Slow Burn (41 page)

I can be mature about this.  Taking a deep breath, I decide
to get the weirdness over with.  Like ripping off a band aid.  I stride purposefully over to the table where the guys are seated.

“Hi,” I
say again, smiling more naturally this time—I hope.

“H-hey, Juliet,” Nick stammers, looking everywhere but at me. 

I wince at his obvious discomfort.  I hope sharp-eyed Ben doesn’t…oh, good, Arianna’s sticking her tongue down his throat, very effectively distracting him.  And Johnny’s too busy looking at me to notice Nick.

“Hey,” Johnny says quietly.
  He sets his beer on the table in front of him, and I notice his hand flex convulsively.  “How are you?”

He says it like he really cares about my answer.  This is p
ainful, the strain between us like the physical presence of a fat naked man.  Still, I have my pride.  I strive to sound unaffected. 

“I’m doin’ real good.  How ‘bout yourself?”

Oh, god, dummy—where the
hell
did that twang come from?!  I sound like I’m from a dude ranch, scuffing the toe of my boot in the dirt.  Please, no one have noticed it. 

Johnny hesitates, looking sl
ightly confused.  Thank god he doesn’t comment on my sudden drawl.  He shrugs.  “Can’t complain.  It was a good game tonight—we’ll go out undefeated.”

“Yeah, I heard.  Congratulations.  That’s really…somethin’.”  I’m still doing it, I’m still doing it…
!

He nods, and his gaze drops
down to the table.  On the other side of him, I notice Nick is studiously keeping his head turned away, his posture incredibly stiff.  Meanwhile, Arianna is now on Ben’s lap.  Yet nobody cares about the couple practically doing it right there.  No, it’s gotten real quiet on the balcony, all the attention focused on me and Johnny.  Even Heather and Sloane are watching us intently.

Abruptly, Johnny looks up.  His beautiful eyes seem to shine with determination, and hi
s jaw clenches.  “So…” he says softly.  “Do you want to, maybe…?”

What?  He trails off questioningly, and I stare at him blankly.  Do I want to what?  Oh, he’s looking past me now.

A couple of girls are climbing up the steps to join our group.  One of them is Sara, and the other is her friend, Jasmine—whom I keep calling Sidney for some reason.  Jasmine is a giggly girl whose cheeks are perpetually pink.  Right now she’s staring avidly at Johnny, giggling her head off.

Sara heads straight to me with the pretense of asking me some lame question about a test on Monday,
all the while sneaking peeks at Nick.  Her friend boldly goes up to Johnny, and starts a conversation.  She’s gushing about how epic he was at the game.

“I think I’m going to ask Nick
out tonight,” Sara suddenly whispers in my ear.  “Do you think I should?”

“Um, yeah, go for it,” I mumble, d
istracted.  Sidney Jasmine is standing awfully close to Johnny, trying to keep his attention. 

“Really?  Okay!  But how do I get him alone?” Sara is saying.

“Um,” I say again.  “Did you drive?”

She twists her fingers together nervously, glancing over my shoulder at Nick.  “Yeah.  I came here with Jaz…”

“Hey, Nick!” I call before she can finish her sentence.

Nick’s head shoots up.  “What’s up?” he mutters, meeting my eyes reluctantly.

“Sara’s having some trouble with her car.  Could you take a look at it?”

I ignore Sara’s eyes bugging out at me, and smile at Nick.  He looks surprised, then confused, but he obligingly stands.

“Uh, sure,” he says, coming over.  He shakes out the leg of his jeans to straighten it, then grins at Sara.  “Lead the way.”

I watch a giddy Sara
go down the stairs with her crush in tow.  Jasmine watches them, too, but makes no move to follow her friend.  She turns back to Johnny, giggling.  But Johnny is looking at me, eyebrows raised. 
What was all that about? 
I give a little shrug.

All of a sudden, I’m tired.  And sick of all this awkwardness and tension.  Also, I need a bathroom because the thong I’m wearing has traveled into unchartered territories.  I thought the new underwear would make me feel sexy, but all I feel right now is chafed.

“I need to find a bathroom,” I say, directing my announcement at Johnny.  “Is it okay if I go in?”

“Of course.”  He nods to the French door
s.  “You know where to go?”

No.  “I’ll figure it out.”

As I cross the short distance to the doors, I wonder if he’ll follow me.  He doesn’t.  I don’t care.  I grasp the handle and let myself in.  I really don’t mean to slam the door behind me, but I think it gets caught in a breeze or something.  I wince at the loud noise, and hope the others don’t think I’m throwing a tantrum.  The only thing to do now is walk calmly away.

Except I’m somehow caught on something.  I tug forward, and something rips.  I don’t have to look behind me to know that it was my dress, caught in the door. 

I also don’t have to look behind me to know that everyone’s staring at me, but I turn anyway.  The hallway is lit, and the balcony is dark, but I see my friends’ faces clearly through the glass of the door.  I run away with as much dignity as possible.

I try to inspect the back of my dress for damages while still moving forward, and that’s how I end up slamming into a wall.

Okay, it’s not a wall, it’s Dean.

“Déjà vu,” I say, rubbing the shoulder that rammed into his
painfully solid chest.

Dean looks down at me, amused.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for a bathroom,” I say.  I know my voice is grumpy, but I can’t help it.  I look him up and down.  He’s dressed head to toe in black:  long-sleeved black shirt and black jeans that hug his trim hips and long legs.  “Do you live in this hall?”

“My room’s right there.”  He gestures to the
double doors behind him.

“
Oh?”  I start edging past him, curiosity replacing my grouchiness.  “Can I see inside?”

Dean chuckles at my eager tone.  He takes a step backward, and twists the handle.
  He shoves the doors open for me, and I go right in.

Wow.  His room is large, and…institutional-looking.  Actually, I think I’ve seen nicer prison cells.  Not that I’ve actually seen a prison cell, but I’d think that if anyone had to be incarcerated in Dean’s room, wi
th its glaringly blank white walls, and drab sparse furniture—they’d jump out the window.

There is nothing in his
bedroom.  Okay, the bed looks like a king size, with a plain oak headboard, and olive green sheets, made to military perfection.  There’s a huge chest of drawers the same color as his headboard, and a small utilitarian desk with a laptop on it.  The sliding glass doors lead out to a balcony, and a fancy little alcove for a fireplace are the only indications that this room is part of an elegant mansion.

I turn to Dean, horrified.  “Are you being punished for something?”

He looks around his room, confused by reaction.  “No.”

“Okay, this is not a normal
boy room,” I say, wandering further in to inspect his desk.  “I’ve been in a few of them in my time, and—where’s the mess?  The game systems?  Sports memorabilia?”  I’m describing Johnny’s room, but  his is so typical of the teenage male—maybe more of a disaster than most (and they have housekeepers!).

“I don’t like clutter.”

“Obviously.  Dude, you don’t even have a bookshelf.  Don’t you read?”

“Yeah, I read.”  Dean smirks at me.  “I use my laptop, or my phone.”

“But…”  The lack of…
stuff
is bizarre, as disturbing in its own way as—as my room.  “Your room is suppose to reflect your personality.  This—”  I gesture widely around me.  “—is a cry for help.”

Dean leans against a wall, arms crossed in a typical hot guy pose.  “I don’t spend much time in here,” he says with a shrug.

“So?  It wouldn’t kill you to add a few personal touches.  Where are your trophies, and crap?  I know you have them.  Why don’t you display them?  Dean, this is so sad.”

He shakes his head at me
, smiling slightly.  “It bothers you that badly?”

“It does,” I say firmly, planting my hands on my hips.  “I have this urge to
decorate it.  This room has such potential!”

“Go ahead,” Dean invites, his expression completely serious.  But this is Dean—he could be joking.

I narrow my eyes at him.  “I might.”

“Okay.”

We eye each other like gunslingers at high noon—then I am painfully reminded that I need a bathroom.  “Can I use your bathroom?” I ask, already heading toward the door I assume is what I’m looking for.

“Sure.  But that’s the—”

“Closet.”  I shut the door, and reverse direction to see what’s behind door number two.

Dean’s bathroom is an almost exact replica of Johnny’s, layout-wise.  They both have the big glass-encased showers, the big jetted tub, and the really cool frosted glass
tiles.  And the double sinks.  I’d never need ‘em, but they’re cool to have.

I quickly freshen up, noti
cing the room smells like Dean—clean masculine scents combined with the fragrance of the woods.  I feel vaguely dirty picturing him in the shower.  Honestly, though, the image just absently popped into my head, kinda like when I see a picture of a really hot celebrity and wonder what it would be like to make out with him.  I’m not the only one who does that, right?

I’m really fast in the bathroom because I don’t want Dean to wonder what I’m doing in there.  When I zip back out, he’s
doing something on his phone.

“Can I hang out in here?” I blurt out when he looks up at me. 
“I just—I don’t want to go back out there.  Uh, you don’t even have to stay with me.  I promise I won’t touch anything, or snoop around.”

I give him my most pitiful look, big eyes and all.  Seconds tick by as Dean considers this.  Finally, he gives an almost imperceptible sigh, and looks back down at his phone.  “I’m not leaving you in here by yourself,” he
mutters.  “I’ll stay.”

“Yay.”  I give a little clap.  “What should we do?
  Oh, I know!  Truth or Challenge!”

His brow furrows slightly.  “Truth or what?”

I start to go for his bed, then hastily flop down onto the plush carpet instead.  Some people are weird about having other people on their bed, and Dean strikes me as one of them.  Also, I don’t want to wrinkle his sheets.

“Truth or Challenge is like a sober Truth or Dare.  Heather learned it from Bible study camp…”

Dean eases down on the desk chair, facing me.  “Heather went to Bible study camp?” he asks, clearly surprised.

“
I know.  Anyway, it’s basically a tame way of getting to know someone.  Instead of daring someone to do something stupid, like crush a beer can on his forehead, you give them a challenge.”

I give him examples of when Heather and I last played.  I challenged her to
stare at herself in the mirror for five minutes every morning for a week (a week being the maximum duration for a challenge), and tell herself she’s beautiful.  She challenged me to bond with my mother over an eighties movies marathon.

“Oh, and no direct orders, like you can’t challenge someone to stop drinking, or smoking, or whatever
,” I say.  I push my long hair back and peek up at Dean to see if he looks annoyed yet.  “You know what?  We don’t have to play—so cliché, right?  It’s really more fun when there’s a bunch of people,” I add lamely.

“Somers.”  Dean nods his chin
at me.  “Truth or challenge?”

******

Chapter 33

I beam at him.  “Truth.”

“Have you ever done anything illegal?”

“
Um…sort of.  I swallowed a Minnie Mouse earring at a store when I was seven, and I didn’t pay for it.  Truth or challenge, Youngblood?”

“Truth.”
  Why is he smirking?

“What’s the significance of the lighter?” I ask promptly, nodding to his ever-present Zippo.  “You don’t even smoke, right?”

Dean looks down at his hand as if he’s surprised to find something in it.  Then he glances up at me with a self-deprecating half-grin.  “No significance.  You never know when you’ll need a light.”

“Hm.  Cryptic.  Truth or challenge.”

“It’s my turn,” he protests.

“Yes, but the rules state that if a question isn’t answered to your satisfaction, then you get another turn,” I lie.
  “I’ll just ask you another question.  So, football.  Is that really what you want to do with your life?”

Dean looks down thoughtfully.
  “I like it well enough,” he says finally.

“Well enough?  That’s a very lukewarm answer for one of the top recruits in the country.”  I frown at him. 
“We both know there’s a good chance you’ll be drafted into the NFL.  So since it’s likely going to be your career, shouldn’t you like it more than ‘well enough?’”

Dean studies me
, his turquoise and gray/green eyes vivid in the light.  “You’re a direct little thing, aren’t you?”

I make a face at him, like “well?”

He laughs softly.  “I like it enough that should it become my career, I’d be okay with it.  Football keeps me in shape, and I get to hurt people occasionally.  But, no, it’s not really what I want to do with my life.”

“You like hurting people?”

“Sometimes,” he admits.

“Hm.”  I don’t know what to do with that.  I hug my knees to my chest and rest my chin on the
m.  “So what do you want to do?  What do you like to do?”

“
Drive,” Dean says with a slow smile.  “I like to drive.  Fast.”

“Like racing?
”

“
That’s a lot of questions,” he hedges.  I think it’s my turn.  So, what do you want to do with your life?”

I squirm uncomfortably at the sudden turnaround.  “I don’t know,” I blurt out.  “I’m not really good at anything.  I’m kinda freaking out because I have absolutely no idea what I want to do, or who I want to be.  I mean, I don’t even know where I want to go to college!”

I make my confession all in a rush.  Worries about the future are always at the back of my mind, and just thinking about it makes my stomach hurt.  I didn’t mean to unload all that on Dean, though.  He looks slightly taken aback by my vehemence. 

“What about what you’re doing now?” he asks cautiously.

“What, you mean at the rec?” I laugh.  “That’s just a part-time job.  I’m not going to work there forever.  At least I hope not!”

“I mean the work you do with the the Jubilee kids,” he says patiently.  “When you talk about them, everything about you lights up.”

“Oh, I just help out once in a while.  I’m not even…”  I trail off self-consciously.  For some reason, I’m embarrassed.  I study the hot pink nail polish on my toes.

“There’
s a lot of jobs out there where you can work with kids with special needs.  You’d be good at it.”

I flush.  “Hm.  Maybe.  What’s your favorite place in the world?”

“On a boat in the ocean.  Yours?”

I almost say “my shower,” but hastily change my mind. 
“The zoo.  More specifically, on a bench in front of the gibbon exhibit.  I could watch those suckers all day.”  I point my finger at him.  “What are you afraid of?”

“The dark.”  Dean
shrugs at my gaping surprise.  “Only when I’m trying to fall asleep.”

He doesn’
t offer anything else, even when I stare at him expectantly.  He just looks back at me, unashamed.  Hm.  Dean Youngblood is scared of the dark, Big Mack Aina cries when he’s mad, and Nick Adler gets lost in his own neighborhood…what I could do with this information if I were evil!

Mentally shrugging those thoughts away, I look around the
room.  “So, do you sleep with the light on, or night lights?”

“
No.  When I was a kid, my dad said the only way to get over a fear is to confront it head on.  Every night before I went to sleep, he’d take the lights out of my room, and lock the door.  I used to lie awake for hours.”  Dean flips open his lighter and stares into the small flame.  “I guess that’s why I don’t sleep much now.”

“Yeah, ‘cause
your dad traumatized you!”  I can’t keep the disgust out of my voice.  “That’s horrible, Dean.”

“I’m not traumatized.”
  He’s amused at my outraged expression.  “I’ll be okay, Juliet.”

I’m
quiet while trying to picture a little Dean, lying in bed, his odd-colored eyes wide with terror.  Poor little Dean…my heart melts a tiny bit for him.  His dad is a jerk! 

“Okay, challenge time!” I announce after a thoughtful pause.  “After a certain amount of questions, you have to choose a challenge.”

“You asked all the questions,” he points out.

“Exactly, so you’re due for a challenge.  Let me think.”  I tap a finger to my lips
.  “Okay, I got it.  For one week, you have to let yourself make mistakes.  Stupid little things, you know?  Like deliberately get a question on a test wrong—or, uh, wear your pants inside out.  Trip.  Let yourself fall.”

I look him in the eye, challenging him with a raise of my eyebrows.  He stares back at me, slightly incredulous. 

“You want me to be a clumsy idiot for a week?” Dean sums up.  “No—hell, no.  Why would I do that?”

“
So you’ll realize that it’s okay to be human.”  I make my voice super caring and compassionate, tilting my head to the side.  “You need to learn how to laugh at yourself, Dean.  It won’t hurt as much you think, I promise.”

“Can’t I just laugh at you?”

I pretend to scowl at him.  “Hey, if you don’t want to accept the challenge, that’s cool.  Be warned, though, that there are penalties for your refusal.”

“Oh, yeah, like what?”

“As soon as I think some up, I’ll tell you.”

He chuckles at that, shaking his head.  Then he shifts in his chair, leaning forward.  “I’ll do it,” he relents.  “If you accept
my
challenge.”

I brighten, changing positions so I’m resting on my knees, bringing me closer to him.  “I accept.  What do I have to do?”

I’m caught by the sudden serious intensity in his stunning face.  He looks at me searchingly before he finally speaks.

“Forget the past, and give someone a second chance,” he says quietly.

What?
  I almost fall over from shock.  Sitting back on my heels, I try to absorb his words before saying anything.  He wants me to forgive Johnny?  I thought he wanted us to break up.

“Dean, I can’t,” I say finally, staring down at the carpet.  “Johnny and I are over.
  At this point, the best I can hope for is to remain friends.”

“I didn’t—”

He’s interrupted by someone calling his name from outside.  A second later, the doors are thrown open, and Kara comes stumbling into the room.

“Dean, there you are!” she exclaim
s.  Then she realizes I’m there as well, kneeling on the carpet in front of Dean’s chair—and she freezes.

I’m not sure what kind of thoughts are running through her dirty little mind, but a terrifying gamut of emotions
run across her features, ranging from psychotic fury—to a sly satisfaction.  It’s so weird that the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” she says
in a smooth voice.  She tosses her red hair over one shoulder, and gracefully backs out, pulling the doors shut along the way.

“Great,” I mutter, scrambling to my feet.  “I can just imagine the rumors she’s going to
spread now.  I’d better go back out there.  Thanks for letting me hang with you.  It was fun, except for that last part.”

I dash
outside.  Kara’s sitting at the table, casual as can be.  She’s talking to Arianna and Ben, but gives me a smile and small wave when I come out.  I just narrow my eyes at her, and her attention moves back to the others.  She’s so weird.

Heather and Sloane have disappeared.  So has Johnny, and Sara’s friend, Sidney—Jasmine.  Are they together?  Probably. 
Mack’s still here, at least.  He’s talking to that tiny girl from homecoming.  He spots me, and waves me over.  He introduces the pretty dark-haired girl as Lorena, whom he met through mutual friends.  Lorena, who is home-schooled, turns out to be funny and direct.  It’s obvious she really likes Mack—and judging by the way he keeps his attention focused on her, the feeling is mutual.

I spend the next hour talking with them, then decide I’d better check in with Heather.  I don’t find her, but I do bump into Tanya.  She’s huddled around a patio h
eater with Celia Chu—a cheerleader, and a tall cute guy she introduces as Dalton, whose father works as a janitor at Leclare.  I don’t know why I need to know that about him, but then I remember Tanya is crazy rich.  Maybe that kind of thing is important to her?  Dalton doesn’t seem to mind.  He continues to smile as he stands too close to her and stares down at her chest.

I text Heather, but don’t get a response.
  I still don’t see Johnny around, but I don’t look too hard for him.  I wonder where Dean is, but then someone says he took off on his bike a while ago.  Hm, where did he go?

Ben texts me to ask for help taking a video of the party, which he plans to upload to his website. 
So I spend the rest of the night following him around with his phone on video mode as he makes his rounds through the party.  The things he gets people to do!  He convinces Ryan and Jason to wrestle in front of the camera to see who can choke his twin out first, and several girls (drunk) lift their shirts for him upon request.  I make faces at Ben, but he just laughs and gestures for me to keep filming.  One of the girls gives him sloppy tongue on camera, after which he reminds himself to edit that part out.

Sometime around two a.m., Heather finally appears, flushed and a little drunk.  I’m annoyed because she promised me she’d be okay to drive us back to
night.  Well, I’m not making two stops, so she’s sleeping over whether she likes it or not!  She makes me drag her to her car by her arm.

It’s a harrowing ride home, and I almost get us into an accident when I think there’s a cat sitting in the mi
ddle of the street.  There’s no cat—I’m just seeing things.  When we get to my house, Heather immediately climbs into my bed and falls asleep—sprawled sideways, and with a big smile on her face.  Awesome.

While I’m getting ready for bed,
I get a brilliant idea for a present for Dean.  Heck, I’ve already got most of the equipment in the garage.  I’d have to set it up here, then have Mack and the other guys help me move it to Dean’s.  I start to mentally plan everything out, and guess what?

I end up falling asleep with a big smile on my face, too.

******

Chapter 34

Very early Sunday morning, I’m jolted awake by someone shaking my shoulder.

It’s Dad.  “Get dressed,” he says tersely.  “Michelle’s in the hospital.
  It’s the baby.”

I jump off the couch, and grab my hoodie and phone, then Dad and I are running out the door.  I’m praying as he speeds to Hidden Cove Hospital, but deep down I have a hopeless sense of dread.