“Absolutely not,” I laugh, grateful to move on from our little standoff. I hate fighting with him.
“It’s not for you.” His smile is more of a jeer, like he knows I’m in on this joke, even if it’s at my expense. “Hold it up so I can send it to Liv.”
My eyes burn, embarrassment and shame blanketing me almost instantly. Why am I here? Why am I standing in the middle of this mall with a boy I’ve always loved but who’s never loved me? Why am I helping him humiliate his girlfriend only so he doesn’t have to face his own anger? His own grief? I want to throw the dress at him. I want to curse in his face. Tell him that if he just talked about everything, he would feel better. Wouldn’t use me to make Liv jealous. I want to tell him that I don’t know how much longer I can do this with him.
But I know that walking away would mean something and the fear that this is all that I deserve, that he will always be the only boy who made me feelthismuch sits like a constant weight at the base of my stomach. The only thing worse than this is him knowing, in plain terms, how I feel, but still not choosing me. So I grab the dress from him, the brush of our fingers nostalgic amid this new found animosity, and hold it up. I look at him, putting forth a bored expression.
“Got it?” I ask.
“Yeah. Thanks, Genny.” His eyes rake over me, sad and tired, as he heads to a check out counter.
“We should head back so we’re not late,” I tell him after he pays for the sad excuse of a dress he picked out for his girlfriend. “But you can just drop me at Jean’s so I can grab my duffel.”
“We can stop by yours and pick you up?” he offers. Will knocks a second paper shopping bag against my side, a small grin on his face as if to saytruce. I open it and see the purple dress, the one that barely will cover my ass: a consolation prize, maybe. I don’t know. It’s an olive branch I don’t want.
“No. It’s fine,” I tell him. “I’ll just meet you there.”
6
Gen
I watch the two of them, jaws tense as they look over the menu. Will gives Olivia a sidelong glance, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear, and she just rolls a shoulder away from him. I’m on the verge of saying something snarky, something that’ll cut, when I feel Andy slide into the booth beside me and distract myself by greeting him instead.
Except then I can’t even do that, because Grant is here, stealing every thought and breath I have away. He has no business being this handsome, all of a sudden. The cut of his sleeve highlights his brawny arms, his broad shoulders setting him apart from the rest of the men at the table. He’s the same height as Will, but sitting across from him he seems more commanding, more capable. Feeling myself blush I turn away from Andy, clinging to the only lifeline I have at this table—Will.
“Do you know what you’re getting?” I ask him, ignoring Olivia.
He starts to answer, but it would take a force of nature for me to ignore Grant’s eyes on me, not notice the way hisgaze heats my skin. But I don’t dare look his way. I don’t trust what I’m going to say or do if I interact with him right now. The dynamic we have with this group of people is so different from the one we’re developing when it’s just us two. It’d be one thing if we’d just hooked up and moved on, if I wasn’t constantly texting him.
That’s really the problem. If I could juststopresponding, I could move on from this. Maybe find another perfectly built, stupidly handsome guy to have a one night fling with. But even that gives me pause because now I want to sleep with him, specifically. Unfortunately for me, Grant actuallyisa nice guy. He’s responsive, and thoughtful. He listens and remembers things, pays really close attention to things I half remember saying. I almost think it would be better if he was just a hot, insufferable asshole I could barely stand to speak to.
Andy’s moaning interrupts my momentary spiral, and I know he has to have ordered the nachos. I peek at his plate, unsurprised to find oversized tortillas chips individually loaded with too many, but just enough toppings. Truly incredible—but his reaction is not.
“We could do without the grotesque sound effects,” I say, my face contorted in exaggerated disgust, if only to remind myself not to ask the server to bring another one.
“Awe come on, Gen. Don’t take your sexual frustration out on poor ol’ Andy. If you’re in need of hearing a man groan, I’m always?—”
Scott’s date cuts him off, smacking his arm, andhere we go again.
Shooting me a look he thinks is endearing but is actually irritating to me, he croons, “Gen knows I’m kidding, right?”
I just ignore him, over his commentary, so done with thethinly veiled, disgusting things he says to me. Thankfully, Will puts him in his place, and Scott sits back in his spot, taking a defeated sip of his drink. I grab my vodka soda, shaking it off and turning back to my best friend, shaking off Grant’s tense presence just a person away. I can practically feel his irritation, despite the Andy sized barrier between us, his fist still slightly clenched on the table from Scott’s remark. I realize I’m staring at his indecently oversized hand and look back at Will, only to see his jaw tick, the conversation having turned to his poor performance at practice. I know that tick; it’s his tell.
“Olivia, are you fucking deaf?”
I wince, his tone slicing against me even though his question was directed at Olivia.
I watch Grant shoot up from his spot, sliding out of the booth, his gaze finding mine, and my heart feels lodged in my throat. Between Will’s mood and Grant’s attention, I feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin.
“I’m getting a drink,” he says directly to me, and I freeze. “Gen—do you want to join me?”
Yes, I want to say, the deep beat of my heart practically begging me to follow him to the bar. I’m on edge, between pretending I don’t know Grant any better than I did a few weeks ago and Will’s shitty mood tonight. At this moment, all I want is to escape into the comforting warmth of a conversation with Grant.
But I can’t do that—won’t do that. It would be confirmation of who I’ve been texting, which would lead to questions I don’t want to answer. This thing with Grant is supposed to be a secret, something just forme, something temporary, a blip. In another life, I’d want nothing more than to talk at the dimly lit bar with him but in this one, the one where he and Will barely tolerate each other, I needhim to followmylead.Why is he intent on making this more complicated than it needs to be?
“I’m good,” I answer without looking at him. Instead, I give Will a look that I’m hoping comes off puzzled, and when he smirks at me, like we’re both in on a joke, I huff a nervous laugh. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Grant walk away and I know I’m not imagining the hurt that seems to be billowing off of him.
Fuck.
