to know at the tender age of thirteen. Believe me, no thirteen-year-old boy wants to hear about fertility drugs, let alone his parents' sex life. They're lucky I didn't need counseling."

Tags: Tiffany King Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net