I can’t help rolling my eyes. “This isn’t a date, remember? Can’t fence you in,” I joke—but only kinda. I do sort of resent that. It’s all the more reason to make sure he doesn’t kiss me again. I don’t even know why I agreed to this nonsense.
No, that’s not true.
That damn peek at vulnerability.
“I am normally much smoother than this, actually,” I inform him, lifting my eyebrows.
There’s a playful gleam to his eyes as he says, “With Bradford?”
“No, we never got to go out. I was trying to call him… that night, but….” I clear my throat. “Well, I obviously got sidetracked.”
Vince isn’t impressed with my taste in guys, which is pretty funny. “What’d you see in that guy anyway?”
It seems stupid now. I can’t explain it. I sigh and offer a shrug, hoping that suffices.
His eyebrows shoot up and he doesn’t look completely satisfied, but he doesn’t press. “You still wanna call him?”
“I wouldn’t be here with you if I did,” I tell him honestly.
“He still watches you in class sometimes.”
I frown, pushing the straw into my cup and taking a drink of my Diet Coke. I haven’t picked up on a shred of interest from Jace since Vince stole the seat next to mine, so I can’t imagine that being true. Also, not-date or date-date, this seems like an odd thread of conversation.
“What about you?” I return pleasantly. “Not-dating a harem of other girls?”
He smiles, shaking his head. “Just you.”
That pleases me, even if it shouldn’t.
Sooner than I expect, the waiter brings our salads, and thankfully we have something else to focus on. I have a whole host of questions I’d like to ask him that I know I shouldn’t, and the instinct to push him away is still pretty strong.
His phone goes off halfway through the salads, but he doesn’t answer.
There’s more silence than I expect, but it’s much more comfortable than I would’ve thought it would be. I like watching him when he doesn’t notice. There are questions I have about him that I can’t ask, and in those quiet moments, I seek an answer.
How can someone do what he did and then go on about their life? We’re the same age, and I can’t even fathom having someone else’s life in my hands, let alone taking one. Just the possibility of Vince threatening my family was more than I could take—how does he handle the weight of the guilt? Doesn’t he feel it? Doesn’t it crush him, as he lies in bed at night, trying to sleep?
Has he done it before?
Will he do it again?
Is he a monster?
Noticing my newly solemn mood, Vince asks, “Everything okay over there?”
I glance up at him, nodding, but I wish I hadn’t let my mind wander there. “What’s your biggest regret?” I ask him.
I hear his fork drop onto his salad plate, but I don’t look up. I expect him to tell me I already know, or to get mad that I would bring it up. If I helped kill someone, I probably wouldn’t want anyone to bring it up on a date.
I do not expect him to state matter-of-factly, “Being born.”
Wide-eyed, I jerk my gaze up to his. He doesn’t look especially depressed, like you might expect of someone who says something like that. He takes a drink of his own pop, as if unbothered.
“Being born?” I question. “That’s your biggest regret.”
“Being born into the family I was born into, specifically,” he says, nodding once more. “But if it came down to being born to them or not being born at all, I wouldn’t choose the former.”
A little stunned, I say, “Wow.”
He shrugs, unapologetic.
“You must really hate them,” I say, feeling awkward to word it that way, but what else could I surmise from what he just said?
“I don’t hate them. It’s just… a trap. A prison. In this day and age, most people don’t have a path set out for them before they’re even born—before they’re even conceived. Most guys would be able to sit here with you tonight and call it a date. They wouldn’t have met you the way I did. They could be normal, offer you whatever they felt like offering you. I don’t have that kind of freedom.”
I’m surprised by his openness, even if I don’t understand all of it. “You don’t think your family would approve of me?”
“Doesn’t matter if they would,” he says, simply. “I’d never let them meet you.”
A knot forms in my stomach. “Never? Not even if we… moved past not-dating and actually….?”
He’s already shaking his head, but he looks a little sad. “That can’t happen.”
A spark of anger ignites within me. “Why? No one in your family dates?”
Instead of answering me, he asks, “What’s your biggest regret?”
I want to say trying to call Jace Bradford, but it’s too mean. I’m also not sure it’s true, as insane as that is. Even as he’s sitting across from me adding foundation to the idea that nothing can ever last between us, I feel myself wanting to draw closer. Wanting to know him. Wanting to be the special person who makes it past his defenses.