But I Love Him (19 page)

For one millisecond, I regret it. For just a moment I think I might turn back to him and throw all my good sense away and kiss him.

But then I think of Connor, and I know I can’t do that. “I … uh, I’m kind of seeing someone.”

Suddenly I’m breathing hard again. Why does it feel so wrong and so right at the same time? Why couldn’t we have done this last spring? Why didn’t Blake just call me, or stop by Subway this summer? I’d even told him I could give him a free sandwich, knowing I’d have to pay for it after he left. But he never stopped by.

He turns around, so his back is to me, and I don’t know what he’s thinking. He just stands there, one hand cocked on his hip, staring down at a nearby stump. Why isn’t he looking at me? “Who?”

“You don’t know him. He doesn’t go here. It’s only been a couple weeks, but it’s getting serious pretty fast.”

“Oh.”

And we just stand there like that, me staring at his back. “Blake, I’m sorry. Any other time—”

“We should get back. It looks like rain.” His voice is curt. He doesn’t want a conversation. He doesn’t want my explanation, he just wants this over.

It’s a lie. There’s no way it’s going to rain. But I don’t correct him. I just stare at his back for another long, silent moment, trying to find someway to make sure what happened didn’t just ruin our friendship, and yet I know there are no words that can fix this or make it so that it never happened. So I just follow him back down the path.

“Okay. Sure.”

And for more than an hour, we don’t talk.

September 12

One Week, six days

After our third date, we go back to Connor’s house. For some absurd reason, I feel nervous. I know his parents might be home. I’ve never “met the parents” before. Does this mean our relationship is real? That he’s officially my boyfriend? Or does this just mean we’re hanging out some more?

His house is cute. The lawn is perfectly mowed in diagonal stripes leading up to a red front door. There’s a picket fence and everything. It’s like the house you’d picture if you thought of the perfect family place, the American Dream.

He smiles at me as I walk up next to him on the sidewalk, and he slips his hand into mine. I love how comfortable we’ve gotten already. I love how he just holds my hand or slings his arm around my shoulder and kisses me on the cheek. I’ve never had more than a date or two before. I’ve never had someone just want to be close to me and I’ve never been comfortable like this.

We walk up the drive like that, hand in hand, and he pushes open the door.

“Mom?”

The house is quiet. There’s no one home.

“Guess she’s not here. Want to see my room?”

I nod. I could follow him anywhere.

He leads me through the living room and we turn at the hallway, and then we’re walking through a white-paneled door and we’re in his room. It has hardwood floors and sliding mirrored doors, and a big bed that seems to take up the entire room, and I’m trying hard to pretend I don’t notice it. Why does this feel so weird? Why am I drawn to it right now?

I roll my eyes, careful to be sure Connor doesn’t see my thoughts written all over my face.

“This is great,” I say. The room is small and bare, like he’s never taken the time to put posters or pictures up.

“Thanks. I know it’s not much, but it’s mine.”

He sits down on the edge of his bed and lies back, staring at the ceiling. I stand there awkwardly until he pats the spot next to him, so I sit on the edge like he did and lie back.

This is surreal. I’m lying on a bed next to him. Fully clothed, my feet still on the ground, but still, sort of crazy.

“Sorry my mom’s not here.”

“It’s okay. No biggie. Where’s your … dad?”

God, why did I just ask that? I know his dad is an alcoholic! Why did I just ask that?

“He’s been gone a few weeks. They’re kind of separated right now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

His abrupt statement jars me. The room feels heavy.

“He’s kind of a jerk, and whenever he’s gone, life is just … so much better. But it won’t last. He’ll be back once he weasels his way back in. For now, though, it’s all good.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway,” he says, laughing. I laugh too. I’m glad he’s got a sense of humor. “Want a milkshake?”

I grin. “I think that’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

And so we spend the rest of the afternoon gorging ourselves on ice cream and waiting for his mom to come home, but she never does. I leave just before curfew, and he is alone when I leave him.

September 6

Seven Days

Today is our second date. It’s only been three days since our first one, but we couldn’t wait any longer. I can’t get him out of my head. I can’t stop thinking of that cute smile, of the way it felt when he told me I’m beautiful, or the way his eyes lit up when I opened the front door and he saw me.

Today we’re bowling. I’m a terrible bowler, and by the ninth frame I have a whopping thirty-two points. But we just keep laughing every time I hit a gutter ball, and I can’t wipe the grin off my face no matter how many times I miss the pins.

Connor is good. He left out bowling on his list of hobbies. He played in a kid’s league once, I guess. He probably won it all, if he was this good. He’s two points shy of two hundred and he just got a strike, so I’m guessing he’s going to top that.

I bowl two more gutter balls and then switch back into my street shoes while I watch him get another strike, his arm rolling the ball straight down the middle as if it’s effortless. When it’s all over, he has a two-forty. Amazing. Is he this good at everything?

I wait for him while he takes off those red and white shoes and switches back into a pair of Vans. He’s wearing this dark V-neck sleeveless thing, like a sweater vest or something, and it looks kind of silly on him. I’ve known him less than a week and I can tell it’s not his style. But I also kind of think it’s cute, because I’m pretty sure he put it on for me.

I think he saw my house and got all intimidated or something, because his outfit has trying too hard written all over it, in the most adorable way. And I want to tell him not to worry about impressing me, but I know that means pointing out that his outfit is all wrong, so I’m not going to do it. I just keep smiling to myself when he’s not looking, and think about him trying on a dozen different shirts.

He holds the door open for me and when we walk across the lot to his truck, he slips his hand into mine. I smile at him when he does it, and try not to let my heart leap when he gives my hand a little squeeze. I have that nervous energy around him again, that adrenaline-charged heart. I don’t know how he can have this effect on me, but he does. Seven days after meeting him and I can’t stop obsessing over every smile and look and laugh.

He opens the truck door for me and I slide in. Once he’s inside, I look over at him and smile, and then it happens. He leans over to me, and before I know what I’m doing, I close my eyes and his lips are on mine, soft, and we’re kissing.

We’re kissing.

I forget to breathe. When he pulls away, I let out a long sigh and then take a big ragged breath to fill my lungs.

“Sorry. I didn’t want to wait and have that awkward front door thing.”

I grin at him.

“Fine with me. But I still want another at the front door.”

He grins back at me and fires up the truck. “I think I can handle that.”

I think I can too.

“Did you have fun tonight?” he asks.

I chew on my lip to keep the grin from spreading from ear to ear, the grin that gives me away as a silly lovesick girl after only two dates. “Yes. Tons.”

“So do you … do you want to do it again sometime?”

I turn to look at him, and he’s staring at the road as if it takes every last ounce of concentration and he can’t tear his eyes away to look at me, but I know his heart is probably beating out of control like mine is.

“Yes. Definitely.”

And then his lips curl into a smile and he looks over at me. “Sounds good.”

And when we get to my house, he walks me to the door and we kiss a few more times, and all I can think of is our next date, when we can do it all again.

For the first time, someone is seeing me, and I want to catch up from a thousand days of being invisible.

September 3

four Days

Today I’m going out with Connor. I can’t believe it. He actually called after I gave him my number. I fully expected to be blown off. Guys just don’t ask me out like this. I’m not outgoing enough to be noticed.

And now I’m a ball of nerves, practically bouncing off the walls. I’ve been on, like, four dates in my whole life, and two of them were homecoming dances where I went with someone “as friends” even though I wanted it to be more.

And I don’t even know where we’re going. It’s a surprise. I tried to get it out of him, but he held fast, and I have no idea what we’re doing tonight, if it’s going to be dinner and a movie or something totally different.

I kind of like that. School starts in two days, and when all I can think of is our date, it makes it seem so far away.

Connor said to dress casual, so I wear a cute pair of jeans, low heels, and two layers of tank tops, one baby blue and one yellow. My hair is swept up in a messy bun and I wear dangly little earrings. Stars. I hope I look okay. I hope he doesn’t take one look at me and change his mind and decide he was totally crazy for asking me out.

He pulls up in a beat-up Ford F-150, the one he was driving the day I met him. I can see him from my window. It rumbles at the curb for a minute until he kills it and climbs out, and I can hear the door squeak. I want to watch him but I don’t want to keep him standing on the porch, so I don’t. I grab my bag and take the stairs two by two, and swing open the door just as he makes it up the last step.

He looks amazing. He has on dark jeans and a blue T-shirt and the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. It lights up his eyes. His hands are behind his back, and when he holds them out I see what they contain: daisies and baby’s breath. Yellow and white, the perfect summer mix.

Warmth spreads through me and I have to fight not to drop my jaw, I’m so surprised and pleased by his gesture. Instead I just grin, and I hope it’s half as amazing as the smile on Connor’s face right now. “Thank you!”

Before I know what I’m doing I stand on my tippy toes and kiss him on the cheek, and then we both turn a little red. I have no idea why I was that forward.

“Let me toss these in water and then we can go.”

Too late, I realize I should have invited him in, because he just stands there on the porch while I rush off to the kitchen and drop the bouquet in a vase. But it only takes me seconds and I’m back in no time.

He walks to the truck and holds the door open for me, and I slide over the cracked vinyl seats as his cologne washes over me. I breathe deeply, enjoying the scent. Before I’m buckled he’s around to his side and jumping in and firing up the truck. It’s even louder inside, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He just puts it in gear and before I know it, we’re winding down Snob Hill, our windows rolled down and the salty ocean air whipping through the cab.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

He just shakes his head and smiles, this cute half-smile that lifts the edges of his full lips. Why am I staring at his lips? “Still not telling.”

I roll my eyes and smirk a little, enjoying the playful way he says it, but I don’t ask again. I kind of like that he hasn’t told me yet. Everyone always gives in and tells their secrets.

He turns right at the bottom of the hill, away from town and the beach, and now I’m really curious. He takes a few turns, winds back up toward the mountains and then down a gravel road, then parks on the edge of the pavement. “Come on. It’s a short hike.”

I nod and slide out of the truck, realizing that heels, even low ones, do not count as casual wear. Now I look totally out of place.

We don’t walk far before I start having trouble. Late summer rains have made the ground moist and my heels are sinking, and I’m walking with my arms out for balance like some crazy lunatic, my hands waving whenever one heel sinks further than the other. This is definitely not scoring me any points.

“How ’bout you put this backpack on and I’ll give you a piggy back ride?”

My face heats up a little at the idea of jumping on his back. I’ve known him for all of three days. But if I want to know what his secret is, I need help. “Okay.”

He kneels down and uses a tree trunk to keep his balance, and then he stands with my arms looped around his neck and my legs wrapped around his waist, and then we’re walking again, much faster than before. “God, you weigh like two pounds,” he says.

My face burns now. This is both awkward and really, really nice, and I can smell his cologne again, masculine and musky, and I have to fight the urge to rest my face against his back. His shoulders seem even broader, more heavily muscled, from this angle.

He weaves his way through the woods, stepping carefully over rocks and tree roots, and we end up at his destination in a few short minutes. Something is roaring. Loud.