I continued sipping my tea until there was nothing left. I felt my mind slowing down. And, for once, I relaxed. A cool summer breeze kicked up, pulling the last of my hair out of its ponytail. I reached for the band before it fell to the ground. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to work out the knots. I smoothed it over my shoulders, fluffing it in the wind. My dress kicked up around my shins, cooling off my thighs as I sat on the wooden park bench that still held the heat of the day within its bones.
Then I heard it.
The rumble of a motorcycle.
I can’t be that unlucky. Please tell me I’m not that unlucky.
I sighed as I opened my eyes and set my empty tea container on the ground. I drew in a deep breath, listening as the bike crept closer, rumbling up the road behind me and finally turning off.
And moments later, I found myself staring at Clint Clarke’s torso.
I sighed. “What do you want?”
“Is anyone sitting here?”
I snickered. “Nope. And neither are you.”
I glared up at him, but all I saw was that snarky little grin of his. That stupid smirk I wanted to slap right off his fucking face. Only it didn’t reach his eyes like it normally did in school. There was a sadness to his features that I knew all too well. I watched him carefully as he moved off to the side. Despite what I’d told him, he sat down beside me, hissing as the heat of the bench came into contact with his ass. I stared at him, watching as his eyes connected with something off in the distance. And as his guard came down, so did his grin.
It sank into a frown that had become the physical mantra of my life. A frown that constantly looked back at me in the mirror every morning.
Clint cleared his throat. “Sorry I kicked your friend’s ass
.”
I shook my head. “He got in a few punches, too.”
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t get his ass beat.”
“And you deserved every punch he landed.”
He shrugged. “Maybe so.”
“Really? You’re trying to be the good guy now?”
“I’ll never be the good guy. Not my thing.”
I turned my eyes out toward the playground. “Why are you such a dick all the time? Isn’t it enough that we can’t stand you?”
I saw Clint turn his head as he stared at me. And even though I felt him burning a hole in the side of my face, I refused to look over at him. I refused to give him the satisfaction of gazing into my eyes. He stared at me for a long time, and I wondered what he was thinking. I found myself wanting to have a peek inside his mind, just to know why the hell he was staring for so long.
Then his voice filled the space around us.
“I don’t know. I guess ‘cause it’s easy. And it’s something I’m actually good at.”
I rolled my eyes. “The pity card won’t get you far with me.”
“Not looking for any.”
“Good.”
He shrugged. “It’s true. I’m good at making people hate me. I’m good at being a dick. That’s what I do.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Wow. Deep motivations, bro.”
“Hey, you’re the one that asked a dumb question.”
“Just didn’t expect the answer to be dumber.”