What hadn’t Clara done to him? She’d had sex with him to get back at her mom, went out with him because her dad hadn’t wanted her to, continued seeing him despite being grounded and lying to her mom about it, only to turn around and throw it in her face.

He was so pissed off at her. She might have been the girl of his dreams when he was sixteen, but not anymore. Now, she was just an annoying eighteen year old girl who pissed him off and made him want to quit college just to get away from her.

One weekend, he was home from UNSCA to visit Gramps and ran into you.

Shortly after that, he broke up with Clara and took you out anytime he was home. He was bored of her, bored of her using him to annoy her mom. You, on the other hand…

Well, he hoped you weren’t using him to piss your mom off. He was going to find out tonight when he met your parents, met your family.

He sat out in his truck, two bouquets on the passenger side of the bench seat—one for you and one for your mom—and a tie wrapped around his hand. Did he wear it, did he not? He could feel your eyes from the front room where you waited anxiously, but—

No tie. Okay. He folded it—not neatly—and put it on the dash, then got the flowers. He kicked the door open and got out, smoothing his shirt, and walked up to the door. It swung open before he even got there, and there you were.

You looked gorgeous.

And panicked. What, why did you—were you—