Nothing More by Anna Todd Page B

always liked that store before it closed down. Well, except the sticky floors—they were the worst.
    Dakota slurps on the end of her straw for a few seconds. When she pulls away, she has a dot of whipped cream on the corner of her lip. I fight my instinct to gently swipe it away.
    â€œRemember when we would sit in Starbucks in Saginaw for hours?”
    And just like that, she’s closing off her real complaint. I don’t push her to talk about it any longer. I never have.
    I nod.
    â€œAnd we would give them fake names every time.” She laughs. “And that one time that lady got so pissed because she couldn’t spell Hermione and she refused to write our names on the cups anymore?”
    Her laughter is real now and suddenly I’m fifteen, running down the street after a rebellious Dakota, who has leaned over the counter and stolen the woman’s marker right from her apron. It was snowing that day, and we were covered in dirty brown slush by the time we made it home. My mom was confused when Dakota shouted that we were running from the cops as we ran up the stairs of my old house.
    I join her soft reverie. “We actually thought the cops would waste their time on two teenagers stealing a marker.”
    A few customers look in our direction, but it’s pretty packed in here, so they are quick to find something else to look at, something more entertaining than an awkward coffee date between two exes.
    â€œCarter said that the woman told him we were banned from there,” she adds, her gaze growing somber.
    The mention of Carter prickles at the back of my neck.
    Dakota must see something in my eyes, because she reaches across and puts her hand on mine. I’ve always let her.
    Taking a page from her book, I change the subject. “We had some good times in Michigan.”
    Dakota tilts her head and the light above us hits her hair, making her glow. I haven’t realized just how lonely I’ve been lately. Aside from Nora’s quick touch, I haven’t been touched in months. I haven’t been kissed in months. I haven’t even hugged anyone except Tessa and my mom since the last time Dakota came to visit me in Washington.
    â€œYeah, we did,” she says. “Until you left me.”

chapter
Seven
    I ’M WONDERING IF MY EXPRESSION looks anything close to how I feel. I wouldn’t be surprised if it did. My neck definitely jerked when she said that. She had to have seen that , is all I can think as I stare at her incredulously and wait for her to take back the harsh words.
    â€œWhat?” she asks, deadpan.
    There’s no way she actually . . .
    â€œI didn’t want to leave . . . it’s not like I had a choice.” I keep my voice quiet, but I hope she can hear the sincerity in my words.
    The guy at the next table looks up at us for a second, then turns his attention back to his laptop.
    I grab both of her hands on the table and gently squeeze them between mine. I catch on to what she’s doing. She’s upset about school, so she’s projecting her anger and stress onto me. She always has, and I’ve always let her.
    â€œThat doesn’t change the fact that you did. You left, Carter was gone, my dad—”
    â€œI wouldn’t have gone anywhere if I had a say in it. My mom was moving, and staying for my senior year of high school wasn’t a convincing enough reason for her to let me stay in Michigan. You know that.”
    I’m gentle with her, the way I would be with a wounded animal lashing out at anyone who approaches.
    Her anger is deflated instantly and she sighs. “I know. I’m sorry.” Her shoulders slump and she looks up at me.
    â€œYou can always talk to me about anything,” I remind her. I know how it feels to be a small person in such a big city. I haven’t really heard her talk about any friends except Maggy, and now I know she’s friends with Aiden for some awful