“No, you don’t. You barely know me,” he whispered.
I guessed it was his turn to lie, because I knew enough about Flint to have fallen in love with him within twenty-four hours of meeting him.
I continued talking but never opened my eyes. “I do. I love you a lot.”
“Ash—”
“No. Don’t. I know what you’re thinking. Max told me it’s too soon and I’m way too young. But it may have only been a month and I might only be sixteen, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that I love you. And it hurts so much to know that you love her.”
The proverbial record stopped.
“Wait. What?” He suddenly dropped my hand.
I pried an eye open to gauge how hard I needed to keep trying to disappear, but when I saw his ghostly white face, they both popped open.
I had known he couldn’t return my feelings, but I hadn’t expected them to horrify him.
“YOU’RE HOW OLD?” HE GASPED.
“Sixteen.” I twisted my mouth in confusion. What the hell is his problem?
His eyes raked over my body in a way that usually sent tingles down my spine, only this time, his eyes never heated. Instead, they became cold and distant.
“How?” he asked incredulously, only confusing me more.
“Ummm . . . how old did you think I was?”
“Not sixteen!” he roared, shoving a rough hand into the back of his hair. “This is not happening.” He began to glide his chair around the room in a nervous pattern.
“What’s the big deal?”
“You’re sixteen!” he repeated as if they had become the sole words in his vocabulary.
“So what?” I crossed my arms over my chest.
His eyes automatically dropped. I would have smiled at the small victory, but we had far bigger issues to deal with. Like him being in love with another woman.
It was clear that Flint was still obsessing about my age though.
“You have a tattoo,” he stated as if that would magically alter the year of my birth.
“So does Q.”
“You take college classes online,” he continued to argue.
“Uhhh . . . no. I take high school classes online.”
“Oh my God.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“What the hell are you freaking out about?”
“Everything!” he yelled so loudly that it forced me back a step.
“Okay, you need to calm down.”
“I need to calm down? Are you fucking kidding me?”
I wasn’t kidding. I wasn’t even smiling.
I actually had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, and judging by his murderous glare, I had every reason to feel that way.
“Get out,” he bit out, and while it hurt, I could gladly give him some time alone to get his attitude in check.
“Fine. Let me know when you’re ready to talk about the real issue instead of this bullshit.” I turned to stalk away, mentally high-fiving myself for not taking the brunt of his hissy fit.
“The real issue, Ash?” he said behind me. “Exactly how is you lying to me for the last month not the real issue?”
“Lying to you?” I spun back around to face him. “How the hell was I lying?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? You didn’t think the fact that I could go to jail for being with you was need-to-know information?”
“I’m not jailbait. Sixteen is the age of consent. Besides, it’s not like we were having sex anyway.”
“Thank fucking God for that.”
I flinched at his words. That hurt.
But Flint was just getting started. “You’re a goddamn child. This explains so much about you.”
“You’re three years older than I am. It’s not exactly robbing the cradle or anything.” I laughed to cover my fear, which was multiplying with his every word spoken. Or, in the seconds that followed, his every word not spoken. “Flint, let’s just calm down here. It’s still me. So I’m a little younger. Age doesn’t matter. I love you,” I reminded him. I didn’t give a damn if he felt the same way or not. I just needed him to know that I loved him. That was enough.
No one had ever loved me. I didn’t need it. I just needed him.
He stared blankly across the room; his eyes never even bounced to mine.
Suddenly, he blurted, “I want you to get the fuck out of my life and never come back.”
“You’re breaking up with me because of my age?” My voice quivered.
“No, I’m breaking up with you because I can’t have you.”
“What are you talking about? I’m right here. I’m yours. I belong to you.”
“Bullshit! Sixteen-year-old girls belong with their parents. They giggle in homeroom with their friends and talk about hairstyles and trying to score the high school quarterback. They don’t tie themselves down to a guy in a wheelchair.”
“Well, maybe you don’t know the right girls, then. Because I’d give anything to be tied down to you. Wheelchair or not. Walking or not. Just you.”