Friday Night Alibi

  I don’t admit I’ve already tested that theory, because I’ve been purposely avoiding Xbox Live since I found out who was on the other end.

  Leaning up, I glance down at the bags, and catch a glimpse of something shiny. “What’s that?”

  His ears get a little red as he reaches down and pulls out a CD. “Soothing tunes. Help you take your mind off being sick. Or so I hear.”

  I lean over to my other nightstand, and pull out my stereo remote. It’s behind the wall right now, but once I hit this button . . . and this button . . . the sound system twirls around and the CD drive pops out. Chase’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t say anything as he gets up and puts the disk in.

  A few more buttons and the music that filters through the room surprises me. I look at him, and his ears are flaming red, and he’s avoiding my eyes.

  “Wow,” I say as he sits back down. “Is this just one violin?”

  He nods, playing in the bags again.

  “Who is it?” I prod. I’m not that familiar with classical musicians, but I’m curious anyway. I could listen to this kind of stuff all day. Totally soothing. Just like he said.

  “Uh . . . it’s me.”

  I jolt back so much I smack my head on the wall. Now I’m sure we’re both red in the face, boiling to the point that steam’s coming out our ears. “Um, ballsy,” I quickly say, turning to my default mode of teasing. Or Sades would say “flirting.” “You don’t even know if I’d like it.”

  His face pulls the plug on all that red, and he goes back to his normal color. “Yeah, okay. You were basically salivating when it came on.”

  “It’s snot. I’m sick, remember.”

  “Uh-huh.” He rolls his eyes and pulls out another gift. The dark green liquid matches the color of his irises today. “NyQuil. To help you sleep this thing away.”

  He’s already unwrapping the bottle and pouring my dosage before I say, “I don’t know if I should have any of that.”

  He stops. “Did you already take something?”

  “No, I just . . . medicine makes me go a little wonky.”

  His chuckle barrels through him, making the veins on his neck appear. He’s trimmed his chin, but it’s still got that fuzz over it. “You need this. And I’ll make sure you don’t dive out the window or something.”

  It’s enough reassurance for me to toss the cup back. I don’t even taste it, that’s how cottonbally my mouth is.

  “Here.” He hands me my soup. “It should still be warm.”

  It is. I can feel the heat through the cup, the steam rising when I pull off the lid. It shoots right up my nostrils and because I can’t help it, I close my eyes and moan.

  Moron . . . freaking Moron . . . has saved the day. Just like every Friday night, I guess, even though I didn’t know it was him. Even though I thought I was too sick to feel anything other than my headache and my stuffy nose, my chest wads up so tight I think I may burst if he doesn’t touch me, or say some sweet nothings, or any of that other mushy stuff I normally don’t think about. Especially with him.

  “How did you know I was sick?” I ask before taking a scoop of soup and sucking it down. Oh yeah . . . that’s the stuff.

  He leans back in the chair, resting his head on his interlocked hands. “Sadie told me.”

  “What is it with you guys?” Because seriously, it’s like they’re in cahoots. “Does she call you every time I ‘need’ something?”

  “No, I call her.”

  The heat in my soup suddenly feels ice cold compared to the heat going through my neck and behind my ears. He calls her? Why the heck would he call her? Is he doing this thing with both of us? Or is he just friends with her? Or is she trying to push him on me because he’s being overbearing on her?

  Not that I’m jealous or anything. ’Cause I’m not. Just protective of my BFF. Yes! Protective and ready to kick some Moron butt if he’s doing the same stuff to her as he is with me.

  “You like her or something?” I ask, blaming the catch in my throat on my sickies.

  He lets out a small laugh, leaning forward and resting his hands on the edge of my mattress. “You know I only got eyes for you, Stinky.” He winks and if the soup sucked, it would be all over his face. “And you’re stubborn, which is why I can use all the help I can get.”

  “Meaning . . . ?”

  “Meaning, I don’t dare call you, because the last time I did, you hung up on me. So, I’ve had to go to desperate measures.”

  I swallow hard, and it kills my chest and I cough and gag and do some really unattractive nose blowing. “You . . . you mean, you’re . . .” cough, spit “. . . going through my best friend? That’s pretty low.”

  “Just getting help from her. I was honest the first time she called me.”

  Guess that explains why she’s such a rah-rah, go Chase! campaigner.

  “That’s um . . . pretty sad.” I laugh. I can’t help it. This so-called college playa is pulling the lamest move in the book.

  “Glad it amuses you.” He laughs with me, picking the threads in my comforter.

  “Well, don’t call her anymore, okay? You have my number. Grow some balls.”

  “You saying you’ll answer?” His green eyes shoot to mine and I look down at my soup, trying not to get all hot and flushy again.

  “Maybe. Depends on what mood you catch me in.”

  His fingers run across my comforter again. “Good enough for me.”

  I slurp more of my soup as the song changes. It’s a little faster, and I can’t believe how amazing it sounds. And I look him up and down, trying to picture this guy holding a violin. Decked out in all black, stubble on his chin, wise smirk on his face, and winking at every girl who looks his way. The thought makes me laugh out loud, snorting lobster bisque up into my nostrils. I cough and sputter, which makes me laugh harder.

  “Look at how attractive I am!” I shout as high as my sore voice can go. “I bet you really want to kiss me now!”

  I pucker up like Dopey does on Snow White. I’m sure my chapped lips and runny nose are a real turn on. And just like in Snow White, he pulls my face down and kisses me on the forehead. Really, I’m surprised he touches me at all.

  “I think someone’s medicine has gone to their brain.” He laughs.

  I throw a hand to my chest and gasp. “You drugged me! I knew you were bad news. Get out of my house!” My dramatic point to the door gets interrupted by another choking fest.

  He swaps the soup for orange juice, and I guzzle it down like it’s the last thing I’ll ever drink.

  “Mmm.” Yes, I moan over OJ. Because the pulpy goodness is about the best thing when you’re sick. And not to mention a little loopy from NyQuil.

  “So, uh . . .” he says after my coughing and laughing fit, “did you want me to go?”

  My hazy eyes shift over to him, giving me that cocky smirk. My mind hits rewind to what I said that would make him think that. But I don’t remember two seconds ago.

  “If you have to go, then go.” I shrug, taking another drink. There, that makes it so it’s his decision, not mine. Because truth is, I’m not sure what I want. Though with the effects of the medicine, I should probably be supervised. Even if it is Moron doing the babysitting.

  Babysitting. Ha! ’Cause like, he’s probably forty or something, just looks way good for his age.

  His eyebrow goes up and he leans forward. “Do you want me to stay?”

  Ah, well played. Now the ball is back in my arena. Or however you say that darn expression. I can’t really think right now. And boy, I’m not going to answer that one. I mean, if I admit, yeah, stay with me ’cause I’m so pathetic and sick, I just want to be taken care of even if it’s by a perv like you, then he may start thinking I like him. And I don’t. But if I say, get out right now, but thanks for the loot, then I’m a total brat. So I’m keeping my mouth shut.

  And for some reason, this makes me burst into tears. Seriously, I cry my eyeballs out of their sockets.

  Moron stands
up so fast, the chair he was in rolls back a couple feet. “Whoa! What’s wrong?”

  What’s wrong? Now that’s a question that has a million answers. And I blame the drugs for shutting down the filter I usually have on my head to my mouth.

  “You know what sucks major?” I bawl into my hands. “Everyone is the same.”

  His brow scrunches and he tentatively sits down at the foot of my bed. With a shaking hand, he rests it on my ankle. “What do you mean?”

  “Everyone always needs something from me, but they never want to actually, you know be my friend or get to know me. Tonight I got called by two people who didn’t give a crap about how I was feeling. They just wanted to know if I was still good to cover for them.”

  I cough and snort and spew a few more tears, and the OJ gets replaced with a box of tissues.

  “And you know what? It’s my fault. I’m safe, boring, totally vanilla. No wonder no one wants to hang out with me for real. Not even my parents. And Sadie doesn’t on Fridays ’cause I’m a total loser and she’d rather hang out with more interesting people.”

  I pull out a tissue and blow my nose. They’re the soft, lotiony tissues. Props to Moron.

  “I’ll still keep doing it, though. That’s the sad part. I’ll still be the alibi because it’s who I am. And it’s good to feel needed, even though everyone would rather just say they are with me than actually be with me.” More tears leak out. “Everyone.” More and more drown my face. “Everyone is like that.”

  I think I’ve scared or stunned the voice out of him, because he’s not saying a word. His hand is still on my ankle as I fall apart. I can’t believe I just said all of that. Threw it up all over this guy I’ve known for like three weeks. Well, maybe longer since we’ve been playing video games for months and months, but still. He probably thinks I’m a psycho. I think I’m a psycho. But every word I said feels like the truth. Which sucks, because I guess on the surface, I thought I was pretty happy. Satisfied with being unattached and the person people go to when they need someone. So, does that mean I want more than that? I want more friends? I want parents who pay attention? Do I want to be the girl people want to be with . . . for real?

  “Not everyone.”

  My watery eyes go to his face. He’s looking at me dead on, giving me a smirk, but it’s not the bad kind. It’s the concerned look. The good look for him. “What?”

  “Not everyone is like that, Kel.”

  Only half of me registers what he’s saying. The other half gets all buttery popcorny over the fact he said “Kel” and not Stinky. I’ve noticed—just like with Sades—he says “Kel” when he’s being serious.

  He slides off the bed, removing his hand from my ankle. It looks like he’s about to leave, and my arm shoots out, grasping him by the wrist. He looks at it with his eyebrows raised.

  “Yes,” I say.

  His eyes go to mine. “Huh?”

  “Yes, I want you to stay.”

  I pull him to the bed, bring down the sheets and pat the spot next to me. Give me a break. I’m sick and drugged, and he just said something übersweet.

  He slides in slowly, like he’s still unsure if it’s actually happening or if I’ll chuck him out the second his butt hits the mattress. I don’t. I curl up on his chest, which I give him credit, is a lot harder than it looks. My arm drapes over his stomach and he puts his right up against it, setting his hand on my elbow.

  My heart feels like it’ll shoot out my ears. I can’t believe how good this feels! Like, here’s my friend. A friend in Moron. Who would’ve thunk it?

  And I say friend because this is platonic cuddling. Platonic I tell you!

  Because I’m so tactful, I say, “Sorry if I get your shirt all snotty and gross.”

  He laughs, making my head jiggle around on his chest. “I think I’ve got more in this color.”

  That makes me giggle, cough, and sneeze. So attractive.

  We don’t say anything else. I just listen to his music, his breathing, and wish I could smell him.

  Chapter 16

  My entire body wakes with a crack. Oh, that feels awesome. Like it just popped out all the sore muscles and leaves me in a state of complete re-lax-a-tion. I sigh and roll over, snuggling into my body pillow. I named it Joey, after Joseph Gordon Levitt. Funny how much Chase looks like that guy, you’d think I’d think Moron was cute, but I so don’t.

  It’s then I realize I can breathe. Yahoo! I suck in another breath through my nose and the faint smell of oranges linger in the air. Oh right, Moron brought me fruit and OJ last night. I roll again, stretching my arms out, and I smack something hard and scruffy.

  “AGHHHH!”

  His eyes shoot open as his body flies through the air, getting tangled in my sheets. He grabs the only thing available on his way off the edge of the bed and down to the floor.

  The lobster bisque.

  I hear a splash, then an “Ay!”

  Holding the sheets up to my chin to cover my PJ body, I peer over the edge to find Moron covered from neck to belly button in cold soup.

  Whoops!

  “Sorry,” I say through a stifled giggle. “I forgot you were . . . you know, you just surprised me.”

  He nods, rubbing gook from his eyes. “How . . .” He yawns. “How are you feeling?”

  My nose is clear, but my mouth tastes awful. Head is okay. I’m not on my deathbed anymore, but not a hundred percent hunky-dory either.

  “Better.” I run a hand over my matted hair. “I’ll probably take a shower, skip tennis, take it easy today.”

  “Good idea.” He stands, holding his shirt out so it doesn’t drip on my carpet. “Uh, I think I better take one of those showers myself.”

  I laugh. “You can use the guest bathroom.”

  He shakes his head. “Nah. No extra clothes. And I better get going anyway.” His eyes flick to the balcony. They’re blue this morning. I almost spout off about how they change colors, but now that my head isn’t all drugged, my filter’s working.

  “So, uh . . . guess I’ll talk to you later,” he says, crossing to the balcony door.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  The knob clicks and he’s halfway out before turning back to me.

  “Kel?”

  “Yes?”

  “Does this place have a security system?”

  I laugh. “Duh.”

  “Why isn’t it on, then?”

  Because this is Sundale. Like zero crime. So, I guess I’ve been lazy and haven’t set it. I just shrug, ’cause I don’t want to dive into the whole thing.

  “Well, with your parents gone, you better turn it on. Or anyone could just climb into your room.” He winks, gives me a grin, but it’s the half-teasing, half-concerned smile, so I let it slide without throwing a pillow in his face.

  “Yes, Mother.”

  He crinkles his nose at me and goes to close the door.

  “Hey, Moron!” My heart beats twice as hard as he leans against the frame. Maybe the drugs aren’t all the way out yet. “It was a big straw.”

  His eyebrows crinkle. “Huh?”

  I nod toward the soup all over his chest. “Last night, you asked how I played Xbox and ate soup at the same time. I used one of those big straws.” Like an idiot, I pantomime drinking and playing.

  He laughs. “Guess I’ll have to witness that a different night.”

  Before I know what I’m saying, it just pops out. “Guess so.”

  His eyes brighten up. I swear they change from blue to stormy gray in a blink. “Feel better, Kel.”

  And with that, he closes the balcony door, swings his legs over the railing, and disappears.

  Okay, I’m willing to admit one thing. Moron . . . Chase . . . he’s all right. Like, maybe he’s not as major of a manwhore as I thought. The whole space pants thing, and the mooning were just, bad first impressions? I dunno. The banter is cute, when he’s not being totally annoying. But this . . . last night . . . I could get used to that Chase. The one who was sweet.
r />   Hello! What is going on in this brain of mine? I actually think Chase is sweet. Just like Sades has been saying this whole time. Now I’m really wondering if she has a voodoo doll.

  I shake my head and strip. Shower time. Maybe that will erase all the stuff going on through this semi-sick brain. ‘Cause seriously, Chase is not a guy I should be into. For many many many reasons. Like, I don’t know how old he is. He could be fogeyville. Also, it’s obvious he’s . . . experienced. The one time I call him he was with a girl. He flirts his eyeballs out with me, and he’s in college. I bet the hormones all get passed around through spit and air humping every day of the week. I’m only his “Friday Night.”

  And I’m Kelli Pinkins. Good Christian girl. I can’t even contemplate what a relationship with Chase . . . with anyone . . . would do to my status. I’d lose my business for sure.

  Not that I’m thinking about starting something with him. We’re just friends after all.

  Friends!

  Oh, this shower is doing nothing. All I’m thinking about is him, and I can’t stop. Seriously, I can’t. I smell my citrusy shampoo, and there he is. I use my black towel and oh! Chase wears black! I run a brush through my short hair and bam! Chase is looking at me under that air hockey table, asking if I’m all right.

  How do I get rid of him? He’s everywhere and I’ve only known him for like, a couple weeks. If I call Sades, she’ll ask about him. If I call anyone, it’ll just remind me the only person who was there for me last night, was him.

  I throw myself on my bed, just in my towel and wrap around Joey. Even that sends my mind into a fury of Moron thoughts.

  Since no one is watching, and I’m still sick—yes, that’s what I’ll blame this on—I snuggle into the pillow and pretend it’s yesterday all over again. Me, him, and our Friday night.

  Chapter 17

  “Two hundred, as promised.”

  Alex’s smile isn’t yummy anymore. It’s the same smile. The same lips that kissed me a week and a half ago, but it’s doing nothing. Because him and me are nothing. I’m so dang stupid.

  But I’m blaming it on what I’ve been shoving away from everyone, including myself. I just wanted to be wanted. So him kissing me, us faking the whole relationship deal, it was a glimpse of something I didn’t know I was missing out on. So, yes, that’s why I was a little bit obsessed with the guy.