"They'll survive." But the look he gave me said that he secretly, like I, doubted that they would. Did I think I was beautiful? Did he think I was beautiful?
I could feel my friends' stares boring into me like four blunt knives.
"I may not give you back, though," he said with a wicked glint in his eyes.
I swallowed.
He laughed. "You look worried."
"No," I said, but, ridiculously, my voice broke. "Surprised, actually... what brought all this on?"
"I told you:I got tired of trying to stay... away from you. It... it hurt too much."
My eyes drifted to his lap and he glared at me. "I'm sorry," I blushed. "Please continue."
"So I'm giving up," he finished. He was still smiling, but his ocher eyes were not.
"Giving up?" I repeated in confusion.
"Yes—giving up trying to be... good. I'm just going to do whatever I want now, and let the chips fall where they may. I'm a bad boy now, Bella." He looked down at his lap. His smile faded, and a hard edge crept into his voice.
"You lost me again."
The breathtaking crooked smile reappeared. "I always say too much when I'm talking at you—that's one of the problems."
"Don't worry—I don't understand any of it," I said wryly.124
"I'm counting on that."
"So, in plain English: are we friends now?"
"Friends... " he mused dubiously.125
"Or not," I muttered, wondering if he even knew what the word 'friends' meant.
He grinned. "Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good... friend for you," Behind his smile, the warning was real.
124. On rye, like most German open-faced sandwiches.
125. With doobies.