“Is there something going on with you two? Are you dating?”
“Uh.” I drop my foot to the carpet and turn my head. Crap. Why does she have to ask me this? I can't say yes. My mom will totally mention it to Reed. She knows they know each other. “We're just friends, Mom,” I tell her, wincing. “I'm helping him get better. Remember, I told you about his leg?” Before my mother has a chance to answer, I gaze back at CJ.
He's hunched over still, but he isn't working at strapping on his boot anymore. His head is turned. He's looking directly at me.
No smile. Not even the hint of one. CJ looks . . . pissed. Disappointed or both.
Shit.
My stomach tightens. Mom says something in my ear but I don't pay attention.
I watch CJ subtly shake his head before looking away, like a person would do when they're almost in disbelief of something they’ve seen or heard. Then he fastens the last remaining strap on his boot, stands from the bed and stalks toward the door.
I lower my phone and cover the mouthpiece with my hand. “CJ.”
“This is why you’re not ready,” he says in a low, rough voice, turning back to look at me. His eyes are hard.
I blink and pull in a breath through my nose. My mouth opens, but he’s out the door and down the hallway before I can utter a reply.
“Shit,” I whisper, eyes pinching shut.
“Riley?” My mom’s voice is quiet, but I still hear her.
“Mom, I can’t talk right now,” I fume. I snatch my shorts off the bed and pinch the phone between my shoulder and ear. “I have class. I need to finish getting ready.”
And I need to go apologize for that.
“Okay, sweetheart. Give me a ring later.”
I say goodbye and disconnect the call. After pulling on my shorts and stepping into my Chucks, I head down the hallway, not even bothering to dry my hair or do anything with it. Finger combed waves soak the back of my shirt.
I stop just inside the living room. “Hey,” I murmur to the back of CJ’s head. He’s sitting on the couch, leaning forward. I see the flash of his cell. “Um, look, I just worried she would say something to Reed, that’s all. You know I don’t think of you as a friend.”
He has to know that.
CJ makes a noise deep in his throat, like a grunt, letting me know he hears me. He stands from the couch.
“I’m meeting up with Ben and Luke at McGill’s,” he shares, stuffing his phone into the pocket of his shorts and turning sideways to look over at me. “I’m heading over there now.”
“Oh.” I curl my fingers against my palms. My shoulders slouch. I suddenly feel smaller. Or maybe CJ just seems bigger to me. I swear he’s grown inches in his anger. “Okay, um, well, I just wanted to make sure you knew why I said that to my mom. Why I had to . . .”
“Yeah, I get it,” he bites out. He sounds impatient. “I get why you think you needed to do that, babe. It doesn’t change how I feel about it.”
“You’re mad,” I murmur.
“Getting there, yeah.”
I press my lips together. That sick feeling twists in my stomach again and knots itself deep. I don’t know what to do. I hate this. But CJ knows why I lied. What else can I say?
“You heading out now too?” he asks, tipping his chin in the direction of the door.
I want to stay here, convince CJ to skip McGill’s and talk this out, but if I don’t leave now, I’m going to be late to class. That shower sex took up all of the extra time I had.
Sighing, I nod and move to the stools pulled up to the counter, grabbing my book bag and slipping the strap over my arm. I fist my keys and turn toward the door, then shyly blink up at CJ when he takes my book bag from me.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
His smile is halfhearted. An ache burns inside my chest.
I follow behind him outside and wrap my hands around his shoulders when he stops at my car. Standing on my toes, we kiss. It’s brief and I’m more into it than he is. I tell him I’ll see him after class and CJ squeezes my waist. He presses his lips to my forehead and opens my door.
No okay, darlin’. No last minute ass grab.
I’m pouting the entire drive to school.
This fucking sucks.
When I pull into the parking lot surrounding the health building, I see Allison walking back to her car. Jaylen is behind her. They’re both classmates of mine.
“Hey. What’s up?” I ask, slowing to a stop and rolling down my window.
“Class is canceled,” Allison says. “There’s a power outage or something. Free day.” She flashes me a smile and continues walking.
Mm. Free day. We never have those.
And I know exactly what I want to do with it.
Spending time with CJ so we can talk this out is sure to stop him from becoming completely mad at me, since he’s getting there, as he put it. And spending time with CJ in front of Ben and Luke, two people I don’t necessarily need to pretend in front of, well shoot, that’s even better.
I can finally be CJ’s girlfriend in front of his friends. I feel like I’ve waited forever for that.
Foot on the gas, I pull a U-turn in the middle of the parking lot and head back in the direction I came.
When I step inside McGill’s, I spot the guys right away. They’re playing pool at one of the vacant tables near the back. Ben is lining up for a shot, while Luke stands at the opposite side to watch him. CJ is leaning his back against the wall, arms across his chest and cue in hand.
He grins and says something to Ben about his shot. I can’t hear him over the music playing overhead and the lunch crowd commotion. It’s one o’clock, so it’s fairly busy in here.
I step out of the entryway so I don’t block people coming and going and watch from the front of the room. I don’t move any closer.
CJ pushes off from the wall. It’s his turn. He bends over the table and lines up. I wish I had a different vantage point now. One from behind, preferably. When I shuffle a little to my right to improve my view, I notice CJ’s well-worn sneakers on his feet. They aren’t the ones he had at the house. I’ve seen this pair before. He keeps them in the back of his truck.
He took off his boot? Why? Why would he do that?
CJ takes his turn and pushes Luke sideways when he says something to him. The three of them share a laugh, then CJ leans his cue against the wall and carries the empty glass pitcher they’re sharing over to the bar.
He’s walking fine. He isn’t limping like he does at the house—it’s subtle and stops the second he puts on his boot, but I notice it. But CJ isn’t doing that now. He’s putting his full weight on his foot. He’s pivoting on it. He’s crossing his right ankle over his left and leaning against the bar while Hattie fills up the pitcher. He isn’t supporting his injured leg at all.
I stand there and watch through the crowd, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.
CJ would tell me if he was healed, wouldn’t he? Why would he keep that from me? This must be . . . a mistake. My eyes playing tricks on me. He was just limping in the bedroom. I saw it. I don’t understand.