Finally, Nate pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. We struggle to breathe.
We struggle to make sense of what just happened.
He kissed me.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
“Why don’t you go on back to the house? I’ll help Kira close up,” he says as he pulls away from me.
What?
“Mrs. Kim took Ryder to see her daughter and her grandkids for dinner,” he says. “You can have the house to yourself for a little while.”
“I … Oh. Okay.” I shake my head as if the movement will jar my senses back into place. “That’s what you want to say right now?”
He shrugs as if there’s nothing else to say, but his eyes betray him.
“I don’t know what this was tonight,” I say, pointing at him. “But it better not happen again.”
“Paige …”
I have no clue what he’s about to say, but I know that sticking around here isn’t going to end well. Not tonight.
“Bye,” I say, walking past him like he didn’t just give me the best kiss of my damn life.
I don’t turn around. I don’t look back at him. I just get my purse, clock out, and head home.
THIRTEEN
PAIGE
“Don’t take challenges you can’t win.”
I stare at the ceiling as the bright morning sunlight streams through the windows. Birds chirp happily on the big branch that almost leads directly to my room. If I close my eyes and ignore my headache from going to bed pissed, I can almost be happy.
But I can’t do that. I’m still mad.
I rip the blankets off my body and get to my feet. I don’t stretch like I usually do, and I don’t try to find something cute to wear because I’ll likely run into Nate this morning.
Fuck that and fuck him.
I don’t want to be mad at him. Heck, he’s giving me a place to stay. But the way he acted last night and then avoided me when he got home? Not cool. Not cool at all.
Me: I’m going to look for apartments today. Wanna come with?
Kinsley’s message comes through almost immediately with yes in all capital letters.
“Awesome.”
I throw my phone on the bed. Then I throw on a white tank top and a pair of pink joggers with a word printed on the ass. And then, because I can’t remember what the word says, and I don’t have a mirror, I grab a lightweight robe out of my bag and slide it on too.
The sound of cartoons trickling through the house reminds me that it’s Saturday—which explains why Kinsley had the day off. I didn’t even think about that. I head into the kitchen for a glass of juice. Just as I open the fridge, the sound of little feet pattering against the hardwood gets closer and closer.
“Hi.” Ryder sticks his head under the refrigerator door, grinning ear to ear. “How are you today?”
“I just got up, so I’m a little slow still.”
“Oh.” He ducks as I close the door. “You know what helps you not feel slow? Do you know what speeds you up?”
Nothing fit for a child.
“No,” I say, pouring myself a glass of orange juice. “Do you want some?”
He nods. “Well, I know something that makes you feel speedy.”
“What’s that?”
His eyes twinkle. He hops onto a barstool and smiles. “Pancakes!”
“Really?”
“Yup. And there’s a yellow container in the pantry of pancake mix. You just add water to it and shake it up like this.” He pretends to play the maracas in the air. “Just like that.”
Despite my shitty mood, I can’t help but laugh at the cutie.
“Is this your way of saying you want pancakes?” I ask him.
“Well, you see, I’m not supposed to ask you to make me pancakes.”
I sip my juice, curious. “Oh, really?”
“Dad said you’re our guest, and I can’t ask you to do things for me.”
He did, did he?
“But I’m not asking you to make one for me. I’m just telling you pancakes would make you feel better, and if you make an extra one, that’s not my fault,” he says.
“You know what? Someday, you should go into politics. You’re very persuasive.”
“I don’t know what politics is.”
“It’s where …” Adults get on television and lie to the public. “It’s the people who make the rules. You know, the government.”
He curls his little nose. “I don’t think so. I want to work on cars or fight people like my uncle Dominic.”
“I don’t think that’s what he does for a living. Doesn’t he work in security?”
“Yeah, but if anyone gets out of line, he’ll go like this,” he says before throwing some decent punches in the air. “See what I mean?”
“I do.”
He nods, the gesture a punctuation mark on his point. It makes me smile.
“Now, you still feelin’ those pancakes or what?” he asks.
I tip my head back and laugh. The action feels nice. It actually manages to remove some of the irritation left in my shoulders.