Page 48 of Between the Lines
Guilty, desperate, human perhaps?
I can’t outrightly tell him that I fudged up the clock tonight because I was too busy concentrating on how often our knees knocked beneath the table, can I?
Instead, I curl my lips into a sly smile.
“Hard-Ass Harding was trying to make a joke, wasn’t he? I’ll give you a solid six out of ten. You need to work on your delivery.”
He rolls his eyes, which is so wildly out of character. It’s charming. Like the mask is slipping a little bit more.
“And you need to work on keeping your eyes on the game.”
I exhale a forceful laugh, tilting my head all the way to one side as I catch the mischief in his reserved smile, the glint of something new in his eyes.
“It’s okay. I’m a fast learner.”
The smokiness that cradles those words surprises me, and I gasp, watching it register on his face. The hardness returns, but I don’t miss the clench of his fist at his side. This is restraint.
What does he want to do? Whatwouldhe do if we weren’t standing in the middle of this parking lot right now?
“Do you still have to take care of your siblings when you get home?”
Any fantasies that were just drumming their way up disappear at the mention of what’s waiting for me at home.
“No,” I say, my shoulders dropping. “My mother had to actually be amothertonight. I’m sure I’ll get a lecture, though. By the time I’m done letting it go in one ear and out the other, I might have a little time for myself before I call it a night.”
His fingers dig into his palm, the pulsing clench of his fist riling up a fire in my belly as he asks, “And what does that look like?”
“I’ll probably hit up a drive through and then start the fantasy series I just got from the library. I’myearsbehind the train, but the sixth one comes out next year. Maybe I’ll catch up by then.”
I shrug, pushing a short laugh out my nose becausethat’s never going to happen. But hey, a girl can dream, can’t she?
“Food sounds good.”
All of that, and all he got was?—
“I meant…” He clears his throat, and my body heats at the core, because I know exactly what he’s fumbling to say, just the same as he’d stumbled over that joke. “Do you want to get food?”
“Like… together?”
I glance around the parking lot, wondering for the hundredth time if being alone with him is a good choice, while simultaneously wondering if I’m actually supposed to care. That realization runs over his face, but I don’t want to turn him down—no Iwantto get food with Nathan and talk about our days, and like I’m playing with fire, I don’t care who knows.
But I care enough about him to know that I should.
So twenty minutes later, we are parked side by side in an abandoned lot, splitting a twenty-piece McDonald’s nugget and a large fry in the front seat of my car. We’re quiet. Probably because we’re bothterrified of how much we want to be here despite how wrong it is. He breaks the silence first, when we get to the bottom of the nuggets and still haven’t spoken a word.
“If I’m cutting into your reading time?—”
“No!” I interject. “No. I want to be here.”
“Oh,” he says. “Good.”
I tick my gaze over to his and sputter a laugh. It starts out innocently enough, until his smile lights up the cabin of my car, and we can’t control ourselves.
“What are we doing, Nathan?” I sigh, lifting my feet to rest on the seat and my cheek on my tented knees.
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head and his smile is pained. “But I want to be here. With you. I’m not sure what that means, but I can’t help myself from finding out.”
We sit with that weighty admission, one that I was too scared to say, one that he had to supply for me.