She makes it sound like Parker and I are getting back together eventually. Like it's already a done deal.
As if my raging emotions have conjured him, Parker is staring at me a few feet away. He glances at the trash can behind me, a furrow between his brows, telling me he'd seen what I did to the card, confirming what I already know.
I don't care.
We're done.
I make sure to keep my eyes ahead as we walk past him, ignoring the heavy feel of his eyes on my back.
*******
I scowl at the pink rose next to my lunch tray.
I thought stuffing rose petals into my locker was the end of it. But apparently, Parker isn't done yet. Now he's making some guys from the sophomore and junior classes hand me roses during random times: a few times while I was walking down the hall, a couple times during class—where they deliberately interrupt the lecture—another time at my locker, and now even here in the cafeteria.
If he keeps this up, by the end of the day I'll have a full-on bouquet in my hands.
I badly want to approach his table, to tell him to stop playing with my emotions. But that will require me to actually talk to him. Maybe I can just ask Quinn to do it for me. But aside from the fact that it wouldn't feel right, I have a feeling that my best friend would just end up going off on him and attract all the attention.
Not that I'm not getting them now. Parker hasn't been discreet about the whole thing. I don't know how, but it seems like everyone knows that he's the one behind the roses.
I even heard a few girls talking, saying that I shouldn't play "hard to get." That I should be thankful that he wants me back.
Funny how, just yesterday, they were calling me "the girl that's been dumped twice." Quinn almost got into a fight twice because of that.
"The guy's committed, I'll give him that," Quinn comments, shooting Parker a brief glance.
I make the mistake of following her eyes. His gaze snags mine, holding it hostage.
Even with the physical distance and all the people present, it still feels like it's just the two of us inside the cafeteria. Like no one and nothing else matters.
His eyes grow hooded, more intense, as if he's thinking the same thing.
Too bad he broke my heart.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I tear my eyes away.
"But his methods are so cliché. Does he really think he'll win you over this way? He hasn't even talked to you himself. All he does is send sophomore and junior lackeys your way."
"Because it's Parker," Brayden says. "He probably doesn't have a single clue when it comes to wooing girls. Girls come to him, not the other way around."
"It's true." Kyle Hawthorne, who's sitting next to him, nods in agreement. Running his fingers through his shoulder-length brown hair, he adds, "Doesn't he always get love letters and stuff during Valentine's Day?"
"Right?" Brayden grins at his boyfriend, looking like a boy in love and the happiest I've ever seen him.
The two of them have made it official a week ago, and they've been inseparable since. If Kyle isn't sitting here with us, Brayden is with him and his friends. I miss him sometimes, but he's happy, and that's what matters.
"Ugh. You guys are too cute, it's so annoying," Quinn groans. "But, yeah, I guess you're right. Guys like him are like fish out of water when it comes to groveling, so they probably just turn to their equally bumbling friends for help—a.k.a. the Hot Boys Club. And the result? Every cliché method found in romance movies." Smirking, she jabs a finger at me. "Don't be surprised when he ends up serenading you in front of the whole school by the end of the week."
"Dear God." It's my turn to groan. "Please don't let that happen. I don't think I'd be able to live down the embarrassment that would cause me."
Brayden and Kyle give me sympathetic looks.
I sneak a glance toward Parker. He's no longer staring at me, his full attention directed at his friends.
My eyes land on the rose once again as Quinn's words cut into my thoughts. Is that what he's really going to do? Serenade me in front of the whole school?
But that's the thing—some girls like grand gestures. I don't. And Parker should know that about me.
*******
"Peaches."
I stand perfectly still, my hand mere inches from the driver-side door of my Audi, my heart missing a beat.
I thought I'd get home without Parker speaking to me. I waited the whole day for him to approach, to do the talking himself. But all I got were more roses—roses that are currently clenched tight in my hands. If they still had thorns, I'd be bleeding by now.
But even that wouldn't compare to the hurt he'd caused me.
Keeping my back to him, I coldly ask, "What do you want?"
"Can we talk?"
Every fiber in my body wants to say no, to refuse to listen. But there's a voice inside my head telling me to give him a chance, to let him explain his side, to hear him out at least.
My shoulders slump as I give in and whirl around to face him. Why can't I resist this boy?
Still, I don't want him to know that. So I quickly rearrange my features into a hard mask. "What are you doing, Parker?"
He stares at me, longing and determination plainly written across his face that it's making my heart clench. He's not even trying to hide his emotions. "Isn't it obvious?" He swallows hard. "I made a grave mistake. Now, I'm trying to fix it."
I bark out a harsh laugh. "And you thought these roses would do the trick?"
"No." But judging from his slight wince, I can tell he wanted to say yes.
Brayden and Quinn were right. Parker is really clueless. And I can't help but
