“Oh… I’m sorry, are we dating?” I scoff. “Because it sure doesn’t look like it.
He’s taken aback by my tone.
Then he understands.
I have my reasons.
“Kass…” He drags out a sigh. “Don’t be like this.”
“Then how should I be? Tell me, Will. How should I react to my boyfriend constantly breaking his promises?”
He purses his lips.
I have a point, and he knows it.
“How should I react to my boyfriend treating me like a dirty little secret?”
“Baby, you have to believe me, the last thing I want is to hide you, but…” He grows irritated. “Fuck, I don’t know what to do, okay? He’ll never forgive me, Kass. Never.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do,” he snaps. “He found out about you and Blake today.”
“He what?” I blurt, quickly berating myself for being this loud with Winter right down the hall.
“Alex couldn’t keep his fucking trap shut. He told your brother… You should’ve heard the things he said. He straight up told me he’d rather die than let a guy like me date you. I can’t tell him. Not now. Not when he’s already pissed about you and Blake.”
I get where he’s coming from. It’s not like he’s ashamed of people seeing us together. His I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude when Alex walked in on us in bed made that clear. He’s just terrified of losing his closest friend. There’s a cruel, twisted irony in the fact that if he doesn’t tell him, he’ll end up losing us both.
“Then when? Tell me a date.”
He chews on his lip.
It hits me.
He can’t.
He can’t give me a date because he’s not planning on doing it anytime soon. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not ever. In a moment of irrational anger, the words slip out of my mouth.
“Luke asked me to prom.”
That’s all it takes for the jealousy to kick in. I see it in his eyes.
“What?” He seethes.
“He stopped by the shop today, apologized for what he did, and asked me to prom. No secrets, no lies, just a boy asking a girl out. The way it should be.” I twist the knife into his flesh, and I hate myself. Because I can’t stop. I want him to know how it feels. I want him to hurt like I do.
He doesn’t say a word, eyes darkening by the second. Then I finish him.
“I think I’m going to say yes.”
My attempts at hurting him backfire, evidently having the opposite effect. His fists wind into white-knuckled balls, his jaw flexing in frustration. The darkness in his eyes isn’t pain.
It’s anger.
“Fine,” he spits.
Then he’s out the door.