Friday Night Alibi

“You look amazing.”

  Alex gives me that really cute boyish smile as he opens his car door for me. He’s wearing his normal button down, but he’s got a tie on, too. His blond hair is all gelled and stylish and his khakis look like they just came from being pressed.

  Wow. This is like a real date—that’s fake. I can’t wrap my head around it so I figure he’s just getting into character. May as well join him.

  “Thank you,” I say in my faux sweet voice and slide in. He laughs as he shuts the door.

  Alex’s BMW smells like firewood, which is so bizarre, but kind of manly. Überclean and polished, plenty of leg room, and a nice stereo. I’m trying to remember the name of the car guy on his staff, but I can barely remember Alex’s two brothers’ names.

  “Sorry about all this,” he says as he starts the car. “I’m probably your most difficult customer.”

  I shrug. “It’s no big deal. I’m always up for free food.”

  I catch his yummy smile as he looks past me to see if there are any cars coming. “That’ll be your payment for tonight, then.”

  “Your cook better be really good,” I joke.

  “She is, but you won’t be eating her food.”

  Huh? “Why not?”

  “Because my mom always likes to cook for guests. It’s her thing.” He pauses and shakes his head. “She tries to get a compliment out of it, then stirs up conversation and stuff at the table. It’s pretty funny.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” I chuckle. It is pretty funny, but it’s more super-adorable. I eat with my parents maybe once or twice a week, and it’s all for show. And I don’t think Mom knows where a fork is in the kitchen. “Is there anything else I should know?”

  “Hmm . . .” he says, running a hand across his khakis and scratching his knee, “you should probably know my parents think we’re . . . uh . . . you know, dating.”

  I laugh. “I figured as much.”

  “So, I’m going to be holding your hand, and uh . . .” He gulps, flicking his eyes to me for a quick second before they land back on the road. “I may have to kiss you goodnight, but that’s it.”

  Wait a darn tootin’ minute. “You may have to what?!”

  His face gets all red, and I’m sure mine is just as blazing. “Well, you see, we have this tradition. It’s stupid, but we all have to go through it.”

  “A public goodnight kiss?” I ask, not even trying to mask the horror in my voice.

  “Sort of.” He scratches his knee again. “Not public, but like my mom likes to cook for guests, my dad likes to drive them home. I know it’s weird, but it’s how they get to know you in their own way.”

  “Okay . . .” Yeah, still not getting it.

  “That means the kiss will have to happen on my porch, in my driveway, basically at my house. And with my nosy brothers, that means we can’t fake it.”

  Silence. Because really, what the crap do I say? Hey, Alex, don’t you think your actual girlfriend may hate this? Does she even know? And hello weird family stuff! It’s not like we’re getting married even if we were dating for real. But what do I know? The only tradition we have in my family is Sunday dinner, and church.

  I blow out a breath, fluttering the hair swept over my forehead. I guess if it’s important, I’ll deliver. Alex is after all, my number one client right now, and he needs me.

  “As long as you pop in a breath mint, it’s fine.”

  That seems to take the tension out of the car and flatten it on the road behind us. His fingers stop scratching his knee and wrap around mine, squeezing. “Thanks, Kel.”

  Stupid butterflies. They don’t make any sense floating around my gut. Alex is taken! And he’s not . . . he’s just too . . . grr . . . I can’t think of anything other than the fact he’s taken. But that’s enough, I promise.

  Alex’s house is a lot like the rest in the community. Big gate, intercom, green grass despite the heat, and a garage that’s the bookstore I work in times three. He parks his BMW right in front, driving straight up to the door and leaning toward me as he pulls his key out.

  “Let me open the door for you, ’kay?”

  No duh. He better do that anyway even if this isn’t a date. Or non-date. Or whatever.

  And for some stupid reason, my mind goes right to Chase, and him opening my door for me when we went to the spa. Even after he got his back waxed, he was standing there, at his car, opening the door.

  I guess with Alex I expect manners, but with Moron, it surprises me.

  Ah freaking buckets of holy water! I gotta stop thinking about him. Zap him right from my head because I can’t be distracted.

  So when Alex reaches his hand out for me, after opening my door, I let myself become Kelli Pinkins: Alex’s “girlfriend.”

  * * *

  “Delicious, Mrs. Finnigan,” I say, setting my napkin on top of my plate. “I think the cooks in my father’s restaurant can learn a few things from you.”

  Alex’s mom lets out a sugary-sweet giggle, waving her hand through the air. “Oh Kelli, that is simply the best compliment I’ve had in years. I hardly feel worthy of it.”

  “Please, that was the best Alfredo I’ve ever had. And I’ve been to Italy.”

  I smile and Alex squeezes my hand under the table. At first I thought I was over the top, but his encouragement keeps me lathering on the compliments, oozing out perfection and kiss-buttery.

  “Well, your father’s restaurant is the finest I’ve ever been to, so I appreciate the compliment.” She pauses, also placing her napkin on her plate. “I heard they’re headed to Paris.”

  I nod, my stomach crumpling like paper. I clear my throat and manage to answer with zero bitterness. “They left already, actually.”

  Mrs. Finnigan’s eyes go wide. “Oh, will you not have someone to sit with on Sunday?”

  I didn’t even think about that, but no, I won’t, so I shake my head.

  “Tell you what,” she says, looking at Alex, “come to church with us. I’m sure Alex would like to sit with you.”

  “Yes,” Alex says without missing a beat, “that would be nice.”

  I can’t even disagree, though I’m used to being alone, I don’t like to sit through our church meetings that way. It’s one of the only times I feel close to my family, and well, being alone, would totally blow.

  So I say, “Thank you.” And I mean it.

  Their server comes out, taking each of our plates and replacing them with frozen yogurt and fresh fruit. We all dive in, Alex’s brothers making conversation about baseball. Their school’s season starts soon, and they’ve been in ultimate training mode. They are three years younger than Alex and me. Curtis—I finally remembered his name when I saw him—keeps making weird noises every time Alex touches me. He honked last time. Seriously, just went, huuurnk! Like Alex had grabbed my boob or something. Who does that?

  But no one says anything about Noise Boy, so I just pretend like it’s not happening either.

  The dessert gets cleared about twenty minutes later and Mr. Finnigan glances toward me and Alex. He hasn’t said much, letting his wife do the socializing, so when he addresses me directly, I get a wee bit nervous.

  “Kelli, would you mind if I stole my son for a few minutes before you have to leave?”

  I nod, holding back the huge sigh of relief I want to let out. Thank heavens there’s no third degree.

  Alex kisses the top of my head at the same time his dad kisses his mom. It’s weird and sweet all at once, and the lightbulb dings on—pretty sure Alex notices the wave of revelation come over me ’cause he laughs—duh. That’s why he’s so touchy all the time. Just the way his family is. Polite and all that.

  Maybe I’m the weird one, because my family doesn’t touch at all. Especially not in front of each other. I’m sure my parents touch when they go away . . .

  Oh gag. Not thinking about that.

  Mrs. Finnigan stands and I follow suit, along with the twins. She links arms with me and tugs me into the sitting room, whi
le Curtis and Devan go upstairs.

  The convo is all business. What I like about my job, how summer’s going and when classes start at the University of Georgia, how long I’ve played tennis . . . blah, blah, blah. Then she leans in, taking a sip from her tea before licking her red lips, and says, “I know this is awkward, but you and Alex are . . . saving yourselves, yes?”

  Awkward is an understatement. It’s mortifying, and I’m not even dating him! What a freaky personal question. She’s smiling and eyeing me like she just asked if I enjoyed the weather. I bite back a laugh that wants to rip through my gut. This woman is oblivious to her son. As much as they put on the show tonight, it makes me wonder if maybe Alex and I have more in common in the fam department than it seems.

  Her question has me thinking though, despite the fact this whole thing is fake-a-roni. Am I saving myself? I suppose the answer is yes, since that’s what I’ve been taught my whole life. I honestly don’t ever see myself in a situation where I’d have to make that decision. Because I’m always the alibi. Never the real thing.

  “Mrs. Finnigan, you don’t have to worry about that with me,” I say with a total real smile, because it’s true.

  She pats my hand and leans back, smiling all contentedly. Alex and his dad walk back in, same grins on their faces as Mrs. Finnigan.

  “Kelli, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take you home,” Mr. Finnigan says in a polite and very formal manner.

  I’m glad Alex prepared me for that because I would’ve fumbled, but I don’t. I smile and say, “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  Mrs. Finnigan and I both stand, give each other hugs, and she leaves me with a promise to pick me up on Sunday for church.

  Alex claims my hand then while Mr. Finnigan heads out a side door to grab his car from the garage. The front door gets shut behind us as we step out on the porch, leaving us in semi-privacy. The reason I say “semi” is because his mom is peeking through the window, trying not to be obvious. His brothers are out on their balconies, not pretending at all. I shake my head and laugh, bringing my eyes to Alex’s.

  He shrugs, then takes a step toward me.

  Okay, I’ve been kissed before, so it’s not like I’m throwing away my virgin lips. And this is fake, right? Just a “have to” kiss. But I’m starting to feel stuff in my chest, like my heart’s decided to stop, then go really really fast, then stop again.

  He’s close, and I know it’s coming but he’s not getting here fast enough. His hand creeps up my arm, across the skin on my collarbone, which is exposed because I have the shortest hair known to man, then curls around my neck, thumb caressing my jaw line.

  Wowza, he’s good.

  He smiles again and whispers a thank you right before his lips collide with mine.

  “Huuurnk!”

  Chapter 13

  “Nope, it doesn’t count.”

  Sades takes a big gulp from her water bottle as we get dressed in the locker room. Tennis practice was brutal today, but at least I didn’t get smacked in the head again. Chase and Alex joined us, and I threw a look at Sadie for inviting Moron. He even puckered up like a fish as we left the court waiting for that kiss he’ll never get.

  “And why doesn’t it count?” I say, pulling my towel off my head. That’s out of habit, wrapping my hair up, because really I could just rub it around like a dog and it’d be dry. “His lips were on mine. Mine on his. I call that a kiss.”

  And boy, what a kiss! I can’t stop thinking about it. I know, I know, it was all for show, didn’t mean anything and I should remember I’m his alibi, not his girlfriend, but screw that. Those lips felt so good against mine, I’m going to fantasize about how they taste in different scenarios. All the ones in the packets he’s purchased from me.

  Movie night in my living room. Jamba Juice and a walk in the park. Bowling and arcade night. Drool . . .

  “Kelli!”

  Blah. I was just getting started and she has to get all serious on me.

  “What?”

  “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  She wiggles her finger at my face. “Whatever it is that’s going on in your head. Brianne’s a nice girl, and if you screw things up for her and Alex, you know he’ll totally hate you for it.”

  Psh. Like she knows anything. “You said everything was fake. Alex needed some help.” I shrug. “I helped him out.”

  She yanks on her bright green shirt, flipping her gorgeous wet hair out and tying it back. “Don’t lie to me. I know you better than that. You want him. I can see it in your face.”

  My mouth shoots off before I stop it. “So what if I do? Shouldn’t you be on my side?”

  Her eyes zap to mine, and I quickly turn around. No, I don’t talk about the mush. Especially when it’s confusing. Alex was pretending, but I don’t care. It was heavenly.

  “Kel, look at me right now.”

  I shake my head and keep my eyes locked on the contents of my locker, like my gym bag will jump out and rescue me. She hops into my line of sight instead, and shakes my shoulders.

  “You can’t fall for Alex.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “No.” Her jaw drops and she shakes me again. “No, no, no. You can’t.”

  I know she’s right, but my defensive streak must be active this morning because I shove her off me and spit, “Why not?”

  “Because he has a girlfriend, Kel. Not only that, he’s using you. It’s not real. You’re going to end up hurt if you let yourself believe it is.”

  Oh phooey. What the heck does she know? She’s never done what I’ve been doing for all my friends. Being their backup, their parental approved Friday night without actually hanging out with any of them. Why can’t I have what I want?

  I slam my locker door shut and tug on my shoes. “Well, that kiss felt real. Do you want ice cream or not?”

  She sighs and her eyes glisten over. “I’m serious, Kelli.” Yeah, I know she’s serious. She’s crying over it. “I don’t want to see you go for a guy who’s using you. I’m a good enough friend to tell it like it is before you get in too deep.”

  “And throwing a college pervert my way is your solution?” It’s out before I can stop it. I’ve been trying to ignore all the Moron thoughts, but somehow they keep creeping into my head.

  “Chase isn’t a pervert. He’s just nervous around you and it’s his go-to setting. You guys call it payback, banter, teasing . . . whatever. I’m calling it like it is. Flirting and foreplay.”

  I stick my finger in my mouth and gag. She laughs, wiping the one tear that manages to escape.

  If she wasn’t my best friend—my only friend—I’d kick her butt right now. Instead I sit next to her and nudge her arm. “Did you want the ice cream?” I ask again, nicer this time.

  She shakes her head, nudging me back. “Contract is a contract.”

  “I’ll come over then and spill all the deets.”

  Even though we’re both still pissed, we link arms and leave the locker room like we didn’t just fight our pants off.

  * * *

  Okay, it’s official. Sades is trying to kill me. Torture by Moron. That’s her method.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Sades says, tugging me into her house because I’m frozen in the doorway.

  I dig my heels in and yank her back. “Why is he here?” My eyes dart to the short hair and black jacket peeking from the couch.

  That evil genius smile of hers—which I almost smack off—spreads across her face. “I invited him.”

  I don’t even have to ask. My face says it all.

  “And before you get all pissy, we’ll do our ice cream thing alone,” she says, taking the grocery bag from my hands and winking. “You’ll see. This is your romance.” She nods toward Moron. “Not some fake thing with Alex.”

  Okay. She’s delusional. I can’t think of any other explanation. She’s certifiably nutso ca-ra-zie.

  Before I can spout off a retort, she jumps behind me and pushes me into the
sitting room, where the perv has been lounging, listening to his iPod. His face cracks into that smile I’m all too familiar with, and Sades bounces out of the room to put the ice cream in the freezer.

  “Hey, Stinky.”

  “Moron.”

  He pats the seat next to him, giving me that “come hither” look. There’s a laugh that gets stuck in my throat and I end up hacking something real nasty into my mouth. Good thing I’m not trying to look attractive to this guy.

  “Wow, I didn’t know I was that repulsive.” He gives me a mock hurt face as he tugs his earphones out. His chin pube looks like it needs a trim. I open my mouth to tell him, but Sades’ mom slides into the room, taking me into a massive hug, cutting off any and all speech.

  “Kelli! Just the girl I wanted to see.”

  Okay, the major difference between my parents and Sades’ is they know enough about their daughter to know her BFF’s name. Mine usually call Sadie, Mrs. Poulsen’s little girl. There are also some other differences—like taking Sadie on long vacations. Blah—but that’s the biggest one.

  Other than that, they are the cookie cutter, churchgoing, rich beyond their dreams Sundale residents.

  “Oh?” I cough out as soon as her grip loosens.

  “I’ve been calling The Wine Cooler all morning trying to get a reservation for tonight. They say they’re booked, but I was hoping you could pull a few strings? It’s important.”

  It’s like she’s sixteen, asking her parents for a new car with the way she looks at me. I laugh and say, “I’ll give them a call. What time did you need?”

  “Eight?”

  I nod and take out my cell, pull all my connections and become Mrs. Poulsen’s favorite person for the day. She hugs me again, clicks her way out of the room in her heels, not giving Moron a glance.

  He chuckles, running a hand through his short hair, but doesn’t say anything about Sades’ mom ignoring him. Just goes back to patting that seat, waiting—in total vain—for me to sit next to him.

  I let out an audible, “Ugh.” Then stomp into the kitchen to see what the heck is taking Sadie so long. I mean, she only had to put away my ice cream. (Icing on The Cake: Have your cake and lick it too!) Because seriously, that kiss was the perfect end to the perfect date night. Yum. Yum. Yum.