His large hands rested on my waist and I tried to glare at him while I ignored the butterflies in my stomach.
Stupid, stupid butterflies.
I narrowed my eyes and tried to look intimidating. “I hate you so much right now.”
I was pinned between the tall Parrish and the food counter, so there wasn’t a whole lot I could do in the way of intimidating him, but that didn’t stop me from trying. It was seriously frustrating that he was always one step ahead of me at this stupid fake marriage game. We definitely needed a new plan or I’d always be playing catch-up and looking like an idiot.
“Your food is ready,” the boy called to us, plopping it onto the counter unceremoniously before walking away without a second glance in our direction.
Just as I was about to turn around and take what should have been the spoils of war, Jefferson leaned over and kissed me.
Actually kissed me.
It was not the barely-a-kiss tiny peck I’d placed on his lips. He actually pulled me into him, pressed his lips firmly against mine, and kissed me good and well. It felt like my heart had fallen into my stomach and my rage had bubbled over all at the same time. I could feel the counter digging into my back from the force of the kiss. There wasn’t much that was gentle about Jefferson.
After a five-second grace period where I allowed myself to guiltily enjoy the feeling of being wrapped up in his arms, I pushed Jefferson away forcibly, putting enough drama in it to be believable to both him and myself.
“What is your problem, Jefferson?” I whispered with as much venom as I could muster without attracting too much attention.
“What?” he asked, looking honestly confused at my anger.
“What do you mean, ‘what’? Why did you do that?” I asked, still keeping my voice low.
“You kissed me first.”
He said it so matter-of-factly that I realized he really didn’t see anything wrong with what he had just done.
“I thought we were kissing now. I thought that was our new thing,” he said with a shrug, picking the food up off the counter and beginning to walk away with it, forcing me to jog to catch up to his long strides as he left the building.
I knew he understood why I was angry, and if I was being way too honest with myself, I couldn’t really get mad at him for guiltily taking advantage of an opportunity the way I had only moments before. But that didn’t stop me. I was a notorious hypocrite.
The air outside was warm on my skin, although my face was already bright red from the range of emotions surging through me all at once.
“Don’t walk away from me,” I said, running into the tall Parrish as he stopped dead in his tracks on the sidewalk, waiting for Deacon and Brighton to return.
“There,” he said. “I stopped.”
I wasn’t great at reading Jefferson since he didn’t function like a normal person, but even I could tell by his dry tone that he was upset. Maybe I’d offended him because I wasn’t thrilled that he had practically assaulted me in a fast food restaurant.
“Stop it,” I said.
“Stop what, Sadie? You’re so difficult to please sometimes.”
“Stop pretending like you don’t know how to be human,” I said. “Stop acting like you don’t know why that was weird in there.”
“I did the exact same thing as you,” he said incredulously. “I keep trying to follow your lead and yet I keep getting in trouble for it. Tell me how that makes any sense.”
“Because we’d already lost at our own game in there. There was no need to keep pretending.”
“You didn’t kiss me because it was part of your little act,” he said, looking over at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. He was either mad or indignant.
“Just stop talking,” I said. “I’m tired of hearing your crazy theories.”
“You didn’t have to kiss me to make your act believable,” he went on.
“I said stop talking,” I snapped as Brighton and Deacon rounded the corner in the Jeep.
“Fine,” he said. “I won’t talk about it once we get in the car. I’ll keep ignoring it just like you want me to because you don’t like doing anything that someone could criticize you for.”
I rolled my eyes at him and his holier-than-thou speech, but he grabbed my arm before I could open the car door.
“You kissed me for the same reason you were staring at me this morning,” he said. “And just put yourself in my shoes for two seconds and think about how it makes me feel that you’re putting up this much of a fight over something you so obviously feel.”
And with that, he let go of me and got into the Jeep, leaving me standing outside and feeling like a horrible person.
Chapter 16
“There’s always the Eva with no last name,” Brighton said, but I was hardly listening to her.
I was lying on the bed in our hotel room in Boston, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out when my solid day and a half of silent rage had turned into regret and guilt.
Jefferson and I hadn’t spoken since our little fight in the parking lot just outside of Knoxville, Tennessee. If he had been a normal person, Brighton and Deacon definitely would have noticed his silence, but because he was infamous for his mood swings, they both just assumed he was in one of his depressed phases and left him alone.
Sadly, we’d been stuck in the back seat together for the rest of the night, me glancing over at Jefferson every once in a while and him very obviously avoiding eye contact. It was weird that the tables were suddenly turned. I was even a little hurt that he was no longer staring at me creepily.
Jefferson and I were both horrible insomniacs, which meant that I knew he’d been awake half of the night in Knoxville, and yet not once did he try to talk to me or even look in my direction. I actually found myself watching him that night, wondering why I was being so strange and trying to decide if I wanted to apologize or kill him with his own stupid pocket knife.
The worst part of the whole trip, however, had been when we’d made a stop to get gas eleven hours into our thirteen-hour drive to Boston and Jefferson and I had waited in the car. It was a pretty small space to be stuck with someone you weren’t speaking to.
But as mad as I had been at him, right at that moment, as I lay on the bed with Brighton rambling about one thing or another, my rage was slowly cooling down and turning into guilt.
Maybe I did like being around Jefferson, no matter how weird he was, but that didn’t mean I could ever be his girlfriend or something. How could you live with someone that unstable? There was no possible way to have a healthy, functioning relationship with a sociopath. Besides, no matter what he said, I didn’t like him in that way. I was just fond of him as a friend.
But that didn’t really explain the guilt. The guilt must have come from some Parrish mind trick.
“So we’ll stick with the no-last-name Eva?” Brighton asked.
“Mhm,” I responded, furrowing my brow.
“Or we could just skip the whole thing and take the Jeep on a really long and pointless road trip,” she went on.
“Okay,” I agreed.
Maybe I felt guilty because I’d made Jefferson think I liked him and now he was upset with me. Or maybe I really did like him. But only a little bit. Like, out of morbid curiosity to see what it would be like to enjoy spending time with someone like him.
“And we can drive it down to North Carolina? I’ve got some family down there,” Brighton said. “Isla would love it if we visited. She’s got this hot doctor boyfriend I could introduce you to.”
“Sounds good.”
There was something so terrible about the idea of admitting to myself that I sort of liked Jefferson. The idea was just ridiculous.
“And then we can drive to England and visit Deacon’s family too.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, brow still furrowed.
“Sadie,” Brighton said loudly, pulling me from my inner turmoil.
&n
bsp; “What?”
“I’ve been speaking nonsense for the past five minutes,” she said. “You’re not even listening to me.”
“Sorry, I’m just really tired.” I wasn’t technically lying.
The sleeping arrangements hadn’t gotten much better, and if I didn’t get a decent night of sleep pretty soon, I’d have a mental breakdown.
Maybe that was it! I’d kissed Jefferson during a time of extreme mental fatigue. That explained a lot.
“Sadie!”
“What?” I asked.
“You’re ignoring me again,” Brighton said, matching my annoyed tone.
Apparently she’d been speaking to me.
“Sorry, I was just thinking,” I said.
At least I didn’t have to deal with Jefferson today. He and Deacon had gone to the library to go through old census records and were texting their findings back to Brighton. She’d volunteered to go with Deacon but Jefferson had instantly stepped in, claiming he should go to make sure Deacon stayed on task. Translation: Jefferson couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me anymore because I’d hurt his feelings.
“If just Jefferson was being weird, that would be normal everyday life,” Brighton said with a sigh. “But you’ve both been totally awful to be around ever since Tennessee.”
She was out of her comfort zone, pointing out that I was being annoying. Poor girl was too sweet for her own good.
“What’s going on?”
I bit my lip to buy some time before responding.
What was going on?
“Jefferson and I had a disagreement.”
“That’s normal,” she began. “The way you guys have been acting isn’t. What happened?”
“I kind of sort of barely gave him the tiniest of baby pecks,” I said with a wince, hoping I could downplay it enough so that Brighton wouldn’t freak out.
I failed.
“You what?” she practically shouted. “You broke anti-Parrish rule number one!”
“You’re one to talk.”
“I have not,” she said defensively. “I mean, I want to, but that’s a whole other story. When did you kiss Jefferson?”
“I didn’t kiss him,” I lied.
She instantly gave me a look that said I’d better tell her the truth fast.
“When we were ‘married’ so that we could get free food, I gave him the smallest kiss ever. Honestly. It could barely be called a kiss.”
“What did he say?” she asked, scandalized.
Now she was acting like the preppy cheerleader she looked like and not the asthmatic anxiety-ridden girl she was.
“He didn’t say anything; he just kind of stood there in shock,” I said. “And then after we were done pretending to be married, he kissed me.”
“Just out of the blue?”
“Completely out of the blue,” I emphasized. “I mean, we weren’t even talking about our little act or anything and suddenly he kisses me.”
“A real kiss?”
“A very real kiss,” I said, still wondering if the memory made me want to smile or run from my own insanity.
“Is he a good kisser?” she asked with a wicked grin.
“Brighton! That’s hardly the issue here,” I said.
“I know, inner turmoil and all that.” She waved her hand in the air as if my problems were trivial. “We’ll get to it, I promise. I’ll even help you figure out what you should do, but I have to know. Is Robot Boy a good kisser?”
“I’m not talking about this with you.” I crossed my arms across my chest to show how firm my resolve was.
“I’ll tell Jefferson you’re secretly in love with him,” she threatened.
“Fine! He’s a good kisser, okay?”
“Oh my gosh.” She giggled, putting her hand over her mouth like a little girl. “Good job, Jefferson. Where would he even learn to be a good kisser? Who would he possibly practice with? The boy hates people.”
“Can we please get back to what’s important?”
It took her a moment, but Brighton managed to calm her giggling fit and put on a semi-serious face.
“Sorry, proceed,” she said.
“What do I do about Jefferson? He’s all moody now. I mean, more moody . . . which is a pretty incredible feat for him.”
“Yeah, he’s been terrible lately,” Brighton said. “Is that what you guys were talking about when we pulled up that night?”
“I was being put in my place for a bunch of stuff I didn’t even think I was doing,” I said. “We were having a good time pretending to be married and suddenly he has to call me out for leading him on or something.”
I narrowed my eyes at the memory, my guilt starting to turn back into anger.
“He said I needed to put myself in his shoes and think about how it felt that I was so opposed to the idea of liking him.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Think about how that would make you feel,” Brighton elaborated.
“He’s Jefferson!” I practically shouted. “He doesn’t care what people think about him.”
“He cares what you think about him,” she pointed out. “You might be the only person whose opinion he values. As much as I hate to admit it, I kind of agree with him. You’re the only person he looks for approval from, so how do you think it makes him feel that you act like he’s too weird to be datable?”
“Well, then, why is he so weird? If he cares so much, why doesn’t he just act normal?”
“Sade, none of us are normal,” Brighton said with a laugh, telling me this was obvious. “I have every phobia, anxiety disorder, and OCD issue in the world, but I’m also highly aware of the sad fact that people are nicer to you when you’re pretty. It’s unfair, but it’s kind of true. And while it’s great that people are nice to me, it’s also really annoying that they get weirded out when they figure out I can’t talk to them because I have social anxiety or when I pull out my inhaler. It’s like I’ve suddenly become some alien species.”
“But you still dress cute,” I pointed out.
I couldn’t understand why she’d do that if she hated the double standard so much.
“Yeah, because it’s like a security blanket,” she said. “If I didn’t dress how people wanted me to, then I’d be openly ridiculed, which I’d never be able to handle. This way, if I don’t talk to people, they just think I’m being a stuck-up pretty-girl snob instead of the neurotic mess I really am.”
I didn’t respond, but looked up at the ceiling in silence instead. I really wanted to be mad at Brighton for sticking up for Jefferson when she should have been validating my opinions, but somehow I knew she was right.
Jefferson was very anti-normal because he didn’t think it was fair to be held to an arbitrary societal standard, and there I was, trying to force it on him constantly. Of course Brighton would stand up for him, since she was the biggest walking contradiction of them all.
“I still don’t know how I feel about the fact that he kissed me,” I said.
“You don’t have to. I’m not saying you need to go declare your love for the weird little guy—just try to cut him some slack and be aware of the affect you have on him so you don’t accidentally abuse it.”
“Says the girl who has Deacon Parrish, fearer of all women, wrapped around her little finger.”
“That’s different,” Brighton said dismissively. “And stop trying to change the subject.”
“Fine, but we will be revisiting that topic later,” I promised.
We were both silent again for a moment before Brighton’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and gave a little half smile.
“The boys think they found a good lead.” She grabbed a few pieces of equipment and stowed them in her purse.
“Great,” I said, not sure I was ready to face more of Jefferson’s silent treatment. “I guess I should say something to Jefferson, huh?”
“Probably
,” she responded in an apologetic tone.
“That’ll be the world’s most awkward conversation.”
“But it’ll be good for you.” She pulled her hair out of its ponytail and shook it to give it more body.
I pulled my black boots on over my jeans and put a yellow v-neck shirt on over my tank top before grabbing my own purse.
“Hey, Sade?” Brighton said hesitantly before we left the hotel room. “I’m not sure if you care, but no one would judge you if you did like Jefferson.”
I had to laugh. As sad as it was, I was actually very concerned about the idea that people might make fun of me for liking Jefferson. It wasn’t because I was some awesome catch (because that definitely wasn’t the case), but just because you never knew what he might do in public and that meant I could very easily be pulled into the sideshow that was his life. I wasn’t sure I was okay with being perceived as something other than “normal.”
“Hey, Brighton?” I responded, matching her tone perfectly.
“Yeah?”
“I wouldn’t judge you if you liked Deacon,” I said with a grin.
~
The Boston Public Library was a pretty gorgeous site, with its arched windows and statues guarding the doors. Much to my dismay, however, we didn’t actually get to go inside. The Parrish boys were sitting on a bench across the street. Jefferson actually didn’t look too out of place in his slacks, collared shirt, and vest. For once, he seemed to have found his people in this historic city.
“So, what did you guys find?” Brighton asked, joining the boys on the bench.
I opted to stand, crossing my arms uncomfortably and trying not to let my shoulders look too scrunched up. Jefferson looked up at me and smiled in a strained way, doing exactly what a normal person would do in the awkward situation and throwing me off completely.
Under normal circumstances, Jefferson wouldn’t care about making accepted social efforts and he’d just blatantly ignore me if he were mad, or he’d drop a few really pointed comments that would make the entire group uncomfortable. Yet there he was, forcing a smile and making eye contact.
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