After several group shots, it was time for couple photos. I stepped back to the fringes with Dad, grateful to give my fake smile a break, and watched as Krista and Kyle stood together, our hovering mom behind the photographer. Krista was smiling so brightly, her poses perfected after years of being in pageants.
“She looks so happy,” I said.
Dad smiled. “I’m so proud of her. She chose a good one.”
I looked at Kyle, wearing a white sweater vest and a golden boy smile. He fit in our family so easily from the moment he’d met my parents. He and Dad had instantly bonded over football and their mutual interest in commodity prices. His mom was also in Junior League, a fact Mom couldn’t get enough of still to this day.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Dad asked after a moment.
We rarely talked about my personal life, sticking to the safe topics of academics and organizations, so I was slightly caught off guard, wondering if Krista had told him about how many dates I went on.
“Not unless you count my economics textbook.”
He laughed. “You haven’t really been serious with anyone since Michael,” he started, not finishing the question he was forming.
I looked at Mom, wondering if she had put him up to this. To have the difficult conversation of why their daughter hadn’t found the perfect guy or, better yet, why she had broken up with the perfect guy six months ago.
Before I could respond, the photographer interrupted, suggesting we get some of just us daughters. I wanted to protest, but, like every single year before, I knew I couldn’t. I glanced back at Dad as I stepped forward, but he had moved on.
“Just like old times,” Krista said, linking her arm with mine. “Remember when we did that sister-sister pageant?”
I nodded, facing the camera, trying to remember the right pose that would look the best. “Yeah, that was so fun.”
What she didn’t know was that I’d had a panic attack in the bathroom right before we’d gone on stage, just like I always did, hurriedly trying to patch the makeup I’d smeared, almost tripping on my heels as the announcer called our names. I could still vividly remember Krista turning as she stepped toward the stage, the lights behind her, her dress sparkling, looking right at me, asking me where I’d been, what was I doing, didn’t I want to win this, let’s go.
“Skylar, could you smile a bit more?” the photographer said after several shutter clicks. “You look a bit stiff.”
“Sorry,” I said, immediately feeling everyone’s eyes on me. That familiar panic kicked in, caused by being on display, everyone judging me, waiting for me to fail, to fall just like I had when I was seven years old, splitting open my knee.
Krista squeezed my shoulder and smiled at me. She was beautiful, so perfect. I took a deep breath and adjusted my smile, tossing my hair over my shoulder, straightening up, trying to somehow, just even a little bit, be more like her.
CHAPTER FIVE
“New rule,” I said, sitting my accounting textbook to the side. I moved to sit on top of an upside-down Dean at the foot of the bed.
“Shit, was I doing it again?” he said with a groan. “I’m sorry. I really can’t help it.”
Ever since after Thanksgiving, the coffee shop had been playing holiday music on loop, driving Dean crazy, and by effect, me.
“Rule 9. Every time you do it, I get something in return,” I said, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders.
“What do you want?” he said with a grin, pulling down on the blanket so I was lying on top of him, both of us covered.
His place was always cold, and when I’d asked him about it, he’d nonchalantly said the carriage house didn’t have heat.
“If you do it twenty times in the next week, you have to buy a heater,” I said, rolling off of him and taking the blanket with me.
He laughed, sitting up to grab his own blanket. “You really think I hum ‘Jingle Bells’ more than twenty times in a week?”
“Yes, you absolutely do. You’ve done it fifteen times the past three times I’ve seen you. If I see you once more, I’ll get my heater.”
He rolled his eyes. “Okay, math genius, you said ‘next week,’ so the counter and the rule starts on Sunday, not this week. And, you know, I could just come to your place, and then you wouldn’t have to think about heat ever again.”
I shook my head, wondering if he was ever curious why we never hooked up at my apartment. But he seemed content with having no additional information.
As he moved to the couch, I looked at the easel that had appeared sometime while I’d been gone for Thanksgiving. I’d first noticed the big bulky wooden contraption when I’d returned from the lake house as Dean carried me to his bed, kissing me, already undoing my bra.
“Wait, wait,” I’d said, pulling back. “What is that?”
He’d glanced over his shoulder as we fell to the bed. “Oh, yeah, it’s an easel,” he’d said casually as he pulled me on top of him, my back to it.
“What do you mean?” I’d asked, taking off my shirt as he reached for the condoms.
“Uh, specifically, it’s an H-frame easel,” he’d said, distracted. “Skye, let’s focus on this,” he’d said, lifting up to kiss me hard.
The second time I’d come over, after a boring date with some guy named Tyler, the easel was still there, but a canvas was on it, too. I hadn’t asked questions, too distracted by how much Dean liked the dress I’d shown up in, how he’d answered the door shirtless, how we were all over each other instantly, not even able to make it the six additional steps to the bed, just falling on the couch.
The third time, neither one of us had time to do a second round — I didn’t want to be late to an SGA meeting, and he was running late for the coffee shop — so I’d only glanced at it as we both walked out the door to our cars, but I hadn’t been able to tell if anything about the setup had changed.
Now, as Dean absentmindedly hummed ‘Jingle Bells’ from the couch, reading something on his phone, I walked over to the easel, finally facing the canvas, so curious what was going to be on it.
“This is blank.”
Dean glanced over at me. “Yeah, I know.”
“Is this whole setup just decorative?”
He laughed. “Ouch, that hurt my pride. No, it’s not decorative. I just haven’t started yet.”
“Started what?”
He looked at me with that same teasing expression he always used when one of us would be close to breaking one of the rules.
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, I would like to retroactively cash in on all the times you’ve hummed ‘Jingle Bells’ in exchange for an answer to this specific question.”
He laughed again. “So now our contract has fake monetary terms attached to it, too? This is getting so complicated. Eventually, we’re going to have to get a lawyer involved. Maybe even a notary,” he said, coming over to me with that adorable half-smile that made me roll my eyes again.
“I’m still waiting on an answer, you know,” I said as he looked at the blank canvas for a moment.
He shrugged, moving back to the bed. “It’s just a painting. Well, not yet, at least. But it will be. Eventually.”
I glanced at the canvas, wondering if I was really about to hook up again with a barista who clearly had a painting hobby he wasn’t going to actually start. I didn’t really want to hear more, preferring to keep him in my mind as a really hot, carefree guy, knowing if I found out more of his flaws, this would become less appealing.
He reached out his hand. “Come back, forget that.”
I smiled, walking to him, happy to push it out of my mind.
★☽★★☽
“If you could have dinner with anyone, dead or alive, who would it be?”
Collin considered this as I glanced at my watch. His 45 minutes was almost up, and I wondered if he could impress me with his answer. The conversation had been dragging, so I decided to go with one of my fallback questions.
“I think it’d be pretty cool to meet a z
ombie.”
I laughed before I realized he wasn’t kidding. “Oh, yeah,” I said, shifting in my seat, sitting up straighter. “Are you interested in, like, the science of the undead or…?”
“Nah, I just think zombies are cool.”
“Yeah, like, the idea of zombies,” I said with a slight laugh.
“You don’t think zombies are real?” Collin said, confused.
He was cute, blonde, clean cut, and was even wearing a sweater with little trees printed on it. So why did he have to be so stupid.
“Um, no, I don’t think zombies are real,” I said as ‘Jingle Bells’ began playing overhead.
I glanced over at the counter where Dean was focused on what he was doing at the espresso machine. Our eyes met for a split second, and then, as quickly as it had happened, he looked back down at the cup he was holding, his expression not changing.
“Did you want another coffee?” Collin asked.
I shifted in my seat again, focusing my attention back on my date.
“No, thanks. I actually think I’m getting pretty tired. I have an 8 a.m. class tomorrow so…”
He finally got the hint, and after I sent him off, giving him a hug and an empty promise that I’d text him, I sat back at my table, writing down all his cons. I still had plenty of time before Krista would expect me to be home with fries, so I pulled out my laptop and a piece of paper and started playing the same instructional video I’d been watching for a week now.
Krista had convinced me that it would mean more if we addressed her save the date envelopes by hand, showing me the script font she wanted and the instructional video for us to learn how to do it. I’d pushed back, asking why she couldn’t just pay someone, that it was going to take forever to address 250 envelopes.
“Well, if we split it, it’s only 125, and if you do 12 a day, you’ll be done in less than two weeks,” she’d said as if I couldn’t have done the math myself. She had already started practicing, her script font so much better than anything I could produce. I’d rolled my eyes, knowing if I said no then that would mean she’d win, even though by saying yes, I also felt like I’d lost.
“I can toss your cup if you’re done,” Dean said, walking over.
The shop was empty now, and I realized I’d been sitting here for an hour butchering every letter on the paper in front of me.
As I handed him my cup, he paused, glancing at my paper, before turning to throw away my cup. He walked to the counter, and as I hit play on the video, he walked back to my table, sitting in front of me.
“What are you doing?” he asked, nodding to the paper.
I hesitated, having never experienced him sitting across from me at my table. “What are you doing?” I asked slowly, glancing around the shop again.
“No one is here,” he said casually, turning my laptop toward him. He hit play on the video and then looked at me, confused. “This doesn’t look like accounting.”
“Yeah, believe me, I’m aware,” I said with a laugh. “I can actually do accounting.”
He reached out his hand, and I shifted in my seat, not sure what was happening. “Pass me the pen,” he said, making a slight hurry-up motion with his hand.
I placed it in his hand, my fingers brushing his palm, and he took my paper. Before I could say anything, he wrote the name I’d been practicing in a perfect script next to my terrible version.
“Is this what you’re trying to do?” he asked, holding the paper up, looking at it with a slight focused squint. He wrote it again, and somehow, it looked even better though I had no idea what he’d done differently.
Before I could respond, the coffee shop door opened. He immediately stood, headed to the counter, not looking back at me. There was a slight influx of people before the shop closed, so I checked my watch, gathered my things, and headed out the door, not wanting to be late for Krista.
As I sat in my car, I held my phone, ready to call her with an update about how Collin thought zombies were real. But instead, I pulled out the paper I’d been writing on, unable to shake the image of Dean sitting across from me at my table. I turned on my car, letting it warm up before I left, and a different version of ‘Jingle Bells’ started playing. I shook my head, quickly changing the station, and looked up to see Dean walking to his car.
I rolled down my window. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he said, his hand on his door handle. “What’s up?”
We didn’t have plans to hook up tonight. I hadn’t even planned to stay at the coffee shop this long. But I hadn’t planned on being surprised by him either.
“Do you remember when you said we had to add an amendment to Rule 1? About telling you about art projects?”
He laughed and nodded. “Yeah, why?”
“Well, I have one,” I said, turning off my car and walking to him.
The night air felt even colder compared to the warmth of my car. He looked at me, and under his gaze, I felt like I needed to look away. My face must still be warm from the car, I realized, touching my blushing cheeks.
“Would you want to help me? Between sex sessions, of course,” I added, making sure he knew I wasn’t trying to break our no-dates Rule 3.
He smiled. “Sure, I’ll help you. Just let me know when.”
And then, for absolutely no reason I could possibly explain, as irrational as smashing a pumpkin, I asked if he was free tonight.
“Really?” he asked, slightly surprised. “You never see me past 10:20.”
It felt weird that he was the one bringing me back to reality. I thought of Krista, how she’d probably already noticed I hadn’t called yet, not even on my way with snacks.
“Right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Yeah, just whenever, next time,” I said, shrugging, trying to sound as easygoing as he was.
As I took a step back, he reached out, placing his hands on my hips. “You know, it’s cold,” he said, his voice low, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Remember that time-sensitive amendment?”
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and pressed my body against his. “Yeah,” I said, lifting up on my tiptoes to bury my face in his neck. “It’s really cold.”
He pulled back just slightly, looking at me under the streetlight with a smile in his eyes, and then he kissed me. It was a soft and slow kiss, and I found myself liking this just as much as our urgent, rough kisses. That realization made me jerk away from him.
“I can’t stay,” I said, suddenly feeling very nervous.
“Yeah, same,” he said, seeming uncomfortable, too. He cleared his throat and opened his car door. “I’ll see you around.”
“I have a lot of stuff to do,” I said, ducking my head as I walked to my car. “So maybe sometime next week or something.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he said, shutting his door behind him.
I sat in my car, taking a deep breath, waiting until he pulled away before I drove home.
“Where have you been?” Krista asked, sitting on the couch with her laptop, no doubt researching something wedding-related.
I sighed, sitting our bag of food on the coffee table, and laid on the floor, looking up at the ceiling.
“How was your date?” she asked, already digging into the fries.
I closed my eyes. “It was fine.”
“Do you think you’ll see him again?”
I didn’t respond.
“Skylar, are you okay?”
I took a deep breath and sat up, pushing that kiss out of my head.
“He believed in zombies. Like, actually thought the undead existed,” I said, tossing her my date notebook.
Krista burst out laughing, grabbing my notebook as the paper I’d been practicing on fell onto the couch. I tried to grab it, but she was closer. She tapped where Dean had written.
“Oh, wow, you got way better on these. Is this when the coffee kicked in?” she said with a teasing laugh.
I snatched the paper from her, crumpling it up in a ball.
“Ha, you’re funny,”
I said dryly.
She ignored me, sitting my notebook to the side and standing to study the poster boards above our couch. We had made a lot of progress, several sticky notes moved to the second panel, but we still had a lot left.
“I know you have finals next week,” she said, putting her arm around me. “So why don’t you take a break on wedding stuff, okay? So you won’t be so stressed. You seem super on edge right now. How is school going?”
“I’m not stressed,” I said, stepping back. “I’m going to bed.”
She called my name before I could make it to my room. “But could you still do your half of the save the date envelopes?”
I nodded. “Sure, Krista. I’ll finish them, promise.”
“And make them look like those two I liked. Those were perfect.”
★☽★★☽
I’d had two dates, four finals, 13 black coffees, and finished absolutely zero save the date envelopes before I saw Dean again. Our schedules didn’t seem to match up, each of us with our own Rule 1 reasons for not being able to sync up.
When we finally nailed down a day, I groaned, realizing it had been exactly two months since we first kissed, hating that the date was burned in my brain.
“Ooh, what do you have going on tonight?” Lindy asked with a whistle as I walked into the living room.
She and Krista both grinned. I hated that Brandon and Kyle were friends, meaning they double dated every so often. Tonight was game night, and I was grateful I was getting out of here, not wanting to fifth wheel in a riveting game of Monopoly.
“What? Nothing. Why are being like that?” I asked, glancing at my watch. I needed to leave in six minutes or I’d be late.
A Guy Like Him Page 9
