by Rachel Kiss
I already knew about the party and that he was taking Bianca. Noah’s room is right next to mine, I can hear his conversations through the wall. I heard him and Bianca doing FaceTime on the computer. She practically begged him to take her to the party, reminding him of all the gross things she did for him the night before. (Gag.) I really do not appreciate being able to hear his conversations—though it’s certainly giving me a quick education on the stuff I’ve been sheltered from for the past few years. (Gratefully.) (I mean, gratefully I’d been sheltered from it.) (Yuck-yyy stuff.)
Bianca gave me a quick scowl before she left the gym, kind of letting me know she (absurdly) saw me as some sort of threat. Or maybe it was just that she knows how I feel about her. (I’ve hated her since kindergarten.)
Like I said, unfortunately, my mom and Bianca’s mom are close friends. Which is probably how Bianca knew I never kissed a boy. (Thanks mom.)
Okay, a little back history: My mom and I moved away from this area when my parents got a divorce. It happened during middle school and after that, I was homeschooled. So now—well—I’m abnormally shy of boys. But whatever. Hey, I got my first kiss out of the way. So there’s that. Of course now I’ll dream about it over and over for the rest of my life and no other boy will be able to compete with it. Ever. But whatever. It’s out of the way. So, thanks for that Bianca. Thanks sooo much.
Not!
CHAPTER 5
While I’m still being a lazy bum in bed I get a text from Fenton. It asks if I want to take his shift at the restaurant tonight. He wrote: “I thought I’d try you first since at the party you talked about how much you like working there.” (Like, non-stop, a mile-a-minute.)
I quickly text back: “Yes, I’d love the hours—thanks!!”
Fenton: “You’re welcome. I can probably toss some of my other hours your way as well.”
Me: “Thank you—I love you!!”
Once I hit send, I gasp, suddenly worried he might take that wrong (since, you know, he tried to kiss me when I just told him a bunch of crazy gobbledygook). So, I quickly add, “—I mean, as a coworker.”
Fenton: “Got ya.”
Then he texts more, probably just to be clear, “I love you as a co-worker too. So relax. You can not sweat the kiss I tried and failed. Doesn’t happen often … but it happens.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I just send him a smiley face. (You can never go wrong with a smiley face.)
Well, and a cupcake—you can never, ever go wrong with a cupcake. So, I decide to make him one.
While I’m in the kitchen baking up the chocolate frosted red-velvet cupcakes, Noah wanders into the kitchen with bed-head. Well, actually, his hair is always rumpled and messy/sexy/gorgeous like he just rolled out of bed. So, really, it’s rather awesomeness than bed-head, but still, I choose to call it bed-head.
Especially this morning.
Since he wasn’t impressed with my kiss. (Sob!)
I want to throw cupcakes at him. (Or, okay, another kiss—but that’s just sad.)
“’Morning sunshine,” I greet him teasingly, since he looks like he had zero sleep—like he was partying all night and just took a quick nap this afternoon so he can make it through his hockey practice that he’s apparently off to.
“’morning,” he mumbles. He eyes the cupcakes, then lifts a brow. “Are the cupcakes for everyone?”
‘No!’ I want to tell him, ‘Go get cupcake-action from someone who can actually stir an ‘event’ in your picky mouth.’
But I don’t say that, because he already thinks I’m a little girl—no use proving it by being a brat.
“Well, they’re for Fenton,” I tell him (yeah, being a brat—and, okay, a little girl) “—but you can have one.”
He winced when I said ‘Fenton.’ So, for the briefest of seconds my heart soared and I was all—yay! He doesn’t like that I’m making Fenton cupcakes … he cares (and is maybe slightly jealous)—a least just a little.
But, alas—no.
He rubs the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “About Fenton—” he starts to say.
But then a horn honks outside and it’s obviously his ride and he’s late. He clomps his shoes on without tying them, then grabs one of the cupcakes shoving it in his mouth as he quickly heads for the door. “Mmm,” he says about the cupcake, then gives me the tiniest look, “We’ll talk later, okay?”
Then he’s gone, out the door.
Unfortunately—(kill me now!)—I figure I know what he was going to say. That Fenton—the guy I had gushed about on the phone last night forever—he hooked up with another girl.
Noah wasn’t jealous about me making Fenton cupcakes … he felt sorry for me.
Groan.
CHAPTER 6
I end up seeing Noah a lot sooner than I expected. I mean, since I had planned to hide from him—for the rest of my life. But no. He and some college-aged looking skank that I’ve never seen before come into the restaurant and get seated in my station. When I see that happen, I do a face-palm.
Admittedly, my station has the best view—the ocean. But come on! I can not catch a break. I long for the guy. Long for his hands to tangle in my hair again, and his hot mouth to—well, do what it’s doing to her, Miss Mouth-action.
Inwardly groaning, I slog over to them. “Can I take your order?”
Noah gives me a semi-sympathetic/wholly-amused glance at my complete monotone—and gritted teeth. But he doesn’t say anything about it. Though, really, his smirk says it all. (Grr!)
“What are your specials?” his gorgeous mouth-actiony college-age girlfriend asks.
I hate her. So much! Noah seems to realize this. Maybe because I shoot her ice daggers with my eyes. He breathes out a laugh. “Just bring us a pizza,” he says, “—with everything on it, and a pitcher of root beer. And chili-cheese-fries for an appetizer.” He winks at me, “—I’m a big spender.”
And a big jerk, I think. But what I say out loud is, “Well, I hope you’re a big tipper.”
I say it under my breath though, more like a mutter. Only he hears. Obviously. Because he says with a teasing smile, “We’ll see how you do.”
His girlfriend speaks up at that—having no idea I’m his stepsister and that she should maybe kiss my butt—she says all annoyed-like, “—yeah, you’ve been rather rude.”
I grunt at that and walk away.
Which makes Noah laugh.
(My grouchiness always makes him laugh. Apparently, my bad moods are hilarious. Who knew?)
When I come back with their pizza and I’m placing it on the middle of their table, guess who walks into the restaurant?—Fenton. He’s holding hands with Bianca.
Noah immediately follows my gaze, and I see him wince when he spots the cuddly couple. With a tiny moan-noise, he sets his jaw.
Great, of course, he gets the wrong idea. He mistakes my stare as one filled with hurt and deep pain and longing, but really I was just thinking, ‘Maaan, I should have brought Fenton’s cupcakes to work with me.’ But I hadn’t expected to see him—since, you know, he asked me to take his shift. But, of course, he’s not here to work. Or even to eat. He’s just here to pickup his paycheck.
Anyway, Noah immediately takes my non-cupcake expression as sadness. He gives me a tiny sympathetic look. (Kill. Me. Now.)
I just roll my eyes at him. I mean, what can I say?
I plop down their pizza quickly and scurry away without a word. I guess no tip for me. But whatever. My face is on fire.
Why does he always manage to make me feel like I’m twelve?—how does he manage that? I mean, here I am at work. I have a grown-up job. One that everyone at school covets. (Well, lots of them do.) Yet now I feel like … well, a little kid sister.
I don’t want to feel like that around him. And I don’t want him to see me like that. I want him to want me.
“Sorry that we’re here.”
I jump at the unexpected voice.
My heart pounding, I whirl around to find Noah s
tanding behind me. Seeing him, I practically faint. (The boy does dramatic things to me.)
Still, it’s rather shocking that he followed me. I mean, he’s on a date. Getting serious mouth-action. Yet he left Miss Skank; Miss Mouth-Event. (Whimper.)
So, it’s strange that we’re here—together—in the back hallway—when I just served him a delicious pizza and he could be watching the awesome view and eating awesome pizza and having all kinds of awesome pleasure to his awesome picky mouth.
But no, instead he followed me to the lovely back hallway and caught me pressing my forehead against the wall. (Could this day possibly suck any worse???)
ANYWAY, his unexpected voice had made me jump—which made him grin. Of course. Though he’s trying to hide it, since he obviously followed me back here to apologize—not laugh at me. But, hey, he can’t help it. I’m apparently a clown. Or anyway, a sad, sad joke.
“Sorry that we’re here,” he says again, “—and that you had to wait on us.”
He glances a distracted brief second across the crowded restaurant to the gorgeous girl he came in with. I never saw her at school, ever. I swear I bet she’s in college, all experienced and ‘event’ making. (I mentioned I hate her, right?)
He glances back to me and ducks his head. “Sorry, I couldn’t talk her into going somewhere else. I owed her dinner—and she loves this restaurant. Lucky you to work at such a popular place.”
He says it teasing.
I grimace. “Yeah, lucky me.”
“Anyway,” he says, “That’s not the only thing I came over here and caught you banging your head against the wall about,”—he grins faintly at that. But then he goes on sounding all sincere and truly apologetic and slightly uncomfortable—“I’m also sorry about last night. When I dragged you away from the party. I saw Fenton almost kiss you and I misinterpreted that—totally. I thought you didn’t want the kiss—”
Probably because I jumped away with a yelp and terrified look on my face.
Noah goes on, “Sorry about that—dragging you away from the party—and Fenton. I guess I might have messed things up for you with him—when I did that. Also, he had texted me right after, and asked me what was up with that, and I told him you were shy and maybe not ready to date yet. Sorry, I didn’t know at the time you were all into him … then I saw him later last night at the other party I went to and I was going to explain to him that I was wrong—that you were apparently more than ready to date him—since I heard you on the phone with Summer saying that. So I was going to tell him I made a mistake, but … I was too late. He was already with another girl, Aspen.” He gestures with a grimace towards the happy, cuddly couple—Fenton and Aspen standing all snuggly together as they talk with some of my co-workers in the entrance of the busy kitchen.
Noah glances sideways to me with a wary gaze. “Sorry about that. I feel like it’s my fault—that—” he nods to them again “—you know, them together. But Peyton, if you want him, you can probably still get him. They can’t be that tight yet. I mean, okay, they look pretty tight, but … it’s probably all my fault. I led him to believe you were shy and not into dating. But I can change that. Fix it—”
“No, you’ve done enough, thanks,” I mutter.
I don’t bother to sound super bitter about it, since well, he kind of did me a favor and everything—but, well, I don’t exactly want him to know that. Because it would require me admitting the phone call had been, you know, fake.
Also, it would let him know I was all tortured about his kiss. That it had been a total ‘event’ for me, even if it had been nothing to him. It would make him feel even more sorry for me. More than he already feels. Which is tons. Obviously. Since he left Miss Mouth.
He scrubs a hand over his face. “Come on—Peyton, I’m sorry. Look, I won’t talk to him—nothing lame like that. We’ll just show him that you’re not really that shy, and you are into dating.”
“You mean, like, fake date?” I groan, “Yeah, ‘cause that’s so not lame.”
He grins at my sarcasm. “Look, I’ll do whatever you want, Peyton. You want to get him?—I’ll help you.”
I scoff. “No, I think you’ve done more than your share of ‘helping’ me.”
He does a tortured groan. “Peyton.”
I try my hardest not to grin, but let’s just reassess: If I’d known Fenton was coming, I would have given him a cupcake—and if I knew Aspen was going to be with him, I would have given her a cupcake as well. So, poor Noah. His sympathy is sweet, but misguided. Still, I don’t correct him. Because I’m an evil stepsister. (With an ‘uneventful’ mouth.) (Grrr!) Plus, don’t forget all those other reasons. (Better reasons.)
Noah gives me a questioning look, then starts to walk away—back to his Mouth-Action—but at the same moment he’s leaving, Fenton starts coming down the hallway, and suddenly—whoa!!!—I mean, OH. MY. GOSH!!! Holy smokes!!—Suddenly, Noah puts his face into the curve of my neck!
Tingles rush through me. I’m seriously on fire. Holy smokes!!!! Noah’s gorgeous, hot face is in my neck, INHALING. “You smell sooo good,” he murmurs. (Loudly.)
Once Fenton is in the owner’s office and closes the door, Noah finally comes up for air.
“Sorry,” he says with a sheepish grin. “I didn’t expect to like that so much.”
He laughs at my stunned expression. A huge grin spreading on his lips, he explains: “Look, I’m sorry about messing things up for you with Fenton. Just now—what I was doing—I was just trying to help you out.”
“By inhaling my neck?”
He grins. “Well, it smells really good.”
I raise an eyebrow. “So you said—loudly.”
He chokes out another laugh. “Look, maybe if Fenton just sees how desirable you are he’ll re-think the Aspen thing. Believe me, she’s a pretty packaged nightmare. He’ll be glad to be rid of her.”
I roll my eyes. The way the two had been man-handling each other, I don’t think Fenton is in any hurry to ‘be rid of her.’ It’s more like he wants to eat her.
Noah goes on with his crazy plan, “Plus, if it’s me being into you, it will let Fenton suspect my text to him about you not being ready to do the dating stuff was all manipulative and self-serving and … weasel-y. Look, I’m not above him thinking that stuff of me—okay?”
A jet of warmth shoots through me. “You’d let him think you’re weasel-y?”
Noah shrugs matter-of-factly with an adorable grin, “For my little sister, sure.”
I’m almost touched. Okay, I am touched. Embarrassingly so. But still, I back away from him like he’s crazy. “Look, you don’t have to do that. I’m okay. I’m a big girl—”
He grins at that.
I roll my eyes. “Well, anyway, I’m okay. Don’t worry about it. Go enjoy your date—and your eventful mouth-action.”
Noah tilts his head and his hands go still. He lifts an eyebrow. “What?”
I groan, “Just go.”
CHAPTER 7
Tonight there is a lot of drama going on at the restaurant. Even more than the neck-sniffing (if you can believe it). Of course, there is always a lot of drama going on at the restaurant.
I’ll give you a little back history of how I got my job here in the first place (just to show you a tiny piece of how the drama goes). My best friend, Summer, is best friends with this girl, Anna Cooper. And Anna is dating Sawyer, who is best friends with Tate, and Tate’s dad owns the restaurant. Follow that?
I know I always talk about Summer being my ‘best friend.’ Don’t feel bad for me that I’m not hers in return. (Well, you can feel a little bad, but don’t go crazy over it.)
I used to be Summer’s best friend. But then my parents got a divorce while I was in middle school and I moved away with my mom to live under a rock—you know, the one Noah is always teasing me about.
Anyway, when I moved away, Summer’s life went on. She didn’t live under a rock. She made new friends … and a new best friend—Anna. Don’t get me wrong, I love An
na. I do. She’s nice. I just don’t really know her that well, since she didn’t live here before I moved away. And now she’s all tied up with her boyfriend, Sawyer. And her dad died recently, so she’s not, you know, looking for a way to bond with the new girl. Or even that aware of the new girl—me. But, well, she got me this awesome job at the restaurant. And, okay, I’m sure that’s almost completely thanks to Summer, but still—Anna did it for me.
Actually, Summer guaranteed me Anna would. She said: “Anna is the nicest person on earth, plus she has an ‘in’ with the boss’s daughter, Tate. Anna’s boyfriend is Tate’s best friend. Plus—just as an interesting side-note—Tate is gay, and yummy hot. It has nothing to do with anything—it’s just a sizzling fact. But anyway, if Anna asks Tate to get you a job at the restaurant—she’ll give you one. Guaranteed.”
Astoundingly, Summer was full-on right about that. It was amazing!!
My first morning at Jefferson high, when Anna learned I wanted a job at the restaurant, she nodded, sort of skeptical-like, but also like she was more than willing to give it a try.
She mused aloud, “We really have too many employees working there already,” she admitted. “It’s a really fun, wonderful place to work—everyone wants to work there. But Tate is my boyfriend’s best friend—that seems to have a major pull with Tate. So, we’ll see,” she said hopefully.
Then she raised her eyebrows, looking off in the distance. “There’s Tate now,” she said, pointing Tate out. (Oh my, adorable!!!).
While I was still digesting Tate, Anna called out to her, “Tate!”
Tate had been walking by in the crowded hallway, talking with friends, but she stopped, like totally stilled, when Anna called her name. Then she turned to Anna, and I could just tell by the soft look in Tate’s eyes: ‘Oh no, she loves Anna.’ Which immediately led to the tragic realization: ‘She loves her best friend’s girlfriend.’
