Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

E van is ignoring me.

He didn't text me back. I know he read it though, and I have checked if he blocked me often. He hasn't, which is somehow worse. It's a taste of my own medicine, and I fucking hate it.

Despite my need for money, I spent last night waiting for him. It was late when he emerged from campus and came home. It pissed me off. Where had he been and with whom? I wanted to demand answers, but I don't deserve them. Instead, I stalked him home like a creeper to make sure he got there safely, and then I went home and silently fumed all night, stalking his socials to make sure no one tagged him in anything and to see if he posted.

He didn't.

I have no idea where he was or what he was doing. I tell myself he was near the library. He could have been studying, but I don't know for sure, and I hate that. He doesn't owe me anything, he isn't mine, but the idea of someone else touching him?

Yeah, it makes me pissed as hell.

He said he gave up, but did he really mean it?

It was all I wanted, but now, it hurts and annoys me .

That's why I wait after dropping Alice off. He's late today, but he eventually hurries by, fixing his hair as he runs, his unbuttoned shirt exposing tan abs, and my hands curl into fists at the show he's giving everyone. He doesn't even seem to notice people watching him with lustful eyes—like me, the girls sitting on the grass giggling, or the guy skating past.

No, he's completely oblivious, and I hate it. I nearly marched out there to button every single button so no one else could see him, but he'd probably hit me. I'd deserve it. His bag falls from his shoulder, and I hear him curse as he stops to pick it up. He throws it over his shoulder, blowing out his cheeks which are red from running, and then his head jerks around like he feels me. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, he stares at me before he turns away and hurries to his building, dismissing me.

I'll admit I sit here for far too long, telling myself I can't march into his school and drag him out and demand he speak to me. Instead, I head to work. It's the only thing I seem to do besides stalk Evan Shaw.

He has ignored me every morning this week.

It's been five fucking days of him purposely not looking at me no matter what I do, like talking loudly to Alice, cranking my music up, and revving my engine. He doesn't look at me once. He ignores me like I'm not there, and it's pissing me off.

I am there every morning regardless, just to get a glimpse of him under the guise of dropping Alice off. I'm pathetic, and that's only confirmed when Alice turns up at dinnertime at the garage.

Her arms are crossed, and her eyes are narrowed.

Worry slides through me as I dry my hands on a rag, heading her way and pulling her out of earshot. "Are you okay?" I ask. She would only come here if something was wrong.

"Yes, you." She pokes me in the chest. "Whatever you did, apologize now. "

"What?" I frown.

"You did something to Evan, apologize."

"He said something? Is he okay? Is he upset?—"

"No, he doesn't need to say anything. He doesn't look at you anymore, and you've been stalking him all week like a creep." I blink. "Yeah, I noticed, so apologize for whatever you did."

"Why do you assume I did something?" I grumble instead of denying it.

"Alek, you're my brother, and I love you, but you're an ass." She sighs. "And dumb. You did something, now fix it because staring holes through his head every morning isn't working, and I hate seeing you stomp around, sulking every night."

"I don't sulk," I protest, and her eyebrow arches. "I . . . brood. It's different."

"How?" She tilts her head.

"It's . . . manly."

"Well, you and your manly sulking—I'm sorry, I mean brooding, need to fuck off and fix this or I'm going to kill you." She pats my chest. "Good talk, by the way. He's at work right now." She starts to walk away.

"I don't need to know that. I don't even like Evan?—"

She waves at me, interrupting my denial. "Fix it, now!"

Fuck.

I glance back at the garage then at her retreating form. He's at work? I suppose he can't avoid me there. We can sort this out once and for all because Alice is right. If this carries on, I'm going to end up killing someone or being arrested for stalking.

I need to eat dinner, or that's what I tell myself.

It doesn't matter if his work is in the other direction or a thirty-minute walk or that I don't have the time to go there. I'm just hungry. That's all .

I just so happen to sit in his section as well. It's purely coincidental.

When he heads my way, scribbling in a notebook, not even seeing me, my heart pounds. He's wearing those stupid fucking frills that he looks ridiculously good in, his hair is partially clipped back, and there is glitter across his cheeks and eyelids. He looks hot, and I hate that, hate that I'm covered in grease with bags under my eyes from overthinking everything while he looks this fucking good.

His head comes up as he starts to speak when he reaches my table, a practiced speech spilling out. "Hello, welcome to—" He stops, a deep sigh filling him as his expression turns from friendly to angry. "Fuck, I seriously can't get rid of you, can I?"

That means he missed me, right?

"I need dinner." I shrug. "That's all."

"Uh-huh, and the forty or fifty restaurants and take-out places near your work aren't enough? You had to come to the one place I work at? The one place you complained about not wanting to ever come to?" He calls me out on my shit, and I actually feel my cheeks heat. "Why the fuck are you here, Anders?"

I pick up the menu and randomly point. "For that, it sounds good."

His eyebrow arches as he looks at it. "The princess dessert?"

Motherfucker.

Either I admit I came to see him or say I want the dessert. He waits as I debate which is the lesser evil, his smirk growing as time ticks on, and I know I can't back down. "Yes, the princess dessert. Is that a problem?"

"No problem at all." He grins mischievously. "Coming right up, princess."

He wanders away, and I know I fucked up. I just don't know how. Ten minutes later, I realize why.

He comes out with a plate that requires two hands and puts it down before me with a flourish, and I just gawk. There are flowers everywhere, pink glitter on everything, and a tiara on the side of the plate.

Picking up the silver and pink tiara, he happily plops it on my head. "Such a pretty princess," he coos. "Do you want your picture like everyone else?" Before I can stop him, he pulls his phone out and snaps one of me. Pink dessert, tiara, and flaming cheeks.

Thrusting back from the table, I stand, clenching my fists. He doesn't step back. "Problem, princess?"

Grinding my teeth, I tug off the tiara and drop it to the table, deciding I can't get any more embarrassed, so what the hell? "Why are you ignoring me?"

His cheeks heat as he looks around. "I'm at work."

"I noticed, but you won't talk to me any other way. Why are you ignoring me?" I grumble.

"Why do you care?" he retorts.

"I just do," I admit. "You didn't reply."

"To your one-word answer? Or the fact that you kissed me again and then tried to ignore me?" My cheeks are so hot they are burning. "Honestly, Anders, what is there to say? We are better off staying away from one another. We are like a volcano and a tornado. We don't go together. You wanted me to leave you alone, so I am." He goes to walk away, but I grab his arm, stopping him.

"I don't want that." I force the words out, knowing if I don't, I'll lose him forever, and if there is one thing I have realized this week, even if I don't want to, it's that I want Evan Shaw in my life.

"You don't know what you want," he says, looking at me, "and I don't have time to wait for you to figure it out, not when it comes with the brunt of your anger. I can't do that, Anders."

Releasing his arm, I sit back and think. I don't know how to fix this. I'm not good at words, and it's clear something is broken between us. It's my fault.

My eyes drop to the dessert. "I'm sorry," I say.

He's quiet, and when I look at him, he appears shocked.

I nod. "I am."

He stares before nodding slowly, and my eyes drop to the dessert again.

"I'll take it away," he mutters, grabbing for it, but I pick up a fork.

"I'll eat it. It looks good." Without caring about the giggles or looks, I devour every single overly sweet, flowery pink bite of the dessert just to see him smile.

It's worth it.

Things might not be fixed between us, but that smile tells me we aren't broken beyond repair.

I can live with that, even if I will never be able to look at the color pink again.