6. Jack

CHAPTER SIX

jack

I don't know how or when she did it, but my perfectly fresh glass of mountain spring water now tastes like the ocean. I can't stop coughing.

"Need, water," I gasp, setting down my own glass and turning to the table.

A new glass of water appears and I take it gratefully from Fiona, who hasn't touched her glass at all yet. I take a big drink, trying to wash down all that salt before turning to Maggie. Her eyes are twinkling with mischief. Gosh, that's a sight I missed. If she didn't completely hate me, I'd lean forward and kiss her right now.

I forgot how easy this was between us. The pranks, but also the glances and casual flirting. I don't know how I could forget. Being in Maggie's orbit is one of those things I never really had to think about, because it was as natural as breathing. Even if that means she's dumping salt into my water.

"You alright there?" she asks.

"Never been better." I wink and she turns away, looking back at the table. I did declare war—though I never specified what kind of war—and they do say that all is fair in love and war. By the end of this trip, I'm going to have her looking at me like she did back in high school. Like a confession was on the edge of her tongue, but neither of us were brave enough to take that step. This time, I'm going to be brave enough.

The rest of dinner goes without any more pranks.

Unfortunately.

But near the end, Maggie touches my arm. I try not to lean into her touch. "Can you let me out?" she asks.

"Oh, right. Yes." I slide out of the booth to give her room to pass. She heads in the direction of the bathroom. After a few minutes, I excuse myself and walk down the dark, narrow hallway that leads to the restrooms. Maggie exits the ladies room and freezes when she sees me.

"Are you following me now?" she asks, and I wish her voice wasn't so cold.

"What did I do, Mags?" It comes out like I'm begging, like I'll die if I don't know what I did.

Maggie scoffs, then she steps right into my space, her face inches from mine, and I completely freeze. "You want to know why I hate you so much?"

I swallow, hoping I find my voice when I speak. "I think you loathe me, not just hate."

Her nostrils flare in annoyance.

"You're insufferable," she says, but her hands come against my chest, and I hope she can't feel how erratically my heart is beating.

"Why do you loathe me?" I ask, my voice oddly calm. Because everything about this feels right, her touching me.

"I hate you."

Well, maybe not everything feels right. "Why?"

She leans into me, as if her body doesn't quite believe the words she's saying. I don't believe them either.

"This is why," she says, then she grabs a fistful of my shirt and slams her mouth against mine. I blink in confusion. I can't even process that she kissing me until she pulls away. It wasn't soft and tender like I always imagined kissing Maggie would be. It was rough and angry.

And that's almost worse.

Because now I know what she tastes like. I know how it feels to be kissed when she's mad, and I know that this half-second kiss is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

"Wh-what?" I stammer.

She takes a step back, putting space between us again. "I hate you. And that's why."

Then, before I can ask her what she means, she turns and walks away. Leaving me completely speechless in the dimly lit hallway.