TROUBLE, A New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) (7 page)

I can’t let it go.
 
“Really? You have manners?
 
Because I haven’t seen any.”
 
I work to get the bun out of my teeth without anyone noticing.
 
My tongue is doing gymnastics inside my mouth, acting as a sorry excuse for a toothpick.

“I bought you lunch.”

“That’s not manners.
 
That’s pity.”

“I open doors for you.”

“No, you don’t.
 
Not all the time.”

“Anytime you don’t beat me to the punch.”

I have to stop and think about that.
 
Does he open doors for me?
I can’t recall if he does or not.
 
Maybe a couple times he has.
 
I’ll have to pay better attention.

I continue my laundry list of his faults.
 
It’s making me feel better about chastising him when I might have been just a little wrong.
 
“You swear.
 
A
lot
.
 
And you fight.
 
That’s zero manners right there.”

He shrugs. “Lots of people swear.
 
They’re just words.”

“Words designed to incite anger and reactions.”
 
I nod in triumph.

“All words are designed to incite something.
 
Emotions are good.
 
Being dead inside isn’t.”

My nostrils flare as I glare at him. He should be just lying down and letting me win this argument.
 
He knows I’m right. “Cuss words are there to add anger and filth to language.
 
They are the ignoramus’s excuse for not being better-read.”

He laughs.
 
He actually has the nerve to laugh at me.

“You’re insufferable,” I say, throwing down my paper napkin and standing.

“Where are you going?” he asks, still smiling his stupid face off.

“I’m leaving, you … you …
turkey
!”

He’s walking behind me.
 
I can hear his footsteps.
 
“You just cussed at me,” he says.
 
“That’s not very good manners, you know.
 
I have it on good authority.
 
You’re inciting anger.”

I don’t even look back at him.
 
He’s too ridiculous.
 
“Turkey is not a cuss word.”

“When you use it as a derogatory term it becomes one.
 
I don’t particularly like being compared to a flightless bird raised solely for the purpose of making your Thanksgiving table look more festive and delicious.”

I will not respond.
 
Mostly because he’s too annoying and I don’t want to encourage him but also because I feel a little bad that I called him that name.
 
Sure, it’s just a bird I eat at Thanksgiving, but I did kind of use it in a bad way.
 
Grrr
, I hate that he’s twisting everything around and making it seem wrong.

“So what’s this about adoption?” he asks, pulling even with me as I try to walk down the sidewalk.
 
I hate that my belly is so big my legs won’t work right. I feel like a flightless bird waddling down the street the way I lurch from side to side and have to point my toes out.
 
My hips just do not want to function like they used to.

“None of your beeswax.”
 
I try to say it without the breathlessness that’s arising out of my fast pace and the heat of the day.

“Maybe not, but I’d still like to know.”

“Too bad.”

He puts his hand on my arm, making me stop.
 
I turn to face him, ready to blast him for manhandling me, but the expression on his face makes it impossible.

Having him stare at me like that is too much.
 
I have to stop it from happening. “What?” I finally say, turning my head to stare out towards the road so I won’t have to see him looking at me anymore.
 
He’s so darn earnest sometimes, and coming from him, that expression is just too weird.

“Are you really going to put your baby up for adoption?”

I shrug.
 
“What does it matter?
 
It’s not yours.”

“I know that.
 
I’m pretty sure I’d remember if you and I had sex.”

He probably meant it as a joke, but it makes me shiver all the same.
 
Sex.
 
I’m never
ever
doing that again.
 
Not that I even decided to in the first place.
 
Ugh.
 
Do not go there, Alissa.
 
Focus on something else
.

I look back at him and put my hands on my hips, hating where my head is at right now.
 
Memories.
 
Nightmares.
 
Terrible, terrible things are coming back to me.
 
“Listen, Colin … I really appreciate the lunch or dinner or whatever that was, but this doesn’t make us friends, okay?”

“I thought we already were friends.”

I throw up my arms.
 
“You can’t even stand to be in the same room as me or look at me most of the time!
 
How does that equate to friendship?!”
 
I want to tear my hair out over this boy.
 
He makes me lose all my good sense every time he’s in the same vicinity as me.

Even though I shouldn’t want to be his friend because he’s bad news and completely incorrigible, I want to be his friend, and that just ticks me off.
 
Because we both know it just can’t happen.
 
We’re from different worlds, raised in different worlds, and living in different worlds.
 
I might be in his world right now, but it’s only temporary.
 
After this baby is born, I’m gone.
 
I have no idea where I’ll go, but it won’t be here and it won’t be with him.

“That’s not true,” he says, but not very convincingly.
 
“I don’t avoid you.”

I start walking again.
 
“See?
 
Even you don’t believe yourself.”

He jogs to catch up.
 
“Okay, fine.
 
That might have been true for the past few weeks, but it’s not true anymore.”

“Why?
 
What’s the big change for?
 
Is it your birthday?
 
Did you confess your sins at church and now you have to repent?”

“No.
 
None of that.
 
I don’t know.”

“Lie.
 
I can tell you’re lying.”

“I don’t lie.”

I won’t even dignify that with a response.
 
Instead, I snort.
 
Dammit. I’m potbelly pigging again.

“I might be fibbing, but it’s for a good reason.
 
My mom used to say white lies aren’t real lies.”

“A lie is a lie is a lie,” I say.
 
“Liars must
die
.”
 
I’m burning with anger right now.
 
I’ve known one particular liar in my life who’d I’d happily throw in front of a train if I had the strength.
 
The thought of it clouds everything else out.
 
All I can see is
him
.
 
His face.
 
His hands.
 
His body.
 
All I can feel is
him
. His weight, pushing down on me.
 
His strong arms wrapped around me.
 
His hands, pressing into my body.
 
Lying, butthole, jerkface, hurting, sneaking, …
 
I don’t say the last word that almost comes to mind.
 
I can’t even think it clearly, and I could never say it out loud.

I’m crying now and as close to running as I can get while eight months pregnant.
 
My belly swings uncomfortably from side to side as I huff and puff to breathe.

“Hey, slow down, little penguin!
 
You’re going to bust something,” Colin says, jogging next to me.
 
He’s barely having to move his feet to keep up.

“Shut up!
 
Leave me alone!” I sound pitiful, but I can’t help it.
 
He’s confirmed my fears about looking like a graceless, flightless bird and it’s possible a sun-stroke is in my near future. I just need to get away.
 
Back to the couch.
 
Back to my books.
 
Back to ignoring the rest of the world around me.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, taking me by the elbow and slowing me down, “why are you crying?
 
Is it because I called you little penguin?
 
I’m sorry.
 
I’ll never do it again.”

“Just go, Colin, okay?
 
Just go.”
 
I yank my arm back and continue walking super fast.
 
I’m almost to the Rebel Wheels parking lot when I realize I’m alone.
 
He finally listened to me and did what I asked.

Perfect.
 
Go.
 
I don’t need you as a friend or a lunch date or anything else.
 
Just leave. Me. Be.
 
And stop haunting my daydreams and night dreams too while you’re at it.

CHAPTER SIX

WHEN I GET BACK TO the apartment, I pray for some alone time, but God isn’t listening.
 
As usual, he has my requests on mute.
 
Teagan is there with a plate of hot muffins in her hands and Quin is on the couch with headphones on.

I have to choose: either sit next to Quin or camp out in the bathroom.
 
I start at the bathroom but quickly decide that the hard seat is worse than anything Quin could come up with.

I go back out into the main living room, choosing the more comfortable option and hoping Quin will take the hint when I turn on my e-reader and put it in front of me.

I want to let out a string of terrible cuss words when I realize my battery is dead, but of course I don’t.
 
My lips are sealed.
 
Maybe nobody will notice my book isn’t on the screen.
 
I hold the tablet up in front of me and pretend to read.

“Did you just go jogging?” Teagan asks, kind of laughing.
 
“You’re seriously out of breath and your face looks like a tomato.
 
Here, have a muffin.” She holds out a softball-sized thing that looks like a completely rotten apple with bits of green things stuck in it.
 
I shudder when I imagine what it must taste like.

“No.
 
Thanks.
 
I took a walk and had lunch at a fast food place up the street.
 
It’s hot outside.”

Quin leans over and taps my screen. “Seems to be broken.”
 
She looks at me with her head twisted and tilted to the side, a crazy grin on her face.

I put the tablet on the coffee table, my ruse obviously not working against Quin’s evil powers of observation.
 
“Yes, it’s out of juice.”

“Were you trying to charge it with your wifi brain-connect?” Quin asks.

I know she knows I was faking on purpose, and right now I hate her for that.
 
She can never just let things go.
 
That’s why I’m living here in the first place.
 
And maybe I should be grateful for the roof over my head, but right now I’m just finding it suffocating.

“No,” I say, totally annoyed, “if you must know, I was just trying to have a little private moment without having to go sit on the toilet to get it.”

Teagan sets the plate of scary-looking muffins on the table and lowers herself into an armchair, staring at me.
 
Quin sits up straight and does the same.
 
Neither of them says anything.

The pressure mounts to the point that I cannot stand it anymore.
 
I have no idea what exactly happens to make me snap, since neither of them is saying anything, but suddenly words are pouring out of my mouth and I can’t seem to stop them.
 
There is no filter between my brain and my mouth anymore.

“I can’t get a moment to myself in this place!
 
I’m under your radar and your thumbs twenty-four seven!
 
And if I have to eat another one of those things you make, Teagan, that you would
like
to call food but they are definitely
not
edible, I’m sorry, but I’m probably going to go into labor.
 
I
wish
you’d quit trying to make me eat them because they’re beyond horrible!
 
They taste
bad
, okay?!
 
And I’m sorry I have to be the one to say it, but if you check the houseplants you’ll find large pieces of your food in all of them and I’m not the only one putting them there, either!”

I pause only because I’ve run out of breath and take in the shocked expression on Teagan’s face. Then it hits me what I just said.
 
I slap my hands up to my cheeks, horrified at myself.
 
I want desperately to apologize, but my mouth just keeps opening and shutting like a fish out of water.

“Well, somebody got her Wheaties shit in, that’s for sure,” says Quin.
 
“Was it Colin?
 
Do you want me to talk to him for you?
 
Straighten him out?
 
He can be a bit much sometimes.”

“Gah!
 
No!
 
It wasn’t Colin!
 
It’s
you,
Quin … and
you
,” I point at Teagan.
 
I stand up all of a sudden.
 
“Oh my god,” I say, half whispering.
 
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
 
I think I’m having a breakdown.”