“No, I don’t.”
“Say he was. How are you going to do both?”
“Easy. He’ll only be around when I’m ‘with’ someone else. That’s how it is anyway.”
She shakes her head. “Good luck with that.”
“You don’t think I can pull it off?”
“I don’t think you’ll want to. Once you get ahold of that boy and fall in love, you won’t want to spend a minute apart.”
My eyes toss to the ceiling. “Whatevs.”
“It’s true. Just you wait.”
Well, I don’t have to wait. I already wish I was back with Chase, glued to those orange-tasting lips instead of eating an ice cream that doesn’t do it justice.
Crap. What am I going to do?
Chapter 21
Goodness, I need to get out of this skirt. My belly will pop the seams on the waistband. Without even thinking, I ate that whole pint of ice cream, swooning over that amazing kiss. He left me so lightheaded I don’t even remember him leaving, which I know he did like, right after that.
He wasn’t at the club today. Of course, the one day I want him there. But Sades said she didn’t invite him, and I didn’t . . . so duh, how else will he get in? I make a mental note to make sure he comes every Saturday, and try not to make it seem like it’s ’cause I like him.
Mom and Dad are back and we have another family dinner in silence. I don’t even care. I’m too blissed out to care about anything. What was in those orange slices? Love potion for dummies?
After getting my jammas on, I pull out another orange and my laptop for a bit of Facebook stalking. I really try not to look at any pictures of girls with bursting cleavage in them, so I spend most of my time in his “Family Vacation” album. And boy, did his family go on a ton of them! There’s over two hundred pics, and it’s all over the place. From Disneyland to Hawaii, from New York to Jamaica. Even several European places I recognize, like Italy, Greece, London, and Paris.
Also, looks like he does own more than just one color. In fact, I think he owns—or owned—the entire rainbow. I nearly choke on an orange slice when I see him in pink about to hop on a kiddie roller coaster with Robbie.
Because I’m already being supernosy, I check out the dates of the vacation albums, all the pics with his little brother. Four years ago. It looks like all the vacations happened that one year. None before or after.
It hits me like a tennis ball to the face. I know virtually nothing about this guy. I don’t know where he lives, if he has a job, or even how old he is. Facebook could tell me these things, I’m sure, but I don’t want to find out like that. I want him to tell me. I want to have the guts to ask him about his life without sounding like I’m interested. Because that would mean I’m getting emotionally invested with the guy. And I’m not.
I’m not!
I close his page and I’m about to log off when I notice that little green dot by his name that says he’s online. My stomach does a huge lurch that should’ve launched me through the air. Instead I’m bubbling like mad on the bed, wondering if I should say something.
Clacking my teeth and wishing I had longer hair to twirl, I click his name, then click off it. Then click it again. Then off.
Ugh. What have I done to myself?
I bury my face in my mattress and scream. This is crazy. I’ve never done this with those three other—oh wait, if you count Alex, four other guys I’ve kissed. Why is Chase so different? Why does his used-to-be annoying smile turn my insides to runny goo? I don’t get it, and I don’t want to think about it anymore. It’s not like I can be with him. Just like Sades said, there’s no way I can be an alibi and a girlfriend. Especially if I’m Moron’s girlfriend. I’d need my own alibi.
Bloop!
My face shoots up to the computer, to the IM Chase just sent me.
Chase: Someone’s up late.
I check the clock. Whoa! I’ve been Internet stalking so long, I didn’t even realize it was one o’clock.
And I’m going totally brain dead over the keyboard with a response.
Chase: Are you there? Or did you just leave your FB open?
Okay, don’t let the mushy feelings make you say something cheesy to this guy you have a thing for, Kelli.
Me: I’m here.
Oh, that’s a real winning line.
Chase: Can’t sleep?
Me: Duh
Chase: :P Me neither.
I tap my fingers over home row, before coming up with something to say.
Me: Did your nightlight burn out? Poor baby afraid of the dark?
Chase: Yes. Can you come over and make it better? ;)
Hello! I know he’s teasing but it still gets me all shaky.
Me: I’ll bring you a fork. Teach you some of my forking skills.
Chase: Is that a pickup line?
Yikes! Didn’t mean it like that!
Me: Ew. No.
Chase: You sure? It sure sounds like one.
Me: Maybe for lame guys like you who think “space pants” is genius!
Chase: Touché.
I laugh, releasing the small moment of panic because this is so easy. Back to the banter . . . or flirting, I guess. And he’s not done with me. ‘Cause he started this convo. Maybe there are more orange-flavored kisses in my future.
Chase: So . . . I want to tell you something, but I don’t.
Me: Well, that’s eloquent of you.
Chase: I’m worried lack of sleep will make me say it anyway.
Me: Say what?
Chase: What I shouldn’t say.
Me: And why shouldn’t you say it?
Chase: Because it’ll make me look really geeky.
Me: Too late.
Chase: Now I’m not going to tell you!
There’s a perma-smile on my face, and I dangle the bait in front of him.
Me: Guess I won’t say what I shouldn’t say, but sleep deprivation will probably make me say anyway. ;)
Chase: Hmm. Maybe we should make a deal?
Me: Another one?
Chase: Worked out well for both of us last time, right?
Me: *rolls eyes*
Chase: Well, how about for the rest of this conversation, we’ll pretend it didn’t happen.
Me: Huh?
Chase: Whatever we say tonight, here on IM, disappears the second we log off. No talking about it, no telling anyone else about it, and definitely no bringing it up to each other to use against them in payback. Deal?
I scrunch my lips together and let out a “hmmm.” Say anything I want to say, but he won’t tease me about it. Sounds like a trap.
Me: Is this a trap?
Chase: No.
Me: Promise?????
Chase: I’ll even go first.
The popcorn rises to my throat as I type in my answer.
Me: Okay. Go!
Chase: You’re an amazing kisser.
I bark out laughing. Wow, not even a pause.
Me: You stole what I was going to say!
Chase: Really? You think I’m a good kisser?
Yes.
Me: No. I think I am. ;)
Chase: I won’t even argue with you.
Me: Good. You’d lose.
Chase: I want to kiss you again.
I’m going to need a bucket with all the popcorn popping in my belly.
Me: Sigh . . . never satisfied. I give you what you want, and you tell me you want more.
Chase: I don’t think I can ever get enough of you.
Sleep-deprived Chase is good.
Me: Was that a pickup line?
Chase: If the truth is a line now, then yeah, I guess.
Seriously, combusting from the inside out. Sweetness overload! And it makes me do the girliest thing in the world. I roll over to my back, snuggle with Joey, kick my feet, and giggle like crazy.
The computer bloops again.
Chase: I scared you off, didn’t I?
Me: I’m still here.
Chase: Please say something.
>
Say something, say something. How do I say exactly how I’m feeling? He did it like, POW! Made it look easy. And I’m not used to expressing all that chick flicky stuff.
I blow out a breath and type before I lose my nerve.
Me: Oranges are my favorite fruit.
Chase: What? That’s what you give me?
Me: Well, if you asked me what my favorite fruit was before last night, I would’ve said strawberries. But that’s cuz I didn’t know oranges could taste so good.
I’m ready to crawl under the covers and die. Yes, it’s not the most romantic line of the century, but it’s still way more than I would’ve said if I was being normal Kelli Pinkins right now.
Chase: I didn’t even know you had any.
Me: Dude you are slow.
Chase: Nah, I get it . . . you just have me speechless.
Me: Wow! I didn’t know that was possible!
Chase: I didn’t know it was possible to get a compliment from you.
Me: Ouch.
Chase: I must be growing on you.
Me: Is that a pickup line?
Chase: Is Kelli Pinkins thinking about my junk again?
Me: NO!!!! I just . . . oy, never mind!
Chase: One more confession, and I’ll let you get to bed.
Me: You tired?
Chase: Yes, and I know you’ve got church in the morning. Don’t want raccoon eyes do you?
Me: You’ve been hanging out with Sades too much.
Chase: Ready for it?
Me: Hit me!
Chase: Remember, after this, none of this conversation happened!
Me: Oh, I’ll remember if you do.
Chase: I know you hate me, but I don’t think I can be without you for long.
Me: What do you mean?
Chase: Today was torture, not being around you.
My cheeks are officially sore from smiling too much.
Chase: Okay, I’m going to bed before I say something else I’m sure you’ll punch me for admitting.
Me: Okay, g’nite.
Chase: Nite, Stinky.
Me: Wait, Chase?
Chase: ?
Me: I don’t hate you.
Chapter 22
Chase must have a torture fetish, because he doesn’t call or text or IM or pop in or anything until it’s Friday again. Alex booked me on Monday, so I’m in my cami, sports bra, and jammie bottoms ready for another alibi night.
When Chase hops over my railing, I get off the bed and run straight to him. He must think I’m going for a hug, but I sock him in the gut instead.
“Uumph!”
“Yeah, that’s what you get for the cold shoulder all week, then thinking you can just climb back in here like no big deal. What’s your excuse this time?”
His face goes red as he backs up from my next blow to the stomach. “I embarrassed myself so much I didn’t know what to say, so I just didn’t say anything.”
“That conversation never happened, remember? So that’s not good enough.”
“That’s all I got.” He shrugs his hands in his black hoodie pocket. “I am sorry. I promise, it won’t happen again.”
I give him the stare down for a couple more seconds, just to see him sweat.
“Fine,” I say, leaving the door open so he can follow me in the room. “But you are on thin ice, Moron.”
Somehow he ends up right next to my ear. I can hear the stupid smile in his voice even though I can’t see it. “Are you saying you want to talk to me?”
My breath catches in my throat as I turn to look at him. His stubble is so close, one movement and it’ll rub against my cheek. He’s keeping his hands to himself, but I wish he wasn’t. His eyes are gray today and totally teasing me.
Frustrated with all the hormones flying between us, I roll my eyes and leap away from him. “Why are you here, if you don’t want to talk with me?”
“You’re my Friday Night Girl.” He grins again.
“Is that always going to be your excuse?”
“You like it, and you know it.”
Ugh, he’s so right and I blow raspberries because it’s the only response I have for him.
“So,” he says, throwing himself on the bed. “What are we going to do?”
“Well, whatever it is, I have to stay here.”
He scratches his chin and kicks his shoes off. “All right. You want to play Modern Warfare? I’ve been practicing.”
“I’ll still beat you.”
“Wanna bet?”
“No.” I cross to my closet and open up the door on the left, where my Blu-ray collection is. “Can we watch a movie instead? I’m not really in the mood to kick your butt right now.”
This is me, trying to be seductive. And yes, I suck at it. But how can you get all kissy and smoochy when you’ve got Xbox controllers in your hand? I’d rather lie down on the California King, in the dark, holding hands, then holding lips. My mouth tingles just looking at him.
“Sure.” He hops off the bed and slides next to me. “Wow. We’re not short on choices, are we?”
“What do you feel like watching?” I ask as his arm reaches over my head to pull out some movies on the top shelf. He smells like . . . oh, can you guess? Yes, yummy and droolworthy oranges. Popcorn should be shooting out my ears and smacking him in the face.
“Something funny,” he says, moving his arm down to the next shelf and grazing my shoulder.
Okay, so I’m being a bit ballsy here, and I’m shaking like a level five earthquake, but I want to touch him. Make him understand last week was not a onetime thing for me, even if I can’t be anything more than a kissing partner. So I slide my fingers down his arm, rest them on his wrist and direct his hand to the comedies. I think molten lava has sprouted between us, and I chicken out, diving from my closet saying some gibberish about getting snacks while he picks what to watch.
I’m so wishy-washy. I want him to kiss me, then I run away.
I busy myself by setting up the screen and projector, which takes about three seconds to push the buttons. Then I slide a piece of gum into the side of my bra, because if we’re going to be having snacks, I’m going to need a quick refresher before we start kissing.
Which better happen.
He comes out of the closet—insert inappropriate joke here—while I’m bent over in the mini fridge.
“Got any more of those oranges?” His eyes scan the screen and projector, then swing back to me.
“No. And before you shoot off I’m a pig, it’s been two weeks since you gave them to me.”
“And they’re your fav—” He snaps his mouth shut when I shoot him the death glare. That’s right, Moron. That convo never happened, so you suck those words right back down your throat.
“I have Dr. Pepper,” I say, looking back in the fridge. “And more licorice.”
“Perfect for me.”
I grab the soda—Coke for me, because Dr. Pepper is bleck. And before you go, ‘Hey! Why’d you have some then?’ I may or may not have stocked up when he asked for it at Sades’ house.
That does not make me pathetic, by the way. Just observant and thoughtful.
We trade, me giving him the snacks and him giving me the movie, and he plops on the right side of the bed while I set everything up. His choice in movie kinda scares me because it’s an older comedy, making me wonder if he’s even older than what I think. But I don’t want to ask ’cause what if he’s way older? I don’t want all that guilt or whatever. I want to cuddle and kiss without thinking about age difference and the fact I’m supposedly with Alex tonight.
Yes, I’ve turned into a horndog. Stop judging me!
Once I get all the stuff ready, I slide on the other side of the bed, too chicken to go right up next to him. When the movie starts, the lights go down and the sound system almost blasts us through the roof.
“Whoa!”
I laugh. “Sorry, I’ll turn it down.”
“You have this stuff in your room?”
I laugh a
gain. “Yeah. Have to, you know.” I wink, though he probably can’t see it very well in the dark. “Friday Night Girl.”
“Do you play Xbox on this thing too?” he asks, popping the Dr. Pepper open.
“No. Too much work. I just use the TV.”
He shakes his head and leans back on my fifty million pillows. I kinda like the look of awe on his face. It’s cute, like a kid who spotted Mickey Mouse at Disneyland.
I lean back on the other fifty million pillows I have on the bed, still too nervous to close the distance between our hands. Or our hips. Or our shoulders. Or anything. He still hasn’t taken off his hoodie, and I wish he would. ’Cause then if I accidentally brush against his arm, he’d feel it.
The movie starts, and I try my bestest to watch and not pay attention to the way Chase drinks his Dr. Pepper, or the way he eats Twizzlers. I’m also trying not to notice how he bends his knee, one at a time. Every five minutes I swear, he’s shifting legs. Left knee up, right knee up . . . back and forth like he’s not comfortable or something.
I won’t dare look at his face. I know how it feels to know someone is staring at you, and I think I’ll die of embarrassment if he catches me watching him, and not the movie.
After my Coke’s gone, and I’ve about had it with the licorice, I discreetly cough and stretch, pulling out that piece of gum I stashed and popping it in my mouth.
The second it hits my tongue I regret it.
Citrus.
Why did I buy citrus gum?
I chew it for like, a minute before spitting it out in my empty Coke can. This whole thing is not going how I expected. He’s still in his hoodie, on the way far side of the bed that feels like a million miles away, and he hasn’t made a dang move.
Now I’m wishing the conversation that never happened did happen, because maybe if he felt like I didn’t just erase that from my memory, he’d jump my lips.
My eyes go to the screen, and the movie is half over already. Because I can’t help it, I let out a huge sigh.
For the first time since the movie started, Chase sits upright. I stare at his back, wondering if he’s just really into this part or if he’s leaving or what’s going on. Then his hand snakes to the neck of his hoodie, and he pulls it over his head.
Without even thinking, I grab his T-shirt and yank it to my face.
“Is this . . . green?” I squeak, squinting to see if I’ve gone colorblind, or the lack of light is tricking me.