Page 77 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
The words sit between us.
He’s right. He never saw me eat when my parents were alive. Never saw Dad piling food on my plate, or Mom making sure I tried every dipping sauce.
All Ryder has seen is the after. The girl who picks at linguine and carries bananas around.
I let myself breathe. Four counts in. Hold. Four counts out.
“My parents would’ve loved this place,” I hear myself say.
“Yeah?”
“They made fancy food, but they weren’t fancy people. They knew how to relax.”
Ryder sits slightly forward. “Would they be okay with you relaxing?”
My breath hitches in my throat and my shoulders bunch high.
Ryder’s quick to lift his open palms. “My bad. I take it back. I just… you… like, seem tense… a lot.”
I swallow hard and whisper, “I can’t untense.”
He nods. “I get it.”
I wince. “No, you don’t.”
He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “No, I’m too dumb to understand that someone would be hurting after losing their parents.”
“I didn’t say…”
Ryder groans, swiping a hand over his face in exhaustion. “Do we have to do this?”
My mouth falls open, and it’s hard to form the words. “Do what?”
“Snipe at each other,” he replies. “I don’t want to keep being a jerk to you after your parents have freaking died.”
I shoot looks at the surrounding tables to see if anyone heard. “Hush.”
He hunches, curving a hand around his forehead to shield his face. “Sorry.”
“Ryder, I’m just trying to exist. You’re the one with the hostility.”
“You kinda crashed into my life with your existing.”
“It wasn’t my choice.”
“I know, and I’m trying to apologize.”
“Do you need lessons in apologies too? Because your technique could use some work.”
“Alice.” Ryder sits taller, smooths back his hair, and exhales slowly. “I’m sorry. Thank you for tutoring me, even though you’re starting a new life. Thank you for reading my essay, even though I’m a jerk.”
I bite into my lip, waiting for thebut. The part where I need to get on with my life. The part where he’s struggling too, so my stuff doesn’t matter.
But it doesn’t come.
He just sits there, waiting for my response.
“I don’t think you’re a jerk,” I hear myself say. “You’re away from your parents too. I know that would be tough.”
