“Well, apparently, Gonzo wants to talk to you like I’d talk to my girlfriends.”
“And he can, when we’re alone. Just like I told him.” He isn’t smiling anymore. He turns to face me. “I’m not going to hurt the kid. I won’t even hurt his feelings. But I’m also not going to treat him like he’s made of glass. He’s had enough of that.”
“Okay,” I say quietly. I’ll drop it. For now at least.
Pete smiles. He nods his head toward where my dad’s taking up the last piece of bacon. “Breakfast?” he asks.
“Have you eaten yet?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “Too busy so far.” He looks at me. “Join me?” He leans close and whispers, “This would be our second date.”
I roll my eyes and walk toward my dad, who hands me a plate heaping with food. “I can’t eat all that, Dad,” I complain.
Pete eyes the plate, licking his lips, and my dad shoves it toward him instead. I go to get a bagel, some cream cheese, and a chocolate milk. Pete sits across from me and starts to unroll his plasticware. He eyes my chocolate milk. “Do you want one?” I ask, and then I take a sip of my milk, looking at him over the top of the carton.
He waits until I set it down and reaches for my milk. He says, “Thanks,” and then tips it up to drink from it. His lips press where mine just were, and my belly flips. I look away because I am afraid of what I’ll see if I look into his blue eyes right now.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says. He gets up and gets another milk, opens it, and hands it to me. I look directly into his eyes and reach past his outstretched arm to take back my original milk, lifting it to my lips. “Jesus Christ,” he breaths quietly. He looks over his shoulder to where my dad’s standing, talking with some of the men from the prison program. “If your father has any clue what’s going on in my head, he’ll chop my nuts off for sure.”
I clear my throat because I can’t talk past the lump in it. “What’s going on in your head?” I ask quietly.
He stares at me and shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He looks down at his plate and takes a deep breath, and then starts to eat. He chews for a minute and then leans forward like he wants to tell me a secret. He pulls back and shakes his head.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He keeps eating.
“I hate it when people do that,” I say, more to myself than to him.
He heaves a sigh. “What’s going on in my head is even more f**ked up than what’s going on my pants, if you must know my innermost thoughts, princess.” He taps his forehead with the tines of his plastic fork. “Fucked up.”
I swallow so hard I can hear it. “Fucked up how?”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
I repeat myself, in case he didn’t hear me. “Fucked up how?” I set my bagel to the side.
He leans close to me and crooks a finger, beckoning me to do the same. I lean toward him.
“You got me so f**king turned on I couldn’t stand up if the place were on f**king fire, princess.” He points toward my chocolate-milk container. “And all you did was touch your pretty little lips to a f**king milk carton.” He rubs his forehead as if he wants to rub the thoughts away. He looks into my eyes. “All I know is if you ever touched me with that mouth of yours, I would go off like a cannon, princess. I’d be the happiest man in the world, but ashamed of myself, because I have no control when it comes to you, apparently.” He grimaces and looks down toward his lap, adjusting his pants as he wiggles his hips. “Our situation is messed up for so many reason that I can’t even think about going there with you. But all I can think about is going there with you.” He groans and shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth. His eyes don’t leave mine, though. “I got up this morning thoroughly prepared to ignore you today. But then there you were, and you were smiling at me.” He looks down at my mouth. “I couldn’t ignore you if I tried.”
I take a deep breath, trying to rationalize my thoughts. But I can’t. I have never, ever felt like this before. My girlfriends have talked about it, but I have never felt it. Even when I go on dates, it’s like some part of me shuts down. But with Pete, nothing shuts down. Everything wakes up.
He goes on to say, “I don’t want to want you.”
My heart stutters. I get it. I don’t like it. But I get it. I nod. Nobody likes damaged goods.
I get up from the table and pick up my plate.
“Wait,” he calls.
I can’t wait. If I wait, he might see the tears that are brimming in my eyes.
“Princess,” he calls again. Suddenly, my shirt jerks and I can’t walk any farther. I look back and see his hand twisted in the tail end of my shirt. He leans over the table and presses his lips together. “Don’t walk away,” he says.
But all I see is the hand fisted in my shirt. My heart stutters, and my breaths freeze in my chest. I can’t get away. I turn back and punch him directly in the face with the heel of my hand. He jerks, his eyes closing as he winces and snaps his head back. I chop his wrist with my fist. One, two… Next, I’ll go for his eyes.
“Reagan!” Dad yells as he drops what he’s holding and rushes in my direction. He tackles Pete, who is still stunned from my punch to the face. They drop to the ground, with Pete rolling to the bottom. Dad flips him over and pulls his hands behind his back. “Reagan,” Dad grunts. “What happened?”