I nod. “It’s not a big deal or anything. I just don’t want—”

“She was fifteen,” he cuts in. “But she didn’t look it. I swear.”

“You don’t have to explain, Coop.”

“No.” Another breath. “I think I do. Or, at least I want to with you.”

I swallow, nod for him to continue.

“Her name was Jodie. She was suspended for smoking weed at her private school, and I guess she got bored, thought it’d be fun to go to campus and pretend to be a student. You know, mess with her dad’s head.” He rubs his forehead, his face scrunched as if it actually physically pains him to tell me all this. “I noticed her in a couple of my lectures. She’d raise her hand, join in on the class. Then after one of them, she asked if I wanted to grab a coffee with her. We actually dated for a couple of weeks, went out a few times. One thing led to another and here I am.”

“Is it true?” I croak out, “About your parents paying her off?”

He nods and looks away. “That part is true. My lawyers think that maybe she singled me out because she knew my parents had money.”

“I’m sorry,” I say truthfully. “That all of that happened to you and now you have to be back at your old high school and—”

“It’s not so bad,” he interrupts, smiling over at me. “I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.”

I look away because he’s giving me that look. The same one Luke gave me right before—

“Lo?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re going to be late for your shift.”

I’m hot, burning flames under his scrutinizing gaze, and my emotions hit me. Hit me hard.

Guilt.

Shame.

Both things I should not be feeling.

“You can kiss me,” I croak.

His smile is quick to consume him. Then he nods toward the building. “You better go.”

“But…”

“Oh,” he says, his grin growing. “You want me to kiss you right now?”

My stomach turns, my embarrassment flooding me. “No.”

He chuckles. “Sanders, I didn’t ask if I could kiss you. I asked when you would finally let me.”

“Okay, I get it.” I wave my hands between us. “I got my wires crossed.” I open the car door, quickly get out and shut it after me.

“Lois!” he calls, window lowered. He leans over the center console, makes sure I can see him. “I’ll pick you up after your shift. Take you to dinner.” He winks… not so creepy anymore. “First-date kisses are always the best.”

He shows up to my work ten minutes before my shift ends and sits inside the ticket booth with me as if he owns the place, and going by his car, his house, and the way his parents throw around their money, he probably does own it. When I’m done, he waits for me to clock out and then walks me to a black truck. “Where’s your car?” I ask.

“In my garage.”

“So… whose is this?”

“Eddie’s.”

“And Eddie is… a friend?”

“Our gardener.”

“Of course you have a gardener.”

He smiles. “I traded cars for the night, threw in a room at a hotel for him and his wife, too. Trust me, they’re in for good times.”

I get in my seat, buckle my belt, and wait for him to get in. “So why change cars?”

“Because I’m taking you out on a date.”

“And you need a truck because…?”

He smiles. “Because this is where we’re having said date.”

I shake my head, clear the fog. “I’m so confused.”

“I’ll explain later.”

He drives to a Mexican restaurant, orders a bunch of food to go, then drives back to his place, past the guard at the security gate and through the pristine, quiet streets of his neighborhood. We don’t go to his house, though. Instead, he drives to the outskirts of his prestigious little community until we’re parked in a spot that gives us a view of all the cookie-cutter mansions from a distance. And as I look at the houses, I feel my heart plummet because he’s taken me on a date, a date far away from everyone who can judge him for being with someone like me.

I’m thirteen again. Sitting in a cinema next to a boy I’m crushing on who doesn’t feel the same and I feel

So.

Fucking.

Stupid.

“You ready?” he asks, handing me a drink. He picks up the bag of food, steps out of the car, and I stay in my seat while I work out what would be worse: sitting with him through our “date” or calling him out on it. He opens my door, and I step out, take his hand as he leads me to the bed of the truck.

For a few minutes, he eats in silence, and I feel too sick to take a bite.

“Did something happen at work?” he finally asks.

I shake my head and face him. “What are we doing?” I ask him, my voice cracking with emotion.

“You don’t like tacos?” His smile fades when I look up at him, attempting to hide my true feelings. “You’re mad,” he says, not a question, a presumption. He exhales loudly, puts his food down. “When I said I would take you to dinner, you expected something fancy, right?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Is it…” I take a breath and then another, and I decide to be honest because history shows that keeping my feelings hidden, secret, only lead to disaster. “I feel like you’re ashamed of me. Like you want to keep me to yourself… your dirty little secret.”

“Never!” he says quickly. “That’s not…” He rubs his eyes, his frustration evident. “Look, I’ve done fancy before, Lois. I was twelve the first time my dad made me suit up and sit through one of his pathetic business dinners in the most expensive restaurant in town. And I’ve sat through many more since. For me, those places are nothing but lies and deception and no, it’s not that you’re my dirty little secret but yeah, I kind of do want to keep you to myself. Or, at least, I want to keep you separate from that. Because you’ve experienced enough lies and enough deception, and I don’t want that for you. I really don’t. But this is me, the real me.” He waves his hand around us. “And if you’re not into this then I can go home, change, and we can go somewhere else.”

“That’s not what I want,” I tell him, my voice low, my shame high. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, I’m glad you did. I want you to be honest with me because it makes it so much easier to be the same with you. Because I like you, Lo. Like, really like you. And I’ve taken a lot of girls to a lot of fancy places and it all ends the same way.”

My nose scrunches in disgust.

He laughs. “But I’ve never done this before.”

“Tacos in a truck?”

Smiling, he says, “I’ve never been comfortable enough to just be me. And I don’t know… you being here right now—it kind of gives me a reason to like who I am, you know? If you like me, then I can’t be that bad.”

I return his smile. I can’t help it. “You make me happy, Coop.”