True Divide by Blake Liora

Author:Blake, Liora [Blake, Liora]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Pocket Star
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Halfway into our five-block walk to the A&P, Jake stops suddenly. I don’t notice for a moment, likely because I’ve been scanning the surrounding area since we stepped off my porch, praying that all the good God-fearing people of Crowell went to church this morning and will leave us to shop in peace. When I note that Jake’s shuffling walk has gone silent, I stop and turn around.

He’s standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his expression entirely too annoyed to properly suit how cute he looks. A gray knit beanie covers most of his head, with a few too many shaggy locks curling out from the sides and the back. The guy needs a haircut. Badly.

Jake waits for my eyes to lock on his. “Look, if you just want to play another round of Hide the Misfit, I’m not interested.”

“What?”

“I’ve tried to hold your hand at least five times since we left the house. Guess what? I have a little more self-respect than I did at seventeen. I’m not going to let you treat me like I’m not good enough to hold your hand when we’re on the streets. So if that’s what this is about, we can’t do this.”

When he puts my angst up on display like that, then points out the way it makes him feel, I vaguely want to slap myself. I let a heavy sigh take over and close my eyes, calculating exactly how to explain myself.

“I’m sorry.” Stepping toward him, I slip my hands from my coat pockets and hold them up, palms out, in front of me. “It’s just, you know how this place is. We hold hands, someone sees us, the next thing you know we’re the front-page story in the Crowell Times.”

Jake lets his arms drop. “And?”

“And, we just started this thing. You’re going to go back to California, but I’ll be here, with old Mrs. Weck at the drugstore lecturing me about giving the milk away for free.”

“Jesus Christ. We’re grown-ups. Tell her you like giving the milk away.”

I drop my head to one side and give him an exasperated look. He raises his brows. Fine. This is a stupid thing to fight about, anyway.

I close the remaining distance between us and stick my hand out. Jake narrows his eyes and then drops his gaze to my outstretched hand. Then he shakes his head. Refusing to take my hand, he simply lets it hang there in the cold arctic breeze of a December morning in Montana.

“Not good enough.” He shakes his head again to emphasize the point.

Feeling slightly rejected, but smart enough to know bringing that up right now would scream for a pot-kettle analogy, I tilt my head and raise my brows. “What do you want, then?”

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss. Me.” He draws his hands to clasp behind his back and proceeds to sway a little in place. “Right here, on the street where anybody could walk by. With tongue.”

I try not to let the panic inside filter through to my expression.

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