Catch My Fall | ✔

10. I Hate Football

"I hate you."

Andre handed me a glass of water. He watched me with wide eyes, probably afraid I was going to choke again.

I meant what I said to be a joke, but he looked genuinely concerned. Before he could utter another apology, I held my hand up to stop him.

"I'm fine. I promise," I said, after downing the water. "It was my fault. I don't usually spicy stuff."

And who knew a Blazin' Hot flavored knock-off Pop-Tart would actually be like swallowing a handful of Hot Cheeto's?

We had made our way through most of the toaster pastries and their weird flavors. The maple bacon donut was by far the best of the bunch, which wasn't saying much.

Half eaten pastries were scattered across the counters. I didn't even feel bad for wasting so much food. Honestly, I'd be doing the world a favor if I threw them out.

"And I don't actually hate you," I told him, hoping to wipe the worry off his face.

The dent between his brows didn't ease up as he stepped closer to me. His thumb swiped under my eye, wiping away a stream of tears the spilled during my coughing fit. "You should, after I talked you into eating that."

I tried to focus on anything but his touch and the warmth seeping from his palm to my cheek. My only option were his eyes, which sent my stomach into a gymnastics routine. "You want me to hate you?"

If I hadn't been watching, I wouldn't have noticed his gaze falling to my lips, his own parting wordlessly before--he stepped away. He dropped his hand from my cheek like I'd burned him.

What the hell?

"We should get back to your drawing." He was out the kitchen quick. Like he couldn't get away from me fast enough.

With the burn of rejection in my chest, I followed him out. Did I read that situation wrong? Was he not about to kiss me?

Did I want him to kiss me? Never-been-kissed-would-probably-freeze-up-like-a-deer-in-headlights me? No amount of pretending to have Indy's conference would've prepared me for that.

It didn't matter. Clearly, he wasn't interested in me in that way if he just ran out the room. It was something I'd have to get used to. Guys simply weren't interested in me in that way. That was fine. High school relationships were nothing but drama, anyway.

Andre sat on the couch, my iPad in his lap. He couldn't unlock it, so he studied the wallpaper. It was a portrait of a girl I drew using a reference from Pinterest. Her pink hair fluffed out around her shoulders, matching her smirking lips.

Andre held it up for me to see when I sat down. "You drew this?"

"Yeah." I took the tablet and unlocked it with my fingertip. "It's not the best, but I like the color scheme."

"Not the best?" He repeated as if I'd just told him two plus two was five. "Do you have more like that?"

The stinging I felt was replaced with a flutter at the excitement in his voice. I tapped at the tablet, pulling up a few other illustrations I'd done since getting the iPad. Most weren't rendered to completion, but he didn't care. He was mesmerized by the drawings.

I was mesmerized by him. The small smile that never left his face as he flicked through the pictures. The way his nose scrunched up as he focused on my drawings.

"Something like this," he said, showing me another one of my illustrations of a girl with multicolored braids and sucking on a lollipop, "would look dope on shirt or something. And you could add the butterflies in the background, and since they're not the main focus, they don't have to be perfect."