I silently screamed at my emotions to batten down the hatches because whether he knew it or not—planned it or not—Jason was knocking down my defenses one by one.
He’s Jason Ford. Jason freaking Ford. He doesn’t date.
He doesn’t do commitment.
He doesn’t fall in love.
Internal pep talk over, I smoothed down my skirt and said, “So where exactly are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I bet that’s what you say to all the girls.” I winced at how desperate the words sounded. But I had a serious case of foot-in-mouth syndrome on a good day, let alone when Jason was around to flummox me with his smooth lines and easy charm.
I waited for his reply, but it never came. Instead, he pressed his lips together as if to keep his reply from escaping.
Weird.
Silence followed. Thick and heavy; the kind that didn’t feel uncomfortable but wasn’t entirely comfortable either. I forced myself to look out of the window, to watch the town roll by, giving myself space to breathe and prepare for whatever Jason had up his slee
ve.
Eventually, we began to slow, but only because Jason had turned off the main road onto an overgrown track that meandered through the trees.
“The lake?” I asked, a thrill shooting through me. He’d brought me here before, but we’d parked in the sandy lot at the entrance. Jason showed no signs of stopping this time.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “we’re not going swimming. Not today, anyway.”
The car jerked and bounced over the uneven terrain. I hadn’t been out here in years, since me and Hailee had stopped swimming at the lake a few summers ago.
“What?” Jason’s gravelly voice washed over me.
“We used to love it out here.”
“So why’d you stop coming?”
“You’re kidding me, right? The summer after you stole Hailee’s clothes and bike and she had to walk home half-naked in the blistering heat... sound familiar?”
His lips pursed.
“You were a total jerk to her.”
The car came to an abrupt stop near the water’s edge. “Yeah, well things change.”
“Do they?” I asked, desperate to know what he was thinking, to get inside his head and uncover his deepest darkest secrets.
When he didn’t answer, I whispered, “What are we doing, Jason?”
“I thought it was pretty obvious.” His lip curved smugly.
“Jason…”
“What do you want from me, Giles?”
“I want to know you. Not the Jason Ford everyone else gets to see, the real you.”
“The real me, huh?” he scoffed. “I don’t think anyone wants to know the real me. All they want is the football star, the jock, the guy who can propel them to social greatness. People want the illusion, not the real thing.”
“I do.” The words came out small.