Broken Girl(28)

“What time are you planning on picking me up?” I asked when I could get a word in edgewise.

“I was thinking about nine thirty?”

“A.M.? Like, in the morning?” I spat.

“If we get over there in about forty-five minutes, that will give us most of the day. I’d like to take you to a couple of different places that have great views and I have this little dive of a place where we can have the best Mexican food before I have to bring you back to the rat race. Damn, I wanted to surprise you.”

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry, I think this whole adventure is going to be very surprising,” I teased as I pulled a cart next to the dryer and emptied my clothes.

“You know you’re like the master wrecker of surprises,” he said as he leaned into my shoulder and bumped me.

“Yeah, well, you’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“But I’m the first to do something about it,” he retorted as he pulled a couple of Blow Pops from the bowl next to him and held them up between us. “Purple or red?” he asked.

“Purple . . . I hate red . . . cherry sucks,” I moped.

“What? Cherry’s my favorite.”

“No it’s not, you told me last week that grape was your favorite, and the week before that it was lemon, then it was orange the Thursday before that.”

“So, maybe they all are my favorite,” he teased as he pulled off the wrapper and shoved the Blow Pop in his mouth.

“Maybe it’s the fact that you don’t complain about what you’re left with,” I whispered.

“Why would I complain, when I get to be here with you and this . . . disgusting cherry flavored—how can you like these Blow Pops?” he asked before he stuck out his tongue slathered red.

“I don’t like that particular flavor, but in general Blow Pops are good because you get a two-fer, more bang for your buck. You get to suck and then blow, I’ll do any flavor except cherry.”

He didn’t miss the innuendos in my statement, his expression painted on like any thirteen-year-old boy’s libido on overdrive. He gave me a slight smirk before he pointed the Blow Pop at my nose.

“You’re right, cherry sucks!” he said as he tossed it down onto the counter.

I guess I should’ve given him props for purposely grazing over my comment. I watched as the glistening red lollipop cracked and busted into a heart shape as it left a trail of broken pieces in its wake.

“I guess I’ll be calling you the cherry wrecker from now on,” I teased without giving my response a second thought.

Shane’s eyes grew large and a sinful smile spread across his face. It seemed like forever crammed between us before he had a smart-ass remark that clung to the thick air between us.

“I’ve been known to wreck my fair share of cherries in my life.” He smirked before he intentionally glimpsed down at my feet and shoved his hands in his front pockets.

“Oh. My. God, you called me a surprise wrecker I only thought it was fair I’d call you . . . All right, okay, score one for Shane, the cherry wrecker.” I pushed my fingers in air quotes as I spoke about his new nickname.

Fuck Rose, why not just put your foot in your mouth now. Cherry wrecker, really?

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who came up with the name,” Shane teased as he pulled open the dryer next to me. “I’m just willing to own it, that’s all.” He collected his clothes in one huge bundle wedged between his arms and chin.

“Oh, okay, now let’s not get too confident and start talking about conquests of virgins and shit.” I tangled my fingers into a pile of my panties and thrust them into the bottom of my laundry bag. I knew the minute I said it, it was a mistake.

“Who mentioned virgins? What type of cherries are you exactly talking about Complicated Rose? Because, if it is those type you are referring to . . . let me clear the air now, curiosity never really killed the cat, it just took one of its nine lives.” Wisps of his brown hair brushed across his bedroom eyes. He flashed his bright pearly whites teasing me into instantly turning bright crimson.

What the hell are you doing? Keep that boy at a distance. It is for his good as much as yours . . . You’re nothing but a two-bit whore.

My inner voice filled my head, the one thing that kept my heart protected. Resistance flooded every cell in my body, changing my demeanor. When the walls of my life began to crumble and my heart started to beat at a different speed it was my intuition that blared the warning sirens when I was getting too tangled up; too close to feeling something I wasn’t supposed to feel.

I snatched up handfuls of my clothes, unfolded and jumbled and shoved them it in my bag. I glanced over my shoulder and noticed he dropped the bundle of clothes he had on the folding counter. Listening to my intuition, I turned back and tied up my laundry sack. I need to get out of here before I get twisted into a situation I won’t be able to get out of, a road I wasn’t ready to travel with him.

“You know, I better get going,” I deadpanned as I lifted my laundry sack and rolled it over my shoulder. My words didn’t go over well with Shane. I tried to leave but couldn’t, the pull of my muscles across my shoulders was strong before I shifted my weight and stumbled back. I turned around and saw that Shane had grabbed my laundry bag and held onto it.

“I’ll walk you out. Come on, let me carry this for you,” Shane insisted as he pulled again on my clothes bag.