“Hi,” she answers.
I can’t for the life of me read her tone. It’s not casual. Not rude. It’s…neutral. I guess I can work with that.
“I…” The nerves get the best of me, and I end up blurting the first thing that comes to mind. “You didn’t call me back.”
She meets my eyes. “No. I didn’t.”
“Yeah…I don’t blame you.” I wish my goddamn track pants had pockets, because I’m experiencing that age-old problem actors have—what the fuck do I do with my hands? They’re dangling at my sides, and I’m fighting hard not to fidget. “Look, I know you probably don’t want to hear a word I have to say, but can we talk? Please?”
Grace sighs. “What’s the point? I said everything I needed to say that night. It was a mistake.”
I nod in agreement. “Yes, it was. It was a huge mistake, but not for the reason you think.”
Irritation clouds her features. She closes her book and stands up. “I have to go.”
“Five minutes,” I beg. “Just give me five minutes.”
Despite her visible reluctance, she doesn’t walk away. Doesn’t sit down either, but she’s still standing in front of me, and five minutes in the life of a hockey player? More than enough time to score a few points.
“I’m sorry about how everything went down,” I say quietly. “I shouldn’t have ended it like that, and I definitely shouldn’t have let us get that close to having sex when I was so screwed up even before I came over. But all that stuff I said about wanting someone else? I was wrong. I didn’t realize until I got home that I was already with the person I wanted to be with.”
Zero reaction on her face. Zip. Nada. A part of me wonders if she’s even listening to me, but I force myself to continue. “The girl I told you about…she’s my best friend’s girlfriend.”
A flicker of surprise crosses her expression. So she is listening.
“I convinced myself I had a thing for her, but it turns out it wasn’t really her I wanted. I wanted what she and Garrett have. A relationship.”
Grace eyes me dubiously. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, but I don’t really buy that.”
“It’s true.” My throat is tight with embarrassment. “I was jealous of what they have. And I was stressing about other things too, family stuff, and hockey. I know it sounds like I’m making excuses, but it’s the truth. I wasn’t in a good place, and I was too confused and bitter about my life to appreciate what I had. I really did like you. Do like you,” I amend hastily.
God, I feel like a frickin’ pre-teen. I wish she’d offer some shred of encouragement, a hint of understanding, but her expression remains blank.
“I’ve been thinking about you all summer. I keep kicking myself for the way I acted, and wishing I could make it right.”
“There’s nothing to make right. We barely know each other, Logan. We were just fooling around, and honestly, I’m not interested in starting that up again.”
“I don’t want to fool around.” I exhale in a rush. “I want to take you out on a date.”
She looks amused.
Goddamn it. Amused. As if I’ve just told her a humdinger of a joke.
“I mean it,” I insist. “Will you go on a date with me?”
Grace is quiet for a moment, then says, “No.”
As disappointment clenches in my stomach, she tucks her book in her shoulder bag and takes a step away.
“I have to go. My dad and I are going out for lunch soon, and he’s waiting for me at home.”
“I’ll walk you,” I say instantly.
“No, thanks. I can make it there all by my lonesome.” She pauses. “It was nice seeing you again.”
Oh, hell no. There’s no way I’m letting it end this way, all cold and impersonal, as if we’re nothing more than acquaintances who bumped into each other on the street.
When I fall in step alongside her, she grumbles in annoyance. “What are you doing? I told you I don’t need you to walk me home.”
“I’m not walking you home,” I answer cheerfully. “I happen to be going in that direction.”
She points to the trail. “Your friends went that way.”
“Yup. And I’m going this way.”
Her cheeks hollow as if she’s grinding her teeth, and then she mumbles something under her breath. It sounds like, “the one day I forget to bring my iPod.”
Perfect. That means she can’t ignore me by listening to music.
“So you’re having lunch with your dad? Is that why you’re all dressed up?”
She doesn’t answer and promptly picks up her pace.
I lengthen my strides to keep up. “Hey, we’re already walking in the same direction. No harm in passing the time by making conversation.”
She spares me a cursory glance. “I’m dressed up because my mother spent way too much money on this dress, and my paranoid brain thinks that if I don’t wear it she’ll somehow be able to sense it, even though she’s all the way in Paris.”
“Paris, huh?”
She responds in a grudging tone. “I spent the summer there.”
“So your mother lives in France? Does that mean your parents are divorced?”
“Yes.” Then she scowls at me. “Stop asking me questions.”
“No prob. Do you want to ask me some?”