“Because he told me so.”
I gulped. Boy, if only he would have recorded that conversation. I was ready to kill to hear what they really said. “Come on, Ethan, Chris is a playboy. You said it yourself. His interest will only last until after the first date.”
“Maybe…” Ethan shrugged. “Maybe not.”
“Anyway, I’m not interested, and you don’t want me to talk about Chris while we’re playing video games, do you?”
“Nah, not really.” Chuckling, he came back to my side and continued the game. But after a few minutes, he said, “Oh, one more thing, Chris asked me if I knew what kind of cake you like, because he intends to bake one on Saturday when we cook dinner for you.”
A smile sneaked to my lips. Arrogant Dick or not, that was sweet of Chris.
Later that evening, I sat on my own bed and began reading the last Outlander book. My gaze drifted to the clock above my door and I wondered if Chris would send me a text again tonight. It was eight fifteen. His messages usually came in around half past nine.
A couple of pages later, my mind strayed away from the written words to Chris and the soccer field. Unable to concentrate, I closed the book, reached for my phone, and typed a message for Ethan. You can tell your brother I like cakes with cream and fruit.
Three minutes later, a text came back, but it was not from Ethan. It was from someone who was saved as Dream Guy Material in my contact list. I burst out laughing. It took me a couple of minutes until I could finally read the message, because I was shedding tears of hilarity at the new name Chris had picked for himself.
LOL. Why didn’t you tell me that yourself?
Oh shoot! I hadn’t meant for Ethan to tell him about the cake now. Tomorrow or sometime this week would have totally done the job. Even though I was alone in my room, an uncomfortable flush heated my face. I rubbed my cheeks and growled, then texted back: I didn’t know if I’d reach you at an inappropriate moment. What if you were with another girl right now? For all it’s worth, you’re dream guy material.
I’m glad you finally realized that ;-) But I’m grounded, sweetness. And you’re the only girl coming to our house these days. No need to worry.
Was I worrying? Certainly not! Although I didn’t like the thought of him kissing my throat and then kissing another girl with the same mouth on the same night. While these thoughts spiraled up and down in my mind, another text came in. What’s your favorite?
My favorite what? I messaged back.
Fruit. For the cake.
Ah. I like kiwi. :P Chew on that, smart ass! I grinned to myself, wondering if he got the hint, though.
His final text—and I knew it was the last one for tonight because it ended with “Sleep tight, sweetness”—had a link to YouTube in it. The nerves in my stomach twitched as I clicked the link and waited for the video to load and play.
My eyes grew wide. I couldn’t believe it. Sam Smith’s “Stay” was his answer to my kiwi. He actually remembered what he was singing when he fed me the fruit. A soft laugh rocked my body as I turned off the light at a quarter to nine. I didn’t want to read any more Outlander tonight.
*
Wednesday after science, I headed down the corridor with Sam. She was the first, and for now the only, one of my friends I’d told about the odd incident on the soccer field with Chris. Wearing a turtleneck instead of Chris’s bandana today to hide the traitorous mark on my throat, I pulled it down for a moment to show her the evidence.
“Whoa, that’s gross. And you let him do that?”
“I…don’t know. Maybe I did.” Shamefaced, I lowered my head. Chris had been right. My laughter would have made any other guy believe as well that I was enjoying it, even if I kept telling myself I didn’t. I mean, I usually laughed when I hurt myself, so why not when I got eaten, too?
We continued down the hallway, and suddenly someone’s arm wrapped around my shoulders. It didn’t feel quite like last time when Chris had caught me unaware to ask me whether his brother had kissed me. The size of this guy wasn’t right, and neither was the smell. For a weird moment, I felt the pull of disappointment but abandoned the thought really fast.
“Hey, booklover,” Hunter said in my ear, but not at all quiet and subtle. “Do we have another dream couple coming up?”
I frowned at him sideways. “What do you mean?”
“Well, Chris has been asking me a lot of questions about you. Any idea why?”
I did have an idea. He wanted to find out the easiest way into my pants so this stupid game could be over for him, but that wasn’t something to be said out loud and in front of my friends. “I hope you didn’t tell him too much,” I whined.
“Only the very basics, I promise.” When he laughed, I wondered what exactly the very basics covered.
Of course, when Hunter was here, Chris couldn’t be too far, and around the next corner we ran into him. He turned and smiled when he heard us. “Sleep well last night?” he asked in a low, taunting voice, leaning a little closer to me after Hunter had taken his arm away.
I couldn’t help the grin that pulled at the corners of my mouth. “With a catchy song in my ears, actually.”
Mischief sparked in his cornflower-blue eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but a female voice broke him off. I was sure I’d heard that voice before, but couldn’t place it until I turned to look at Lauren. She was a little taller than me and her black hair shone like liquid coal with sunlight in it.
“Hey, Lauren,” Chris said, not showing any hint of the irritation I suddenly felt in her presence. “What’s up?”
With the back of her hand, she brushed her perfect hair over her shoulder and gave him a stunning smile. To her credit, the smile was warm enough to melt a snowball and it was directed at all of us, not just him. “You said you’d call me about tutoring you in Spanish again.”
“Ah, right.” He grimaced. “I totally forgot about that.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” she said with a soft laugh.
Chris rubbed his neck. “You see, it’s a little difficult right now…because…I’m grounded.”
“I don’t mind if we study at your place.” There was just this little bit of offer in her voice and I suddenly wasn’t sure if I should turn and walk away. But none of the others around us seemed to feel that particular need to give them privacy, so I remained rooted to the spot. I might have been mistaken, after all.
“Ah, no. That’s not a good idea right now,” Chris murmured. Was he even aware that his eyes switched to mine for the tiniest moment? “In fact, I don’t think I’ll need extra Spanish lessons for a while.”
Lauren’s warm smile faltered. She blinked a couple of times. “Are you sure?”
Oh my God, it hadn’t been a mistake. She was implying more than just studying in her offer. And Chris…the idiot had actually brushed this super hottie off. What had gotten into him?
Sam poked me in the ribs with her elbow, and I coughed. As all eyes turned to me, I felt the awkward urge to say something, so I murmured the best I could come up with. “Excuse me.”
I didn’t hear the end of the conversation between Chris and Lauren, because Sam hissed in my ear, “You were staring with an open mouth. Hunter’s watching you. If you don’t want to start rumors, you better get a grip.”
I was just surprised, was all. Why would anyone take that the wrong way? But Sam was right and Ryan’s gaze was moving back and forth between me and Chris. He was smirking. With a little effort, one could certainly hear things clicking together in his mind right now. I cleared my throat and wanted to tell him to shove it, but Lauren saying goodbye to all of us cut me short. She sent Chris a smile that held a fraction of the warmth of before and told him, “See you in Spanish.” Then she headed away.
Hunter moved closer with drawn brows. “Did that really just happen?” he whispered in my ear.
What? Chris declining an offer? I wasn’t sure myself. Obviously not expecting an answer anyway, Ryan turned to the left down the hall. Chris
didn’t follow him but faced me instead. Hands raised in a surrendering gesture, he drawled, “Your rules.”
What the heck—
He adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and walked off, leaving Sam and me alone.
Sam scrunched her face at me. “I have to go to history. See you later.”
And I headed off to French.
After everything that had happened—the hickey, holding hands, and the misunderstanding about my rules—I just didn’t want to run into Chris at his house that afternoon, so instead of hanging out with Ethan again, I talked the girls into Christmas shopping. I got my dad a key ring that bleeped when someone clapped their hands, because he tended to put his car keys in places where it often took him hours to find them again. For my grandfather, I bought a do-it-yourself fighter jet made of balsa wood in a crafts store. He loved building models. Mom was a hard nut and I’d have to go shopping for her again another day. Of course, I couldn’t get presents for my friends when they were with me. At least their repeated “now look at that” or “aw, this is so pretty” gave me some good ideas.
When I came home that evening, a wave of animosity slapped me in the face and chased away all the pre-Christmas joy.
“I can’t stop doing them! It’s what pays best!” Mom shouted in the next room.
Ah no… An argument about night shifts again. I rubbed my temples and moaned.
“You’re hardly home three nights a week,” Dad complained. “How can we ever sort out our problems if you’re gone most of the time? It’s not working that way, Sally. I’m not going to take that from you much longer!”
Where were the times when we all watched TV in the living room together and no one spat venom at each other?
At lightning-speed, I smeared myself a peanut butter and jam sandwich and sneaked upstairs, the noise of their argument following me. With my headphones on, I read for a couple of hours and hoped the worst would be over by the time I went to bed. But the truth was, their fight when I’d come home had only been the opening round.
Shortly after nine, I had enough of their shouts. Sighing, I leaned out the window and closed my eyes in relief when I saw the lights were still on in my grandpa’s bedroom. He loved to read as much as anyone else in my family. If I went over there now, he might even make me a cup of hot chocolate before going to bed. Right, I needed to be in a loving and peaceful place, and Grandpa gave that to me.
Pillow stuffed under my arm and my phone shoved into the pocket of my PJ bottoms, I padded downstairs. “Good night!” I yelled into the living room but didn’t wait for one of my parents to come after me and bribe me into staying. Their promises to stop fighting when I left never kept up, so why would they now?
The grass of our small front yard was cold, but slippers had never been my thing. At a quick push of the doorbell, a shrill sound like an old alarm rang out. It went on for as long as you pressed the button.
Light went on downstairs and fell through the frosty glass in the door. Gramps opened it. He didn’t look surprised, just very sad. “One of those nights, hm?”
“Days, nights, who pays attention?” I answered. “Can I come in?”
“Sweetheart, you know you don’t have to ask.” But only then he seemed to realize that he was blocking the door. Stepping aside, he let me in and flipped the key in the lock again. “Do you want anything before you go to sleep?”
A grin stretched my mouth to a half moon. “Hot chocolate would be awesome.”
“With cream?”
“Mm-hm.” I nodded, tossing my pillow onto the couch. Five minutes later, a cup of sweet, steaming cocoa sat in front of me on the coffee table. Gramps got one kiss on the cheek for that and another for good night.
He stroked my hair, which I’d tied into a messy bun. “One day, things will get better between them, you’ll see,” he said in a soft, deep, encouraging rumble. I liked his voice. It was the only soothing thing on such nights.
“I hope so. Sleep well, Gramps.”
After he left and went upstairs to his room, I switched on the small lamp behind the couch and turned off the main lights. The hot cup warmed my frozen fingers as I sipped my cocoa.
My phone vibrated on the coffee table with a brief beep. Half past nine. Why did the prospect of this message being from Chris make me smile in the midst of all of tonight’s misery?
I opened the text. What are you doing?
Okay, someone was seriously bored. Just moved in with my grandfather, I typed back.
Want to explain?
No, I didn’t want to. Long story.
You have three and a half hours. If I get less than six hours of sleep, I’m grumpy in the morning.
Ha ha—and I wrote that because it really made me laugh—so we better make sure you go to bed early.
I’m in bed now. I always am when I text you. Why aren’t you?
Fine, since he was begging for the facts: My parents are having a rather noisy argument. My grandpa lives next door, and I came here to sleep on the couch.
Wow. You do that often?
Funnily enough, I’d expected him to reply with an offer that I could sleep on his couch, or better yet in his room, if my house wasn’t good enough anymore. After all, that would fit right into his usual assortment of answers. If his message would have been anything of that kind, it would have guaranteed him a night full of silence from my end. But because he seemed seriously concerned, I typed another reply.
Sometimes. I’m used to it. So you go to bed this early every day, so you can text me? Drinking the rest of my hot chocolate, I waited for his next text, and a part of me was getting impatient when it took him more than six minutes.
Yeah. I don’t like being disturbed when I talk to you. ;-) How’s the hickey doing?
Absently, I rubbed the spot on my neck. Turning violet. How’s your black eye doing?
Turning yellow-ish. Makes me a whole lot more attractive, doesn’t it? ^^
I like flawless. :P
I like ponytails.
I gulped.
Was that a reference to how I had my hair up when we were playing soccer? For some reason, that last text gave me a warm tingle that crept all over my body, right down to my toes. Feeling bold after that rush of adrenaline, I replied: I like charming Chris.
I like kissing your neck. You taste like coconut cream.
Oh my freaking Jesus! Was he serious? I had to stop this conversation. It was getting out of control. Even though I knew his last couple of messages wouldn’t let me rest for a long time. I pulled my knees to my chest and hid them under the thick wool blanket, keying in with slightly shaking fingers: Body butter. I’ll get you some if you like it so much. :P It’s late. Have to go to sleep now, or I’ll be grumpy in the morning.
My heart beat a little faster than average-weekday-night pounding, and I wished I had a way to stop it. It finally managed to relax when Chris’s final text arrived. Sleep tight, sweetness.
“You, too,” I whispered and turned off the light.
Chapter 14
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, I found myself texting back and forth with both Donovan guys, which kept me busy until twenty minutes to midnight. While Chris wanted to know how things were going at my house and if I was back in my own bed again—yes, I was—Ethan complained that we hadn’t been hanging out at all these past two days. He must have grown used to us spending time together just as much as I had, which made me smile.
He demanded I meet up with him in town tomorrow afternoon. I was fine with that. And since it was Friday, he might even get to see Ted at Charlie’s.
However, no such luck for him. Tony had taken over Ted’s shift and served us the hazelnut latte and cappuccino we ordered. He didn’t stop to chat with us because, as was usual for a Friday afternoon, the place was brimming with customers.
Ethan and I talked the hours away with topics like Obamacare and how far one would have to go to find the end of a rainbow. He also told me why he really quit playing basketball. Hunter was right, it ha
d to do with William Davis, but in a way I wouldn’t have guessed. Apparently, Ethan had been crushing on the guy for a while, and though he never made a pass, Will must have noticed. He didn’t react well to it.
Obviously, Chris had threatened to drop off the team, too, if Will kept spilling crap about Ethan—which we now knew wasn’t such crap after all. However, the threat kept the guy from starting serious rumors about Ethan being gay. That was really adorable of Chris, but talking about him didn’t feel right at the moment, so I dipped my lip into the warm milk foam of my latte and after another sip, I said, “How’s soccer practice going?”
Ethan leveled me a long look. Obviously, he’d gotten the hint and didn’t bring his brother up again all afternoon.
When he drove me home later and stopped in front of my house, he turned off the engine and shifted in his seat to face me. “Shall I come pick you up tomorrow? I think we’ll start cooking at three, so dinner will be around five. If you still want to watch the show, I can be here at two forty-five.” He smiled. “Or earlier, if you want to play some video games before.”
“Yeah, about that… Maybe it’s not such a good idea right now. It’s probably better if we cancel that dinner.” I should have brought this up earlier, but I just didn’t know how. Sending him a message later tonight had been my original plan.
Opening the door, I put one foot out, but Ethan grabbed my hand, stopping me. Interesting, how normal his touch already felt to me—like when my other friends took my hand and not at all like when an angel was caressing my skin.
“What’s the matter, Susan?” he demanded. His frown warned me he wouldn’t let me get away before he got an answer.
The problem was, there wasn’t an easy explanation. Heaving a sigh, I shrugged. “I don’t know. Things are just getting a little weird with your brother at the moment.”
And I didn’t only mean the sweet texts he kept sending me. Mostly, I meant my strange reactions to them. I hadn’t smiled as much as these past few nights in a long time, and ninety-five percent of the time it was when I glanced at my cell and read another message from Chris. It was because of him that I’d grown my own personal hoard of butterflies in my stomach. And they felt so wrong there.
Dating Trouble (Grover Beach Team Book 5) Page 16
