My Boyfriend's Best Friend

by Pixie Perkins

  They slobber.

  Madison’s mouth drops as she holds Duke by his collar and my eyes widen—what did I say?

  Did I say something wrong?

  “You must be Brittany!” a cheery voice exclaims.

  I turn around and see Derek’s mom (a good guess considering she has the same auburn-brown hair and blue eyes like he does, and besides, who else would it be?) smiling.

  “Hi,” I breathe out. “Yes, I’m Brittany.”

  She frowns. “Did Duke tackle you?”

  I guess it’s pretty obvious…

  “Like a football player,” Madison pipes up.

  At that, I feel my cheeks turning red—lovely.

  “Sorry about that.” Derek’s mom clicks her tongue. “Duke loves visitors—especially pretty ones.” She turns to Derek. “Why didn’t you tell us that she’s so beautiful?”

  And now my whole face is red.

  Derek chuckles awkwardly. “I, uh—I forgot?”

  His mom shakes her head. “What am I going to do with you?”

  Derek just shrugs while I stand in one place, feeling highly uncomfortable.

  Derek’s dad (I’m pretty sure) who has brown hair like Madison’s and is wearing a “Kiss the Cook” apron comes out of the kitchen holding a spatula. “Honey, I need—”

  He stops and points the spatula at me then looks at Derek. “Is this her?”

  Derek nods. “Dad, Brittany. Brittany, Dad.”

  Derek’s dad smiles, his green eyes lighting up as he shakes my hand. “A pleasure to meet you. You’ll have to forgive me…I’m in the middle of a masterpiece.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I reply, not knowing what else to say. “No prob.”

  He grins and hits Derek’s arm. “You picked a good one.”

  What? So. Awkward.

  He disappears back into the kitchen and I bite the tip of my thumbnail.

  All of this is so—

  “Oh!” Derek’s mom suddenly exclaims, causing me to jump some. “Refreshments—what do you want to drink, Brittany?”

  “Uh, water’s fine. Thank you.”

  She smiles and then walks toward the kitchen.

  “I heard all the excitement, so that must mean that Brittany’s here,” a wavy-haired, red-hued brunette says coming next to Derek. “I’m Faith.”

  “Hi, I’m Brittany.” I let out an awkward laugh. “Which, you…already…know.”

  “She’s cute.” Faith nudges Derek. “What’s she doing with you?”

  Oh, you have no idea…

  “Why are you with Evan?” Derek retorts in a teasing tone.

  Faith rolls her green eyes. “Because we loveeeee each other.”

  I squirm at the implication that Derek and I more-than-likely love each other and he must notice my discomfort, because he clears his throat some. “So, um—”

  “Have you guys kissed yet?”

  My head snaps in Madison’s direction and I’m positive that my face is even redder than before and that my eyes are huge.

  “Mads, seriously?” Faith scolds her. “You’re thirteen, not a seven-year-old.”

  “Exactly,” Madison says, crossing her arms. “I should be able to know.”

  I nervously glance at Derek and shoot him a: “What-do-we-do?” look.

  He chuckles some and ruffles Madison’s hair. “Sorry, Maddles…we don’t kiss and tell.”

  Then he looks at me and wiggles his eyebrows. “Do we?”

  What the—

  “No,” I manage to wheeze out. “We…don’t.”

  Madison frowns, obviously disappointed, and then trudges to the kitchen.

  “She’s fine,” Derek assures me. “She’s just going through this weird phase—”

  Faith gives him a knowing look. “It’s called growing up, Derek.”

  Was I like that at thirteen?

  Maybe, but I don’t think that I would ever ask someone—

  “Do you want to stick around for lunch?” Derek interrupts my thoughts. “Or would you rather go somewhere else?”

  “Uh, what’s for lunch?”

  He grins. “Taco pizza.”

  Chapter 15: It’s an Artsy Smell

  ——————————————————

  So here’s the thing…not only does guacamole make me sick, but so does Mexican food.

  Don’t ask me why, because I seriously don’t know why.

  But what am I going to say?

  No?

  Of course not!

  How can I with Faith and him both looking at me so expectantly?

  And taco pizza?

  How do you even make taco pizza?

  “Sure.” I offer a grim smile. “We can stay for lunch.”

  Faith pats the front of her jeans. “I’ll go tell Mom.”

  “Tell Mom, what?” Derek’s mom asks, coming out of the kitchen with a glass of water in hand.

  Derek drapes his arm over my shoulders once again. “That Britt and I are staying for lunch.”

  “Oh, I already knew that.” She hands me the glass. “Here you go, Brittany.”

  I gladly take it. “Thanks.”

  She smiles. “You’re welcome.”

  I take a few gulps, hoping that it’ll take care of my suddenly dry throat.

  It doesn’t.

  “Why don’t you show Brittany my art studio, Derek?” Derek’s mom suggests. “I’m sure she’d love to see it.”

  His mom’s an artist?

  Huh, I wasn’t expecting that…

  “Wouldn’t you rather—”

  “Nonsense,” she cuts Derek short. “Go show her.”

  Soon we’re in a huge room that has murals on the walls, paint everywhere, easels, as well as tables covered with paintbrushes and paper.

  You name it, and I’m sure she has it.

  “Wow,” I breathe out. “This is incredible!”

  Derek grins. “It is, isn’t it?”

  I nod and walk around. “It even smells like an art studio should.”

  “Yeah?” He laughs some. “What does it smell like?”

  “It’s hard to explain…” I trail off. “It’s an artsy smell.”

  “That would be, paint.”

  At his sarcastic tone, I shoot him a look. “You know what I mean.”

  “Do I?” he replies, playing crazy. “The brain’s a complicated thing.”

  “So is the heart.”

  Wait, what?

  Ew, that was so stupid.

  Where the heck did that come from, Brittany?

  I’m such an idiot.

  He crosses his arms. “The heart, huh?”

  I slowly nod. “Yes…”

  He takes a step closer. “And what is your heart telling you?”

  My eyes widen at that.

  I don’t know what my heart’s telling me, but my brain is saying: “Stupid, stupid, Brittany!”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

  You need to think of something!

  Yeah?

  Like what?

  Ooh—I got it.

  “What’s your heart telling you?”

  There, threw it right back at him.

  I’m so smooth.

  “I asked first.”

  I narrow my eyes. “I asked second.”

  He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Fine.” I shrug. “Neither of us will say.”

  He stares at me for a few seconds and I immediately start to feel self-conscious.

  I probably (somehow) managed to get something on my face, or in my hair…or worse—both.

  “You know, what Maddie asked made me think of something,” he comments, walking around. “Pretty soon people are going to expect to see us hugging and—”

  “No!” I blurt out. Seeing his surprised face, I’m quick to clear my throat. “I mean…don’t you think that’s a little awkward?”

  Please say yes, please say yes…

  I don’t want to kiss Derek, I won’t.

  I can�
�t.

  “We are dating, Britt.”

  “Fake-dating, Derek,” I groan in frustration, “fake!”

  “Don’t you think that I know that?” he asks, now looking upset. “I’m the one that came up with this idea. I’m the one trying to help you!”

  And now my gaze is on the floor.

  He’s trying to help, I get that—but kissing?

  I didn’t plan on that.

  It wasn’t supposed to take much for me to get Blake back…

  Obviously, I was wrong.

  “Look.” He sighs. “We don’t have to right away…we’ll save it as a last resort, okay?”

  I look up and slowly nod. “Okay.”

  He nods as well. “All right.”

  We stand there, just looking at each other, when the door suddenly opens, revealing Madison. “Dad says lunch is ready.”

  She didn’t hear any of that…right?

  No, she couldn’t have—it’s not like she was eavesdropping.

  Crap, what if she was?

  “Uh, Britt?”

  I look at Derek. “Hmm?”

  He laughs some. “You zone out a lot, huh?”

  I can’t stop my cheeks from warming up again. “Not all the time.”

  “Just most of the time,” he teases. “Come on, let’s eat.”

  I let him lead me out of the room and into the dining room, where we sit next to each other…of course.

  The second Derek’s dad sets the pizza on the table, I start to feel sick.

  This pizza is huge, and covered with tomatoes, cheese, onions, peppers…ya know, taco stuff.

  Derek’s mom holds up a pizza slicer while looking at me. “How big of a slice, Brittany?”

  My eyebrows crease. “Uh—”

  “Give her a big slice,” Derek’s dad cuts in. “She needs some meat on those bones.”

  Um, I like my bones just the way they are.

  “Oh, hush, Tim,” Derek’s mom scolds him. “Brittany is fine.”

  This is so awkward…

  “Brittany?” His mom motions to the pizza. “How big?”

  “Um…” I look at her then at the pizza, then back at her. “Medium, maybe?”

  She nods and starts slicing the pizza.

  What am I going to do?

  I have to eat it.

  Maybe it doesn’t make me sick anymore.

  She sets a plate with a slice of the pizza on it in front of me and my stomach sinks…there goes that theory.

  Everyone starts to eat and talk while I just stare at my pizza.

  You can do this, Brittany!

  Just stick the food in your mouth and don’t think about it.

  I pick up the slice and bring it to my mouth with my eyes shut.

  The smell…

  I can’t, I—

  “What’s wrong?” Derek whispers, causing my eyes to snap open.

  “Nothing,” I lie in a rather lame way. “I’m fine.”

  “Why haven’t you—” He stops as if realizing something. “The olives, of course!”

  Olives?

  I glance at my pizza.

  Yes, it has olives…but that’s the least of it.

  “Here,” he says, still whispering as he offers his plate, “take them off and I’ll eat them.”

  You can have the whole slice…

  “I’m not really hungry,” I try to keep my voice low. “You can just have all of it.”

  Now he looks confused. “Well, why did you—”

  He stops, then looks around and I do the same.

  His whole family is watching us.

  I clear my throat some. “Hi, we were just…”

  Just what? And hi?

  Seriously?

  They all look at me expectantly and I turn to Derek for help.

  He laughs some as he directs his attention to them. “Brittany doesn’t like olives.”

  That’s his solution?

  His “save”?

  That I don’t like olives?

  “Oh!” Derek’s mom exclaims. “You should’ve told me, I—”

  “It’s fine, Mom,” Derek assures her. “I’ll eat her olives.”

  This isn’t the solution, people!

  I can’t eat Mexican food! Way bigger problem than just olives…

  “Derek?” I practically hiss. “Can I talk to you in private?”

  He gives me a weird look. “Why do—”

  “Now please,” I say, standing up. I smile at his family who now look beyond confused. “Excuse us, please.”

  I stalk out of the room and into the living room with my arms crossed—I can’t help being just a tad bit frustrated.

  “What’s wrong? Why are you acting weird?”

  I whirl around at Derek’s commentary. “I am not acting weird. Mexican food just happens to make me sick!”

  “Oh, Britt.” Derek’s face falls. “I didn’t know. I—”

  “It’s not your fault.” I wave him off. “How could you know?”

  I let out a loud exhale. “I should’ve just told you once I knew what lunch was.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Suddenly embarrassed, I look down. “Because I…didn’t know how?”

  Really, how pathetic am I?

  “Hey…” He tilts my head up by slipping the crook of his finger under my chin. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

  I bury my flaming face in my hands. “That is the worst thing to say to someone who’s already embarrassed!”

  “Oh shoot, hey I’m sorry,” he replies, pulling my hands away. “I didn’t mean to make things worse.”

  “It’s fine.” I tsk, running a hand through my hair. “It’s just me…that’s all.”

  “How ‘bout I make you something else to eat?”

  “No, that’s fine…you—” I stop and look at him in surprise. “You can cook?”

  “Sweetheart.” He smirks. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tried one of my grilled cheese sandwiches.”

  I roll my eyes. “Making a sandwich isn’t—”

  “Forget it.” He puts a hand up. “You’ve insulted me and fellow chefs around the world.”

  “Huh?” My eyebrows crease. “What are—”

  “And now,” he states in a dramatic tone, “you’ll starve.”

  “Starve?” I laugh some. “That’s ridiculous, I won’t—” I stop when I see his serious expression. “You’re joking, right?”

  He shrugs. “Hope you had a big breakfast this morning.”

  “Well, I…” I sigh. “Will you please make me one of your magnificent grilled cheese sandwiches?”

  He strokes his chin, as if thinking. “I don’t know…”

  “Pleeeeeeeeeease,” I beg, shaking my clasped hands. “I am your girlfriend after all.”

  Ugh, why I even added that part is beyond me.

  Maybe lack of food is getting to me…

  “All right.” He lets his hand drop, “I’ll do it. Just because you’re my girlfriend and I’m a nice person though.”

  I mentally wince at the emphasis he put on the word.

  It’s bad enough that I said it, but he didn’t need to.

  And what’s so special about a grilled cheese sandwich anyway?

  Chapter 16: We’re Going to Act Like Kids

  ——————————————————

  “Oh my gosh, this is so good!” I gush, pointing to the partially eaten grilled cheese sandwich in front of me. “What’s in it? What makes it taste so good?”

  Derek chuckles some and I take another bite of the sandwich…amaze.

  “You really like it?”

  I finish chewing then swallow. “Yes! It’s amazing, what’s in it?”

  “Well…” he trails off, “cheese, butter, and a little love.”

  I practically choke on my food.

  Well, I do—and then start coughing as I reach for my glass of water.

  “Britt!” he exclaims, rushing over to me. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

&nb
sp; “Nothing,” I wheeze out, “food went the wrong way.”

  Yeah.

  Sure, Britt.

  I suddenly feel him gently patting my back and I stifle a groan.

  Why does all the embarrassing and awkward stuff happen to me?

  Thankfully, the patting stops. “Better?”

  “Uh-huh.” I barely nod. “Thanks.”

  “No prob.” He walks back around the kitchen counter and resumes clearing up. “Anyway…my grandma always says that she uses love when she cooks—cliché, I know.”

  Oh, phew…that’s all—good.

  “It’s not cliché.” I pick up my sandwich. “I think it’s sweet.”

  I take another bite and then realize he’s staring at me…again.

  Swallowing my food, I set the sandwich down. “Do I have cheese or something on my —”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “You’re fine.”

  “Okay…” I pick up the sandwich again. “Thanks.”

  I hope he’s not lying, ’cause that’d be embarrassing…really embarrassing.

  He continues to study me for a few more seconds then goes back to cleaning.

  “You know,” I say, wanting to kill the awkward silence, “I could’ve eaten in the dining room.”

  After learning that Mexican food makes me sick, Derek’s mom insisted that I eat in the kitchen—just in case.

  Another embarrassing moment to add to my ever-growing list…

  “You couldn’t have even if you wanted to, Mom wouldn’t have let you.”

  “I guess you’re right,” I agree before resuming my eating.

  “Told you I’m always right.” He grins. “It’s a gift.”

  I swallow my food. “Or a glitch.”

  He frowns at that. “Not funny.”

  “I thought it was funny,” I reply with a cheeky grin, “after all…I am a funny person, you said so yourself.”

  He scoffs. “Not-uh.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Not-uh.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Not—”

  “What are you guys doing?”

  I turn to see Madison standing in the kitchen entryway, holding a plate with her eyebrows raised.

  “We were just…” I look at Derek, who motions to me as if saying: “Go ahead.”

  I focus my attention back to Madison. “We were just—”

  “Arguing?” she offers, setting her plate on the counter. “Do you guys argue a lot?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “We don’t argue a lot…we—”

  “Do you guys kiss and make up after you argue?”