Color floods her cheeks. Have I ever seen Sydney blush?
I don’t think so. It’s kind of adorable.
“I’d be more than happy to provide a refresher. All you have to do is say the word.”
She shakes her head. “No, thanks. We’ll just save it for when we need to put on a show.”
“Your loss,” I say with a shrug, leaning back against the booth.
After last night, I’m itching to get my hands on her again. I’ve had a hard-on for that girl for years. If I can sweet talk her into bed, it just might do the trick in purging her from my system. Although, for obvious reasons, that will be a challenge.
All this conversation has done is confirmed my earlier suspicions that she can’t stand the sight of me. Under normal circumstances, it would be water off a duck’s back, and I wouldn’t give a shit, but for some reason, with Sydney, it bothers me.
I’ve never been able to figure it out. Now that we’re going to be stuck together for a couple of weeks, it seems as good a time as any to get to the bottom of her disdain.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” There’s a pause. “Why is that?”
As much as I hate to admit it, air gets wedged in my throat as I wait for a response.
Chapter Thirteen
Sydney
My gaze jerks to Brayden in surprise.
What exactly am I supposed to say?
The truth? That I don’t like him. Or do I brush off the question and keep everything surface level like I’ve done for the past couple of years?
It’s not like Brayden and I are friends. We’re barely acquaintances. Even though I’ve tried to avoid him, it hasn’t done much good, or I wouldn’t be stuck in this predicament. Spending the next couple of weeks together won’t make us besties. Much like the accounting project, we’re stuck together and have to make the best of the situation.
There’s only one thing we have in common. And that’s our friends dating.
Other than that?
Absolutely nothing.
Brayden isn’t anything more than an attention-seeking whore. And I don’t have time for that.
When I fail to respond, he presses even closer to the table. “Are you going to give me an answer?”
The question spurs me into tossing one back at him. “Does it really matter how I feel about you?”
Hurt flares in his eyes before being quickly snuffed out. It’s enough to prick at my conscience.
His shadowed jaw hardens. “I suppose not, but it would at least be nice to know the reason.”
This isn’t the conversation I expected to have over breakfast. If I could bolt from the booth, I would. My gaze meanders to the large picture window we’re parked in front of and the deserted streets beyond.
Is there really any point in dredging up the past?
Will it solve anything?
Nope. I should change the subject and move on to the only reason I’m sitting here with him.
“Sydney?” he says, interrupting the whirl of my thoughts.
My gaze skitters to his. The words escape from my mouth before I can stop them. “You really don’t remember, do you?”
He blinks, looking as thrown off by my shift in conversation as I was by his. “Remember what?”
Seriously?
Was I that forgettable?
Somehow, that only makes matters worse. Heat floods my cheeks and I wish it were possible to snatch the question from the air. But it’s much too late for that.
There’s a headache brewing at the back of my skull. It feels like tiny men with hammers are persistently chipping away at a block of stone. Tylenol and Pedialyte haven’t done a damn bit of good. And this mortifying conversation is only making matters worse. My first mistake was getting out of bed this morning. The second was agreeing to meet Brayden. And it was all downhill from there.
Actually, if we want to trip back further in time, the mistake that started all of this was showing up to that damn party last night. That’s where everything went wrong.
After Brayden announced that we were Western’s newest item, I tossed back a few drinks. There was a chorus of aren’t you lucky and I wish I were you from the females present. Since I was irritated about being forced into the situation in the first place, it was more than I could withstand. So, I made a game out of it. Every time some stupid girl sighed and said you’re so lucky, I downed a drink. Needless to say, I lost track after an hour. I vaguely recall Brayden taking me home at the end of the night. If memory serves, he might have carried me in his arms.
That part is fortunately murky.
Brayden’s dark stare burns into mine. He’s showing no signs of relenting. I hold it for a few heartbeats before shifting uneasily on my seat and glancing out the window for a second time. What happened between us freshman year isn’t worth dredging up. It’s obvious from the confusion on his face that he has no idea what I’m talking about, which only makes matters worse.