“Take the deal,” he murmured huskily.
Slowly, he finally moved away from the door.
Immediately, I scurried out of the bathroom feeling like I was on fire.
There was no way I could go through with the deal.
No way.
CHAPTER 9
Of course I’m contemplating “the deal.”
But I shouldn’t.
I’ll just come out and say it: I have bittersweet memories with Dutch. If anyone really needs closure from our past, it’s me.
For him, it’s different. He likes to tease me about our past, but in reality, he never considered me as a “girl.” Not one he would date. He’s really into his church, and always dated the pretty girls that attended there. I was just the pesky girl that lived next door. Sure, he would do whatever I asked—but unlike the romantic way he made that sound, that’s not in reality the way it was (he’s a player—remember that). In reality, he’d do my bidding because he grew up with me right next door—his best friend’s younger sister, and his little sister’s friend. So, it was pretty much like I was his little sister too. He always treated me that way—like his sister. (And: he was nice to his sister—though he teased her constantly … just like he did me.) (So, blah.)
Anyway, what I was saying before is: Dutch dates hordes of girls. So many he can’t even contemplate spending a month just dating one—Lindsey. (And Lindsey is adorable!!)
For me, it’s different. I try to act tough—but it’s just that: an act. I still melt around Dutch and turn into goo when he does something sweet—like the following me home thing.
He probably just saw some creepy guys checking me out at the restaurant last week and decided he should make sure I got home okay … which is heart wrenchingly sweet (I know that), but it’s not like he sits around thinking about me. With all of his hockey groupies and fan-girls he doesn’t have time to sit around thinking about me. Or our past. When it’s brought smack into his face—like when it follows him into the bathroom—then yes, sure, he’ll look at it and go, Hey, I remember this girl. I used to make her wash my bike before I’d give her a ride on it.
Yeah, real romantic—right?
But for me—I’m stuck with different memories: heart-wrenching ones.
When I was ten and my dad died, Dutch had given me a warm comforting hug, and he had told me the most comforting words. “You’ll see your dad again, Audrey. Up in heaven. And he won’t be sick anymore. He’ll be happy and healthy. It will be so cool.”
And when I was sad after Wallace, my dog, died Dutch had whispered so soft and gentle, “You should pray, Audrey. Praying always makes me feel better. It can make you feel better too.”
“Here, I’ll show you how to do it,” he said. He kneeled down beside me at my bed … and then he talked to God. And he asked God to be with me and help me to feel better.
I did feel better. At the time I thought it was because Dutch had been all loving and sweet and asked God to give me comfort.
But who knows? Maybe it wasn’t all Dutch. Maybe the warm comfort I was feeling did come from God.
See, Dutch made me believe there might be a God.
So, you know … it’s tough to get closure from that.
CHAPTER 10
Okay, I will now give you the wonderful experience of my first rejection from Dutch. We were in high school at the time. He was a senior at the time and the star of the school’s hockey team, so he was highly in demand and I hadn’t seen much of him lately.
But that changed when I got home one evening from soccer practice and discovered my mom wasn’t home yet and I forgot my house-key and was, well, locked out of my house.
Mom didn’t have her cell phone on her. I know because I could hear it ringing in the house when I called her. (Mom!!)
Yes, I was locked out of my house, so I went next door to my friend, Carly’s (who happened to be the little sister of my forever crush, Dutch. That’s just a side note. It had absolutely nothing to do with the reason I chose to go to Carly’s instead of the many other choices on my block—though my other choices were friends that were my own age (Carly was two years younger and kind of whiny). Okay, okay so my choice had everything to do with Dutch.
When I got to Carly’s house Dutch answered the front door. “Oh, hey, Audrey,” he said. “Carly’s not here.”
“Oh,” I stammered out, feeling awkward. Like I should just walk away. After all, the person I came to see wasn’t here.
“Is there something you need?” Dutch asked, since I just stood there, staring at him, all dreamy-eyed.
“Oh, um, well—I’m locked out of my house.”
“Oh,” he opened the door for me. “Come in. Carly will be back in just a bit—probably. I don’t actually know where she is. Or where the rest of my family is for that matter. But knock yourself out—make yourself at home.”
“Thanks.”
I went into his house—and then stood there awkwardly.
“You want a sandwich or something?” Dutch offered. “I have to leave in a minute—actually, I’m late, but I could make you something if you want. Are you hungry?”
That was really nice of him. Lately he’d been awfully nice—I mean, for a friend’s older brother who used to give me noogies and wet-willies, and enjoy turning me upside down by my ankles. I mean, now he was offering to cook for me … sort of.
Wow.
“No … I’m okay,” I said, though I was kind of fantasizing about it—him in the kitchen, whipping up something special for me. (Though, okay, yeah, he offered a sandwich.)
“Okay, well then I’m going to go,” he said. “Carly will probably be home any second though, so don’t worry. Here’s the remote to the TV, I’m sure you know how to use it, right?”
He quickly showed me anyway, because it was kind of complicated, since the remote worked a whole bunch of different things, not just the television.
He even showed me by turning music on with it. The music was nice and low. He smiled, “That’s my make-out music. Like it?”
I nodded.
He turned it off and grinned, “Don’t go getting ideas and using it on guys that you invite over to my house while we’re all gone.” He gave me a teasing grin, “I hear that guy Sid is all into you.”
I rolled my eyes. “He may be into me, but I’m not into him.”
“Oh no?” Dutch raised his eyebrows sardonically, “Carly says he’s hot.”
“Then Carly can have him.”
He grinned, “But the guy is into you … not poor little lovesick Carly.”
“Well poor little lovesick Sid should look elsewhere.”
Dutch grinned, “Why? Who are you lovesick over?”
I know my face turned bright red, which was probably the only reason Dutch asked—to make me blush. After all, he wasn’t really interested in my love-life, or anything about me. I was just a little kid to him, though I’m only two years younger.
But the real reason I was blushing was because it was him I was lovesick over. It was always him and would always be him.
“I like a guy—he’s older. He makes me food,” I lied, oddly.
Dutch grinned, looking intrigued. “Who is this guy?”
“It’s a secret,” I said, then promptly tried to change the subject, “I thought you have to go somewhere.”
“I do. I’m incredibly late. But now I’m interested to hear about this secret guy that has you all red.”
“Well, I’m not going to tell you, so go.” I grimaced, “Don’t be late on my account. Your girlfriends are always giving me dirty looks as it is.”
It’s true. Whenever he gives me a ride to school they glare at me. But hey, since my older brother went off to college, Dutch has kind of been my older brother—teasing and all. But yes, he gives me rides. (And noogies.)
Dutch sputters with surprise. “They give you dirty looks?”
“Yes. When you’re not looking. They think you’re hot for me.”
His lips part s
lightly.
He tilts his head and scratches his chin, then kind of gives his head a little shake. “Okay, I’m going to ignore that,” he mutters, more to himself than me. “Here is the remote, don’t use my make-out music on your food guy—and don’t have him over when my mom’s not home. She doesn’t like that, kissing happening when she’s not around. By the way, I don’t like that either. Don’t kiss without my mom around.”
“Right. Okay.”
“Or better yet, don’t kiss.”
“Too late.”
He slaps a hand over his forehead, but he does it only teasing “Noo—don’t tell me that. Okay, this is killing me. I’m going to go—but don’t have guys over. Especially not the super secret food guy.”
Once he leaves, I try to watch TV. But of course I can’t concentrate on it. I roam around his house, and then … I’m embarrassed to say it—I-I creep into his room. He has a bunch of guitars. I started to learn how to play too because of him (of course) I could hear him next door—all the time. He and my brother would rock out. So a couple of Christmases ago I asked for a guitar, and to my brother’s agony I got one. And would practice on it. Constantly.
I pick up Dutch’s now and start to play it. It’s way nicer than mine. At first I’m very timid and cautious with it, but then I quickly get extremely into it, rocking out, playing an awesome solo. Then—whoa! I glance up and my heart slams against my chest and I almost drop the guitar. Because there’s Dutch, watching me from the bedroom’s open doorway.
“Nice,” he says with a huge smile.
I put down his guitar, mortified that he caught me in his room.
“Um … sorry,” I murmur.
“Sorry that you played the song better than me, or sorry that you’re caught in my room—‘cause didn’t I used to have a rule? No going in my room?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Something like that.”
“Well, that was when you were ten, Audrey. Now the rule is more my mom’s. No girls in my room. I’m sure she didn’t used to mean you. Now she probably would.”
Well, at least his mom knew I was growing up.
“Sorry, I just couldn’t resist your guitar.” Or your room.
“I don’t mind. And I won’t tell my mom on you, because I’m nice like that.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, still completely mortified, so I quickly try to re-direct the conversation, “Why did you come back? Did your latest Barbie Doll have her tongue removed?”
“No. It was still there. But I kept thinking about you alone in my house—worried you were going through my things.”
I go up in flames, while simultaneously grimace at his teasing jab. “Just your guitars,” I inform him.
“You sounded really good.” He says it completely sincere. Maybe even with a little admiration.
He juts his chin. “What else can you play?”
“Well … I can play One.”
It’s a song—One.
His smile grows. “Really? That’s a jammin’ song.” He sounds impressed. And pleased. “I have a new drum-set in the basement. We can rock out.”
Ohhhh. I have a serious thing for Dutch on the drums. When he’s on them I drool. (So this is bad.) Yet my eyes light up and my heart gets all excited. He’s going to play the drums with me! Yum!
Happiness.
We go downstairs and do exactly what he suggested—we rock out. It’s soooo fun.
I’m in love with this moment. Dutch on the drums—oh my heart! (He’s so cool!)
Before I can do something crazy, like admit I totally want to kiss him (which would be embarrassing since he’s not aware I’m a girl)—but before I can make a fool of myself and totally attack him with my fan-girl mouth, he says, “I can tell you’re totally into this—want to play some more. But I’m not going to let you until you tell me about this food guy.”
I redden. “It’s not a big deal. He doesn’t even know I exist.”
“Bet he does,” Dutch mutters. “Audrey, you’re not exactly ugly.”
Heat rushes through me. “Well … thank you.”
He made a grunt noise. “You’re welcome.”
Dutch tilts his head, “So you’re not busy kissing Sid or food guy?”
I exhale, then because I’m all high from the ultimate experience of jamming with him, and sort of dizzy from the exquisite experience, I’m way too forthcoming, “I haven’t really kissed a guy—not exactly. I mean, sometimes when I think about it—kissing—it seems all amazing. Like, wow, yeah, I want to get me some hot guy’s hot mouth on mine. I think I really want it. I do. But then when it really happens, I’m like—gross! There’s suddenly this guy’s tongue. It’s shocking. It just so … awkward. And personal. And … no.”
Dutch breathes out a laugh. “When you’re ready, Audrey, it won’t be like that.”
“Everyone else seems ready,” I grumble.
He gives me a half-sympathetic, half-amused look. “You’re young, Audrey—that’s all.”
His eyes go all soft. “It doesn’t make you weird, Audrey.”
It’s like he could read my mind.
Actually, he could always do that—read my mind.
Sometimes it’s amazing. But right now it’s awkward. I mean, I didn’t tell him I thought I was “weird.” I carefully didn’t utter that word. Probably he’s just thinking it on his own—poor little Audrey gets creeped out kissing. It’s weird. After all, everyone kisses, right? You get to high school and that’s what you do—kiss.
It’s just … all of my kissing experiences have been bad. Very, very bad. I just don’t get the appeal of having a tongue jammed down your throat…. Or, okay, anyone’s but Dutch’s. I can definitely see the appeal of Dutch’s. Thoughts of his lips pressing against mine keep me up nights.
If Dutch had tried Sid’s lame moves on me, they wouldn’t have seemed nearly as lame. Or traumatic. They would have been … awesome.
Sigh.
I try to explain the problem to Dutch (you know, without explaining that he’s the problem. ‘Cause he is. I want him. Only him.) I explain, “It’s just—the moves come from out of nowhere. You’re talking, then bam—a tongue.”
Dutch rubs at his mouth, obviously trying to hide a grin. “Look, it’s not supposed to work like that, Audrey, okay? The guy doesn’t just jump on you. I mean, some guys might, I guess, but you don’t want them. It’s the guy’s job to get you in the mood. It’s their job. If they don’t get you in the mood, then they aren’t doing their job. Just move on to another guy. A guy that can do his job.” Again, he runs his hand over his mouth. “It’s supposed to be nice, Audrey. Not traumatizing.”
It would be nice with you, I think. But I don’t say it out loud. Of course. The way he’s looking at me it’s like I’m an adorable little puppy dog—or, okay … little sister.
So, of course I totally plan not to tell him what I’m thinking. Duh. Of course. But then, it just blurts out of me. The words just fly out, “It would be nice with you.”
Dutch’s eyes pop open wide.
His eyebrows go up, as he coughs with surprise.
“It can’t be me, Audrey. I wish it could, but it can’t.”
Wow, shot down for making-out. One of the thing guys want most in all the world.
Awesome.
“Well, I’m going to go,” I tell him. Then I bolt out of his house like lightning, though I can hear him calling after me. He sounds all tortured. “Audrey!”
So tortured.
But no way can it compare to the torture in my heart.
CHAPTER 11
**DUTCH**
DUTCH
I hadn’t really come home early because I was worried about Audrey going through my things. I came home early because I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Also, I figured she was probably pretty bored in my house alone. But not going to lie, mostly it was just that I couldn’t get her out of my head.
But that seemed creepy—since she was two years younger than me. And my best friend’s younger sis
ter. And I’d helped her put a dollhouse together when she was eight. (Yeah, I’d given her a dollhouse.)
So there was no way I was going to kiss her.
No matter how much I wanted to.
CHAPTER 12
**AUDREY**
AUDREY
That was heartbreaking—and awkward—being shot down by Dutch. It was also pretty much the last time I saw him … for two years. He graduated right after that and then went overseas on some mission thing for his church.
When he came home that following summer things had totally changed. I’d catch him looking at me differently. His eyes would linger on me—when he thought I wasn’t looking.
At his family barbeque, he actually grinned when I caught him staring from across the yard. He got bonked in the head from a Frisbee he was supposed to catch, but was too busy looking at me as I talked to Carly.
“See what you made me do?” he murmured in my ear only moments later.
Tingles ran through me from his warm breath. It tickled my neck and sent goose bumps skittering over my now trembling body—he was so close. I peeked up at him, my heart pounding wild that he’d actually left the game to come over and talk to me.
He grinned. “I don’t like you all grown up—it makes me miss Frisbees and forget what I was talking about.”
Carly whined. “Stop flirting with Audrey. It’s gross.”
He grinned at me and winked. “Am I gross?”
I shrugged. “I can deal with it.”
“Oh-hh!” He gave a little laugh. “Well, can you deal with this?”
He grabbed me and gave me a head noogie, but then he quickly released me. “See, not even that is the same. You smell so good and you in my arms—Mmmm. A head noogie’s not what I want to give you anymore.”
Carly threw a banana peel at him. “Go away. I’m going to gag. Totally puke.”
Dutch laughed his soft husky laugh. “Are you going to puke, Audrey?”
Want To Hate You ... Too Bad I Love You Page 13
