Yes, he was crazy. When I jumped on his back, he popped me up higher like I was as light as a feather. “Thank you for doing this. Do you want my Java Hut gift cards or something?”
“I was hoping you’d let me take you out this weekend.”
I tensed up. “Gavin—”
“Penny.”
“I, um...”
He stopped walking so he could set me down and tie the laces of his Converse. He was still crouched when he looked up at me. Something in his expression made it impossible for me to say no to him.
“Okay, I’ll go out with you, but I’m really slammed and... I don’t really date... I don’t really have time to...”
He motioned to his back, “Come on, get back on.”
When he stood, he pulled my legs around his waist and said, “You’re a tiny little thing but you’ve got some legs on you.”
“I’m five-six. I’m not that small.”
“So you made out with me, went on a date with me, let me throw you in the air in your underwear—braless, I might add—and then carry you across campus on my back, but you’re still gonna put me in the friend zone?”
“I said I would go out with you.”
“I heard a whole lot of excuses in there, though.”
“I thought I was your best friend?”
“I mean, you are, but I was at least hoping for, you know, room to grow.”
My heart was beating fast against his back. There were at least five reasons why I shouldn’t have been messing around with him, especially when I was practically failing half of my nondance classes. I’d just put too much time into practicing dance. I had to. Maybe in some attempt to prove to my mother choosing dance would be worth it.
I liked Gavin and I wanted him to be my friend. I was finally making connections with people. I knew if we hopped into bed with each other, it would be over. I’d seen it a million times with the girls in high school. Guys get weird after you sleep with them.
He set me down in front of a beat-up old car with a mismatched paint job. “Okay, BFF, this is Charlize. Hop in.”
“You named your car after Charlize Theron? This thing doesn’t look like it can run, let alone start my car.”
He chuckled. “Just get in.”
The interior was pristine black leather, the dashboard was recently polished, and there were zero empty Big Gulp cups or Slim Jim wrappers in sight. He took care of his car well.
“It’s nice inside,” I said.
“I rebuilt the engine, too, and I’m saving up to get her painted. Black on black. When I’m finished, this car will be envied, coveted, and obsessed over by many.”
The engine came purring to life. “What kind of car is it?”
“Charlize is a ’67 Chevelle. She’s my girl.”
“Perfect. Then why do you need to takemeon a date?”
When he came to a stop sign, he put the car in neutral and revved the engine. “Do you hear her singing, Penny? Do you hear that beautiful music?”
“This conversation is ridiculous.”
We were both laughing by this point. He studied me for a moment, like he was trying to read my mind. “You like me, though. Youwantto go on a date with me.” It wasn’t a question.
“Cocky much?”
