Page 38 of Torn

Cocking his head, he frowns like he doesn’t believe me. “You hesitated before you answered. What was your first thought? Spit it out.”

“That you look hot as fucking hell.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them, and we stand there as he takes them in and I try to wish them back.Oops.

He coughs into his fist. “Well. I wasn’t expecting that.”

Me either.

I swallow hard over the anxiety that’s suddenly bubbling up inside me.

“You were right, though,” I say nervously. “You can definitely rock a purple heart.”

“I told you I could.” His hands capture my head and smooth down my flyaway hair. “I made your hair all messy.”

“Is Tristan single?” I blurt out, attempting to distract myself from how his fingers feel in my hair, strong and electrifying.

“Tristan? Why would you want to know that?”

“Rayne was asking. She saw him with you earlier.”

He shoves his hands into his front pockets. “I think he is… but I thought she came here with Drifter.”

“Sailor,” I correct. “And she did but I think she was trying to set us up. They must just be friends.”

I notice him biting the inside of his cheek as he contemplates this. “Your dad doesn’t want you to date musicians.”

Here we go again. “Jason turned out to be an epic asshole, so maybe a musician would be better after all.”

He rocks on his heels. “Maybe. You won’t get that picture-perfect little life you said you wanted with a musician. With the kids and the dogs and the dinners.”

“Jesus, Tor. I’m talking about dating, not marriage. I just want to have some fun like everyone else. He’s really cute.”

“Just be careful. He’s older than you, probably has lots of experience… I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

I shake my head and step away from him, heading back to my bench. “Why do you always have to switch back into uncle mode?”

“What’s wrong with that?” he asks, following me. “I worry about you.”

Why is everyone always worried about me? Do they think I’m going to spontaneously combust someday?

“Well, don’t. I just want you to be my friend.”

“Aren’t I?”

“Yeah… mostly. I think.”

He touches my arm and I turn to face him. “I’m always your friend, Kenzi. Not mostly. Always.”

I’ve wondered about that a lot lately, especially since he mentioned us not seeing each other as much once I graduate, like his work with me was done. That’s been slowly eating at me, planting seeds of doubt.

“Are you?” I ask. “Or do you just hang out with me and give me things to do as a favor to my parents?”

“Why are you being so moody? You’ve never doubted me before.”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I guess I’m just nervous aboutgraduating and things changing. And I’ve had a shit week with the kids at school calling me a slutty prude.”

“Slutty prude?” he repeats. “How is that even a thing?”

I throw my hands up. “I have no idea! Leave it to me to create some new form of loser. It’s been total hell.”