I study his face. Whatever relief I felt is replaced by worry.
He must see it, because he forces a smile that not even a baby would buy. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Seems like it is.”
He holds me in his gaze, then drops his arms and turns into his bedroom, shoulders slouching. I guess it’s my invitation. His room is cluttered with piles of junk, books, and clothing, but it smells like clean laundry. There’s not much decor to speak of, but what little there is revolves entirely around football: photos of him and his teammates grinning and sweaty in their jerseys, an autographed helmet, a framed green-and-white jersey with “Dalton” on the back, maybe from his high school days. No pictures or posters of women to be found.
I follow him and sit on the edge of the bed, watching him take a seat in his desk chair.
“I don’t like being around people when I’m in a bad mood,” he finally says. “I handle things on my own.”
“Good, I don’t want to handle things for you. I want to grab dinner and study for my Spanish test together.”
“I’ll get you back on the Spanish, okay? We’ll meet on campus at lunch tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I tell him. “But we’re still hanging out tonight.”
“Jade.” He looks impatient.
“No, really. I have an idea.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You haven’t even heard it.”
“I don’t want to go out and I don’t want to be around people. I’ll just be an asshole.”
“You already are, so it’s fine.”
He shakes his head, but he’salmost smiling.
“Come on,” I insist while I have him on the line. “I set aside my night for you. You owe me.”
“I owe you? Ha. After the other night, you owe me. You owe me big, honey.”
The look that passes between us sizzles with heat. I can’t argue, so instead I stand up and head for the door. “Just get dressed. I’ll wait for you outside.”
“Jade,” he protests, getting to his feet.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be worth it,” I promise, then slip out the door and head downstairs. I’m bluffing, of course. My idea’s pretty uncool, but that’s the fun of it.
Five minutes pass while I stand outside watching the sun sink low in the sky. I zip up my jacket as a breeze rolls through, sending brown, crispy leaves rolling and scratching their way up the sidewalk. Six minutes, then seven. I watch a little girl and her father across the street drape a strand of orange-and-purple Halloween lights along their front porch railing. Halloween is weeks away, but the girl is decked out in a frilly purple princess costume. Just when I’m ready to head back inside, the front door opens and there’s Reeve, looking incredibly good in faded jeans and a slim-cut navy-blue shirt that emphasizes the slope of his broad shoulders.
“I guess I win,” I can’t help saying.
“Yeah, you win an evening with a grouchy asshole. Just like you deserve.”
“You’re kidding,”Reeve says when I park the car in a sprawling field on the grounds of the Thirty-Seventh Annual Shafer Carnival. Even with the windows closed, the scent of fried food and sugar permeates the air. “The carnival? This was stupid when I was six.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot you grew up in this town. Whoops.”
“Uh-huh. Great plan.” But he gets out of the car anyway.
“Well, good. Now you can show me all the dark corners where you used to feel up the head cheerleader in high school.”
“You mean junior high? By high school, my hands weren’t under her shirt, they were on the back of her head.”
“My sincere apologies,” I say, pretending the thought of his hand on the back of some girl’s head doesn’t make me hot with jealousy. “Let’s go.”
