SLOW BURN

by Christie, Nicole

  “So, Dean,” he mumbles, grabbing a fry from his plate. “You doing anything after practice today? Wanna find a couple of old ladies to kick? Maybe throw some kittens off a cliff?”

  Dean resolutely ignores him, focusing all of his attention on his massive burger. I try to tear a chunk off of mine—I don’t want to smear my lipstick by taking a giant bite—and special sauce and shredded lettuce fall all over my hand. Yeck.

  “Johnny, it was a long time ago,” I say, wiping the back of my hand with a napkin. “It scarred me, of course. But anyone can see Dean’s matured into someone who’s willing to compromise, try new things—and make up for past transgressions—”

  “If I agree to do it, will you stop talking?” Dean growls.

  I clamp my lips shut in a big show—though the corners of my mouth are twitching madly. I meet Johnny’s bright blue eyes, and we share a conspiratorial look. This is fun. If I had known how easy it is to mess with Dean, Johnny and I could have ganged up on him from the start. Sort of like a ménage a trois of bullying-ness. That’s not right. Ménage a trois—where did that phrase come from?

  Oh, my god. A really dirty picture just popped into my head. Me, Johnny…Dean. Oh, my god.

  Erase! Erase!

  “You okay, Teeny?” Johnny leans across the table to study me. “You’ve got a really weird look on your face.”

  I shrink down in embarrassment, trying desperately to dispel the images currently bombarding me: smooth hard bodies, muscles flexing and tensing…sweating. Me, in the middle of all that. Oh, stop it, you pervert! I bow my head, letting my hair fall around my face—and oh, look at that. Into my plate of food as well. Now my hair is going to smell like special sauce for the rest of the day. Yes, think of washing my hair. In the shower. With Johnny and Dean helping me.

  I clamp my knees together, ignoring the weird tingling in weird parts of my body. Eek! Embarrassing. Don’t you dare giggle, Juliet!

  “It’s nothing,” I say, the words coming out strangely muffled. I choke on a snort of laughter, which makes me want to bury my red face in my hands.

  It’s the guys turn to exchange looks. They both appear mystified as I burst into hysterical cackles. I just…I can’t—so hot!

  Am I total sleaze for even having these crazy thoughts? I swear, they just started in my mind like a dirty movie. I’m so going to hell. I need to stop reading those trashy romance novels. But, damn…have you ever seen some of those book covers?

  “I’d give anything to know what’s making you blush like that.” Johnny says, sounding only half amused. “Where are your hands, Dean?” he jokes, glancing under the table.

  “Johnny!” I yelp, mortified. I can’t even look at Dean.

  I’m saved by the bell. A chime sounds—Johnny’s alert for when he gets a text message. He shifts to the side to get his phone out of his pants pocket, and quickly checks the screen.

  One thing about Johnny is he’s never secretive about his texts or phone calls. When we were together, and he would receive, like, a billion texts, he would always read them out loud—even though I never asked him about them.

  “Party at Mark Wilten’s after the game,” he announces, looking up at Dean. “You in?”

  Dean cocks his head to the side, eyes squinted questioningly.

  “Bayside,” Johnny says in answer to his look. He smirks. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember—you hooked up with his sister? Shit, what was her name? The one with the huge…personalities?”

  I roll my eyes at his euphemism. He flashes me a quick unapologetic grin.

  “Eva,” Dean says suddenly. “I never hooked up with her.”

  “Really? ‘Cause that last party at Rooster Joe’s—she was all over you like a rash, I heard. Remember that party in Bryant Park, Juliet? The one where Nick fell off that bench, and bust his head open?”

  “Oh, yeah, the supposed ‘small gathering’ at that guy’s house. The one with the weird growth on his cheek.” I make a vague gesture over my own cheek. “I didn’t know you were there, Dean.”

  He shrugs, looking down at his mostly demolished burger. “I stopped by.”

  “Oh,” I say, sitting up. “Eva was the drunk porn star with the giant boobs trying to bust out of her shirt?”

  Johnny nod once, eyes sparkling. “Oh, yeah.”

  I turn to Dean in disbelief. “Dude.”

  “I wouldn’t touch her,” he says, disgusted.

  Johnny smirks at his stepbrother. “Yeah, he has his standards. Dean’s holding out for the ‘perfect one.’”

  “Awwww, Dean! That’s so sweet!” I don’t believe it for a second, but I flutter my eyelashes at him.

  “No, it’s true. Right, Dean?”

  Johnny meets Dean’s eyes in what appears to be a challenging way. An indecipherable look passes between them, and I wonder at its meaning. Why is it so sexy when hot guys stare each other down like that? Why do I feel like licking the air? Am I ovulating?

  “So, Juliet,” Johnny says casually, interrupting my dirty girl thoughts. “You’re coming to the party, right? I can pick you up after you get off work.”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Oh, come on.” He cocks his head to the side charmingly. “I’m asking you as a friend. Your buddies Nick and Mack will be there. Mack already said he’ll kick my ass if I don’t convince you to go.”

  I hesitate briefly, ignoring Johnny’s persuasive look. Why am I even considering this? Because Johnny’s obviously going, and I—no, it’s not that I want to keep an eye on him. I guess I’m kind of curious how he’ll behave at a party, now that we’re no longer together. So far he hasn’t flirted with any girls at school, but in a different setting, who knows? It’s not like I have a claim over him anymore.

  “Are you going?” I ask Dean.

  He looks surprised that I’d want to know. “Maybe,” he replies cautiously.

  “You’re going,” Johnny decides for him. He turns back to me. “Please, Teeny? I promise you’ll have fun. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Can I bring Heather?”

  “Hell, yeah. She’ll probably, want to kill me, but…yeah, bring her.” Johnny pounds the table victoriously. “Alright! Party in Bayside!”

  Fun. “Will the sea harpies be there as well?” I can’t help but ask.

  “Not if you don’t want them to be.” Johnny stares at me, absolutely serious.

  He really means it. It’s kind of cool how he caters to my every whim now, like a well-trained German Sheppard. Or a mafia boss. I can just picture him in a darkened room, sitting behind a giant desk, and giving the order to whack ‘em. I can’t say I don’t envision Kara’s death in Technicolor detail.

  He’s already banished Laundry Room Girl from the group for me—though I swear I never asked him to. Would he get rid of Kara as well? Why is he even friends with her, anyway? She’s such a raging bitch. It would serve her right if…

  No, I’m not hiding behind Johnny. I can handle Crazy Red.

  “Let them come,” I say magnanimously, feeling the need to do a queenly wave. “We’ll be like one big happy family. Where did all my fries go?”

  I glare accusingly at Johnny. He grins back at me. “Fast hands,” he says unapologetically.

  Next to me, Dean snorts. I just know Johnny meant something dirty by that. And in front of Dean, too!

  Hip Chick stops by our table with some coloring crayons and a kids menu. Really, she carries it too far. Dean pays for everyone despite my protests. I hate when people pay for me. Johnny used to like it when I would try to give him money, since I would stuff the bills down his pants pockets. I can’t do that to Dean, though…right? No, that would be so weird and wrong. Just wrong. God, I hope he’s not psychic.

  Ugh. I’m so sick.

  ******

  Chapter 17

  “Are you sure I look hot? You’re not just saying that, right?”

  Heather asks me this for the fiftieth time, and each time she asks me, she blows her peanut butter and vodka breath in
my face. It smells weirdly delicious.

  Hoping to finally appease her nerves, I slowly scan her from head to foot. Her red blonde hair is down and flowing around her perfectly made up face, and the emerald green halter top she’s wearing makes the most of her 32A’s. She’s wearing jeans, because she looks good in them, and because she’s self-conscious of her pale chicken legs. They are a little on the scrawny side, but I’d rather swallow my own tongue than tell her that. She may seem like she has all the self-confidence in the world, but deep down, she’s a neurotic mass of insecurities. I love that about her—I don’t know why. That’s kind of sick, right?

  “You look so hot,” I tell her, trying to think what a guy would say. “Like, your body, and stuff. Really sexy.”

  “My body and stuff?” She rolls her eyes at me. “Thanks a lot, loser.”

  She grandma-elbows me away from the mirror so she can check out her butt, forcing me to go to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

  I don’t know about my outfit. The breezy little plum dress with the cap sleeves seemed like a good choice, but that was before I put it on. Does it make me look too cutesy? Should I put my hair up, or leave it down? Is my lipstick too dark? I wonder what Johnny will think of this dress. He’s never seen it before. I think I will have to hit him if he punches me on the shoulder, and tells me I look sweet.

  So, if this treat-me-as-one-of-the-guys thing is some kind of ploy to make me crazy—it’s working. I hate to admit it, but it’s true. What does that say about me? Do I only want what I can’t have? Right now, I really want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  “Jule, this party is at the beach, right?” Heather calls, interrupting my inner musings.

  I sigh at my reflection in the mirror before heading back to the room. “It’s on a private beach in Bayside. The guy, Mark, is super rich. His grandfather invented some kind of little plastic thing that clips into motherboards.”

  “Great, good for him.” Heather smoothes down the front of her top, and looks up at me with anxious eyes. “And you’re sure that Sloane will be there?”

  “Pretty sure,” I reply with a shrug. “When I asked her in class today, she made a sound that resembled a maybe. Ben said she’d probably go.”

  “Which one is Ben? The one with the twin?”

  “Ugh, no—that’s Jason and Ryan. Ben is the one that looks like that guy from that WB series that just ended?”

  “Oh, yeah, the blonde one.” Heather laughs as she flops down on my bed. “It’s hard to keep all your hot guys straight.”

  “They’re not my hot guys,” I scoff, privately loving the idea of having a hot guy harem. Yeah, but like I’d know what to do with them.

  “Whatever,” Heather is saying, lazily kicking her sandaled feet in the air. “Admit it—you’d rather hang out with them than with a boring old lesbian like me.”

  I look at her sharply, gauging her expression to see if she’s serious. She’s not looking at me, instead playing with my phone, scrolling through something—probably my texts because she’s nosy like that.

  “Heather, I would love to hang out with you more often,” I announce sincerely. “You’re my best lesbian. But you’re always hung over.”

  I try moderately hard to keep the judgmental tone out of my voice, but Heather rolls her eyes at me. “I’m your only lesbian,” she retorts, choosing to ignore that last comment.

  But I see my chance to do a segue here. “Speaking of being hung over…if you get drunk tonight, you’re not spending the night here. Don’t give me that look, Heather Jones—I told you I’m not covering for you again. If you get wasted, I’ll drop you off on your porch with a sticky note on your forehead, reading ‘Drunk girl—berate accordingly.’”

  “Whatever, Mom.” She tries to sound flippant, but I can tell she’s annoyed by the way her feet kick faster in the air. Put her on a bicycle, and she’d be flying.

  “I’m serious.” I give her a stern look, hands on my hips. “You really need to stop—”

  “Oh, dear god,” Heather interrupts, sounding appalled. She’s staring at the screen of my phone. “Why is my brother sending you flirty little texts?”

  I quickly reach for my phone, but she holds it away. I’m no match for her long ape arms. “He’s just joking,” I say quickly. Damn it, why didn’t I erase those stupid texts?

  “Uh, no, he’s not. OMG, what a cornball. ‘Every time I close my eyes, I see you face.’ What the hell?”

  “I know!” I bite my lip super hard, then blurt out, “He just started texting me after we bumped into him at the mall that day. Mostly, it’s been ‘hi, how are you,’ but every once in a while, he’ll start saying random things like that. I don’t know if he’s drunk when he sends those texts, so I just ignore them. So weird.”

  “Weird? It’s gross, and practically incestuous.” Heather’s feet kick even faster, and she suddenly cackles. “I am so going to tease him about this. Oh, wait! I gotta text him back…” Her thumbs start moving over the screen in a series of lightning fast movements. “’Robert, you dirty little freak. I want to pop you in the oven and bake you like a pot pie…’”

  I don’t know why, but she says this in a passably good British accent. I’m laughing until she says, “And send!”

  I lunge for her, shouting, “Nooo!” At the same time, Heather’s little kicky feet send one of her sandals hurtling in my direction. It’s okay, though—I catch it with my face.

  “You gave me a black eye,” I moan, gently prodding my puffy left eye. It’s really not that bad, but I like to make a production.

  “I’m so sorry,” Heather says for the eleventh time, even though she’s stifling a laugh. “You really need to put some ice on that.”

  I glance at the little carousel clock on my dresser. It’s almost ten. “No time,” I say, grabbing my little black purse. “They’ll be here soon. Let’s wait outside—I don’t want my mom hassling them.”

  We clomp down the stairs like arthritic horses. On the way out the door, I call a goodbye to Mom, who’s in the living room, falling asleep in front of the television. She mumbles something in return. I remember when she used to grill me mercilessly every time I left the house, but that was before she changed shifts at the hospital. Nowadays, she’s too tired to even ask about school. Why was I worried she’d hassle Johnny? She’d barely notice if he stuck his tongue down my throat right in front of her.

  Perfect timing. I’m locking the front door when a sleek black SUV pulls into the driveway. Mack is behind the wheel, and Dean is in the passenger seat. Johnny, Nick, Jason, and Ryan are all crammed in the back, which means—

  “You’re going on someone’s lap, Juliet,” Johnny says, not bothering to hide his wicked grin. “Wouldn’t you rather it be mine? Familiar territory and all.”

  “I hear lots of girls are familiar with your territory, Johnny,” Ryan snickers obnoxiously, turning around in his seat to leer at us.

  “Hit him,” Johnny orders Nick, who immediately smacks Ryan in the back of his head.

  “Ow!” he howls, still cackling.

  I exchange looks with Heather. She grins and gives a little shrug before squeezing into the space between Johnny and Nick—but not before giving Johnny a meaningful glare. He gives her his most charming repentant look in return. It makes me want to bite him. What a weird urge.

  Sighing, I climb in and settle carefully into my ex-boyfriend’s lap. Had I known about the seating arrangement, I would have never work such a short dress. It’s awkward, familiar, and exciting all at once.

  I try to perch myself delicately over Johnny’s knees, but he grunts and wraps an arm around my waist, and settles me firmly against him. I try to hold myself absolutely still, resisting the urge to snuggle back against his warm hard chest.

  “Relax, Teeny,” he whispers in my ear, squeezing my bare leg.

  It takes forty-five minutes to get to Bayside. The guys up front start talking football, and Heather and Nick get into an animated discussion about their
favorite movies. Together in relative privacy, Johnny and I are stiff and strangely silent. I can feel his racing heartbeat where my arm is pressed against his chest. My own heart is clubbing so hard against my ribs, I’m afraid it might actually break through and escape my body, cartoon style.

  If we were still together, Johnny wouldn’t hesitate to put his hands all over me, even in a car full of his friends. But now…I know he’s restraining himself, trying to behave since I had asked him to give me space. I know this because it’s kind of hard not to notice how much he likes having me on his lap.

  But then I get angry all over again, thinking about him with Laundry Room Girl. It pisses me off, and turns me on at the same time. Why am I like that? The more I hate him, the more I want him. I don’t understand it, and it makes me feel ashamed of myself. I’ve always been disgusted when girls I know took their cheating boyfriends back so quickly, then acted like they were more in love than ever. I always swore to myself I would never be that weak and gullible, but look at me now. I let Johnny control me, consume me—then I tell him to back off, and get mad when he listens. But it’s hard to hold onto that anger when all I want to do right now is straddle his lap and kiss the hell out of him.

  I suddenly wish Heather could hear my thoughts, so she could give me a good slap across the face. I need it—and a cold shower. I need to stop inhaling the sexy familiar scent of my ex-boyfriend’s cologne—the one I bought for him, actually. I need to stop subtly wiggling against him because his breath becomes more and more ragged at each movement.

  “Don’t move,” he warns me in a harsh whisper.

  I shift against him in response, causing him to stifle a quiet groan. I can’t contain the wicked smile that breaks onto my face.

  “Shit,” Johnny breathes in my ear. “You’re killing me, Teeny.”

  “Good,” I murmur, not mentioning that I’m also torturing myself.