“You can’t sit like that.”
“Why not?”
I thought the library would be a safe, neutral spot to meet, but as I look around, I’m rethinking. We’re getting stares from surrounding tables. I’ve never gotten stares in a library before. “This is like my church. You have to show respect.”
He spins the chair around again. His look says Killjoy. I’ve seen that look often over the years. I don’t flinch. It’s about time Anthony sees the serious, ultra-focused me. The real Me-Mai.
Lord, I’m doing it again.
I wait until the other people have gone back to their computers and textbooks then clear my throat. “I’m agreeing to this plan to annihilate our attraction, but only if you agree to follow some simple rules.”
“Some what?” Anthony has made it clear he hates rules. Another way in which we’re totally incompatible.
“I’ve written them out.” I unfold the piece of paper with my careful handwriting. I didn’t want to type it on the computer. I’m not leaving a paper trail.
He pulls the paper toward him with one hand. His nail beds are stained with dirt or maybe oil. There’s a white scar across his middle knuckle and smaller scars by his thumb. Even his hand is so different from mine. From my brother’s. My father’s. His pinky taps along the edge as he reads, the heavy cuff lying across his wrist.
OFFICIAL RULES
1. Two weeks, ending one week from Friday.
2. We alternate dates.
3. Either person can end it at any time.
4. No one else can know.
5. No kissing.
His lips curve in a smile as he leans back, resting his elbows on the back of his chair. I can see every inch of his biceps as they flex. Stupid biceps. Stupid everything else that’s tanned and toned. I’m not shallow enough to melt at the sight of a good-looking guy. I care more about shared values and common life goals.
Or at least I will once this fling is over.
I clear my throat. “We’ve already agreed to Rule 1. Rule 2 is—”
“I’d like to jump ahead to five.”
“Shocking.” I raise one eyebrow, a trick I perfected after many hours in front of a mirror. I think it makes me look smart. And intimidating.
Anthony smiles, unintimidated. Okay, so maybe not. It’s one of those slow smiles that’s somehow both incredibly sweet and insanely hot. It makes me want to leap across this desk and dive on his lips.
“Kissing should be allowed,” he says. “We’ve always kissed.”
“Which is the problem,” I say. “We were too focused on our chemistry. If we want to get over each other, kissing does not help.”
“Except that we still want to kiss, so we’ll be thinking about kissing.” His eyes drop to my mouth. “And if we’re thinking about it but not doing it, we’ll want to do it more.”
His gaze zips right to the pit of my stomach and starts it fluttering. I press a hand there. My stomach never fluttered, ever, before Anthony. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s the way it works.” He meets my eyes again. “That’s why we need to kiss more, not less. We should talk about second base.”
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t know what that means.” I’m brilliant in many ways, but we both know the sport of baseball is beyond my comprehension. I went to my first game in March because of Anthony, and I saw nearly every game after that—including Cholla’s win at State two weeks ago when Anthony hit a home run.
I did learn a few things. Like how Anthony’s biceps looked catching the ball. How his back muscles rippled when he hit the ball. How his pants hugged his butt when he slid into second base. That is the extent of my baseball knowledge.
I’m an embarrassment. I admit it.
“Second base,” he explains, “are those things we did in my backseat that rainy night in April.”
My whole body flushes. I clear my throat, which is suddenly dry. “I think I vaguely recall.”
His smile says he knows none of it is vague. “I think it’s worth…revisiting.”
My knees threaten to buckle, which should be impossible, since I’m sitting. My breath speeds up, and I have the urge to fan myself because my skin feels hot enough to melt. “We are not revisiting. We are not running bases. We are not touching in any way. We are not kissing.”
Heads turn to look at me, and I flush even harder, pressing my lips together, though the words are already out.
“Shhh,” he says with a wide grin. “We’re in a library.”
“This isn’t funny,” I hiss. I yank the rules back, wadding them in my fist. “You’re not taking this seriously.”
“And you’re taking it too seriously. You’re getting rid of all the fun parts.”
“Because this isn’t supposed to be fun. Do you want to hate me or not?”
He pauses, his jaw slack. Then he half laughs, half groans. “This is nuts. But you’ve made your point. We’ll have rules.” He reaches for the paper, and I let him have it. He carefully smooths it out, but it’s wrinkled and torn on one corner. A mess like this. Us.
“So no kissing. No touching.” He taps the table as if that cements it. “If we’re not doing that, what are we doing?”
I lift my chin and meet his gaze. “We’re planning dates,” I say. “That we’ll love and the other person will hate.”
Chapter Nine
Anthony
“Bad dates?” I let the idea settle in. “That’s kind of genius, Killer.”
“I thought so.” She’s got her hands folded together again, her shoulders back. Fun Mai is gone, and I’m facing Run the World Mai.
“These are not real dates,” she adds. “We’re not trying to impress each other or build a relationship.”
“We’re trying to destroy every good feeling between us?”
“Exactly.”
I can’t decide whether to shake my head or nod. “This could be fun.”
She holds up a finger in warning. “But nothing life-threatening. No bungee-hopping.”
I cross my heart with a straight face. “And no bungee-jumping, either.”
“Are you making fun of me?” She glares. “Because that is an excellent way to annoy me.”
“Good. I’ll do it some more.”