After We Collided (After, #2) by Anna Todd Read Online (FREE)
“Popsicles?” he asks, and I look at the object in my hands. I had meant to grab chicken, but I was distracted.
“Yeah. Everyone likes Popsicles, right?” I say, and he smiles, revealing those evil dimples of his.
I can do this. I can be around Hardin. I can be nice to him, and we can get along.
“You should make that chicken pasta that you made for me,” I suggest.
His green eyes focus on me. “That’s what you want to eat?”
“Yes. If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Of course not.”
“You’re being so weird today,” I whisper so our houseguest doesn’t hear.
“No, I’m not.” He shrugs and steps toward me.
My heart begins to race as he leans in. As I move to step away, he grabs the door to the freezer and pulls it open.
I thought he was going to kiss me. What the hell is wrong with me?
We cook dinner in almost complete silence, neither of us knowing what to say. My eyes watching him the entire time, the way his long fingers curl around the base of the knife to chop the chicken and the vegetables, the way he closes his eyes when the steam from the boiling water hits his face, the way his tongue swipes the corners of his mouth when he tastes the sauce. I know that observing him like this isn’t conducive to being impartial, or healthy in any way, but I can’t help it.
“I’ll set the table while you tell your mom it’s ready,” I say when it’s finally done.
“What? I’ll just call her.”
“No, that’s rude. Just go get her,” I say.
He rolls his eyes but obeys anyway, only to return seconds later, alone. “She’s asleep,” he tells me.
I heard him, but I still ask, “What?”
“Yeah, she’s passed out on the couch. Should I just wake her up?”
“No . . . She had a long day. I’ll put some food away for her so whenever she gets up she can eat. It’s sort of late anyway.”
“Yeah . . . that’s late.”
“I guess.” His voice is flat.
“What is with you? I know this is uncomfortable and all, but you are being so weird,” I say as I put food on two plates without thinking.
“Thanks.” he says and grabs one before sitting down at the table.
I grab a fork from the drawer and opt to stand at the counter to eat. “Are you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?” He grabs a forkful of chicken and digs in.
“Why you’re being so . . . quiet and . . . nice. It’s weird.”
He takes a moment to chew then swallow before he answers. “I just don’t want to say the wrong thing.”
“Oh” is all I can think to say. Well, that’s not what I expected to hear.
He turns the tables on me then. “So why are you being so nice and weird?”
“Because your mother is here and what happened, happened—there’s nothing I can do to change it. I can’t hold on to that anger forever.” I lean against the counter on my elbow.