Solving for Ex (11 page)

My stomach twisted. I pulled away from the window, closed my eyes, and took deep breaths. I was going to a dance. With a guy. Who was not Brendan.

I rolled my eyes. That sounded ridiculous even to me. Brendan was Brendan. Just a guy. Just a stupid guy, who I knew liked me—or used to. Or did he really think we were just best friends? He was just Brendan. Just one guy.

Ω

The doorbell sounded, sharp and short¸ and my feet carried me to the stair way more excitedly than I would have thought.

Vincent stood in the foyer holding a single pink rose. And looking like a freaking supermodel. The shirt that would have been comfortably baggy on Brendan closely hugged his muscled, six-foot frame. Underneath the shirt was a perfectly pressed orange oxford collared shirt, which perfectly matched the color of the font in the tee.

I smelled the strong mint of the gum he’d been chewing just beneath the scent of his cologne—musky, woodsy, and strong. He smelled like guy, one who had tried to get ready for a nice date. The only thing Brendan ever smelled like was dryer sheets and sometimes, if he’d just gotten out of the shower, that green soap he used. And vanilla. He always smelled a little like vanilla. Warm and comforting and familiar and…home.

And I was going to Sadie with Vincent. Vincent. Who had hired a limo, and managed to look gorgeous even in a stupid T-shirt.

The flecks in his eyes seemed to sparkle when he looked up from his conversation with Aunt Kristin to me. “Wow, Ashley. You look great.”

“Easy for you to say,” I joked. “You’re wearing the same thing.”

He laughed, and even then, those damn eyes seemed to bore a hole into me. He was looking at me like he’d been waiting to see me for years. Like he was amazed.

“You brought me flowers?” I asked. “Like the limo wasn’t enough?” Oh, shit. Now he’d know I was watching for him out the window.

A split second after I realized it, a look of happiness-bordering-on glee lit up his face. He shrugged, though he still didn’t do too much to hide his obvious pleasure. “You don’t like it?”

“No, uh…I mean, it’s nice. It wasn’t necessary…” I trailed off.

“I just want you to feel special. It’s not a crime, is it?”

“Special” hadn’t been part of any vocabulary I had used when thinking about myself since…ever, really. The cutest boy in school was standing here, in our foyer, pulling out all the stops for me and a stupid dance.

Nobody else had ever made that kind of effort. Definitely not Brendan, and there was no reason to think that he ever would. I just needed to let it go. Have fun. I was a normal high school kid going to a normal high school dance. There was no reason for all this drama and angst.

I took a deep breath and looked down at the rose Vincent held out to me. I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows.

“Oh. I know it’s not a corsage kind of dance, but I really hate not being able to bring a girl flowers,” Vincent said, holding out the rose. Aunt Kristin stepped back and looked at me, unable to hide her expression of pleasant shock.

“I know yellow roses mean friendship,” Kristin said, “and red mean love. What do you think pink means?”

I shrugged and turned to grab my bag, when Vincent said, “Admiration. And gratitude. I asked the florist.”

I scoffed. “You’re the one taking me to dinner.”

His eyes smiled down at me. “You’re the one letting me. I’m just really glad I was there that day.”

“Okay, well,” Kristin said with a nervous laugh. “I’ll just…get back to my show,” she finished lamely. “Back by when?”

“Midnight for sure, Mrs. Harris,” Vincent said, still looking at me.

I turned to make eye contact with Kristin. “Probably ten, though. It’ll be closer to ten.”

“Midnight’s fine. I’ll see you then, sweetie.” She grabbed my hand and held on as she looked at me. “And have fun.”

Ω

On our way out, Vincent left his customary half-foot of distance between us. Enough to keep me comfortable, and close enough to send me the signal, loud and clear, that he liked me. Yep. Flower, once-over, limo. He definitely liked me. And the flutter of excitement in my stomach about just that fact was not unpleasant at all.

Vincent made some motion through the front windshield. While it was a limo, it wasn’t so stretch, and the space in the back was pretty tight. When he ducked in after me, the scent of his cologne filled the air. It wasn’t choking, but it did catch me off guard. His grown-up cologne was just one more thing about him that made this all feel very grown-up.

But thinking of the way my hips curved in these jeans, and the warmth that ran through me when Vincent’s leg smooshed up against mine in that backseat, I suddenly felt some pretty adult feelings myself.

We rode for a few blocks, staring out the window.

“What are the autumn leaves like in Pittsburgh?” he asked.

“Oh!” My voice suddenly filled with a kind of warmth I didn’t hear from myself too often. I remembered last year tromping through the woods, trying to catch the perfect macro and then, later, landscape shots of the beautiful Pennsylvania fall foliage. But then I remembered. That was at home.

“Well, here it’s fine. But up at Tioga…” There was that wistful tone in my voice again. I cleared my throat, and glanced over at him. “The national park near my parents’ house, Tioga, has the most incredible foliage. But I guess you won’t be seeing that.” I forced a chuckle.

His eyes burned into mine again. “Who knows? Maybe I will.”

I caught his gaze for another second before turning to look out my window.

We rode another fifteen minutes in silence until I noticed we were headed toward downtown. I realized I had never asked him where we were going to dinner.

The car slowed, and I looked at Vincent curiously. He popped open the door, stepped out, and reached a hand in to help me out. “Dinner.” He smiled. I looked up at one of the tallest buildings in Pittsburgh.

“Where—?”

“Just follow me.” He still held onto my hand, fingers closed, like a gentleman would have held onto a lady’s a century ago. We stepped into a fancy lobby with a marble floor and giant chandeliers dripping with thousands of crystals. A cellist and pianist played in the corner of the restaurant, populated with tables lit by candlelight and adorned with wine buckets.

The patrons were in all kinds of fancy dress, the women in precarious-looking heels, even crazier than mine. But none of them were wearing jeans. I looked down at our shirts, tugging on mine, and flushed. I suddenly wanted to get out of there. Badly.

“Vincent, I had no idea…”

“Hey,” he leaned down and whispered in my ear. “My dad knows someone who knows someone. They reserved us a spot all to ourselves. We’re perfectly fine, dressed just like this.”

I tried to smile at him, but it didn’t change the fact that I had to walk past all those people eating in their fancy clothes. Of course they all stared at me.

I hated being stared at.

“Would it make you feel better if we ate out here?” he asked.

“No, let’s just…get to our table.”

We arrived in a small back room with a table set for two. There was a long buffet with about five main courses, three salads, and twenty desserts lined up, waiting for us.

“I didn’t know what your favorite was, but I know we have to get going soon. So I had them make a bunch of stuff, so we could eat and go.”

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked. I couldn’t find anything malicious in his face, since he just looked at me in that way he always did—like he was just so, so happy to be with me.

“I just wanted you to feel special. I don’t know. No one else is doing this. I want to stand out.”

I smiled. “Well, you certainly accomplished that.”

His face fell a little bit. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

Well, shit. I may not have been instantly head over heels for him, but he was still a good guy who treated me well. I didn’t want to make him feel bad. “No, no. It’s awesome. Really, Vincent. It’s great.” I craned my neck to look in the buffet trays. “Hey, is that mac and cheese?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He grinned. “That’s what I asked for. Fancy place, normal food.”

I laughed. “Okay, so what else is there?”

His shoulders relaxed. Thank God. I’d broken the tension. “Uh…hot dogs, I think. French fries?”

“Well, now you’re talking.” We grabbed plates and dug into the spread. I ate one bite of everything, because there were just so many choices—including one bite of every dessert. It might have been normal food, but hell if that wasn’t the best mac and cheese I’d ever tasted. It made me seriously wonder what kind of expensive-ass cheese was in this.

After twenty minutes of eating and laughing with Vincent, we both stared at the last bite of dessert—old-fashioned cheesecake with cherry topping. He picked up his fork, poised it over the top, and looked at me.

“I’ll let you have it,” I said. He dug in, loading his fork with a big, dripping bite, and had the fork almost to his mouth. I leaned back in my seat. “Even though it’s my favorite.”

His eyebrows flicked up and he gave me a little smile. Then he turned the fork around, and leaned toward me.

I knew I was supposed to move, to lean forward to meet it. I don’t know why I didn’t. That didn’t stop Vincent, though. He kept leaning forward, propping his elbows on the table between us and cupping his left hand under the fork to catch any drips.

“Vincent, I can’t eat all—” But at just that moment, he took advantage of my open mouth and shoved the cheesecake in.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. It was so rich and good that I might have even made a little noise at the taste of it. Right before something gooey dripped down my chin.

“You just have a little—” Vincent leaned in a fraction of an inch more, swiped his thumb across my chin, and held his hand there for just a moment longer than he had to, staring at the place where the topping had been. His face turned dead serious, and my stomach flipped.

Half a second later, I swallowed the bite of cheesecake, gave a slight laugh, and looked away. “Um, wow. That was—”

“Good?” Vincent asked, his face still serious. “There’s definitely more, if you want.”

“No,” I said, suddenly very focused on his lips, “I think we ate every single bite of dessert.”

“I wasn’t talking about dessert.” Vincent’s eyes burned into me. For a moment, I thought there was a hunger there, but then he went back to how he always looked—satisfied. Patient. I cleared my throat.

“Dinner was awesome,” I said, getting up from my seat and locating my bag. “But you didn’t have to do anything this fancy. Really.”

“You like simple. Got it. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” He flicked his eyebrows up at me again, got up, and turned to open the door for me before I could say anything.

And the crazy thing was, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to.

of a cautious temper

Mansfield Prep wasn’t very far from the restaurant. On the ride over, I leaned back in my seat, and Vincent did the same. Just like on the way to the restaurant, his thigh pressed up against mine. Unlike on the way to the restaurant, the space between us was filled with my memory of that bite of cheesecake, and how Vincent swiping his thumb across my chin had felt less like a hygiene move and more like a proposition. Or, the way he looked at me now, a promise.

He leaned his head back on the headrest, then turned it to me. “I had fun tonight.” His voice was quieter than normal, more gravelly. There was something about the way he said the words, a little breathlessly, like it was a secret between us, that made me look at him.

His gaze was so focused on me. Again, I laughed and looked forward to break the tension. “Night’s not over yet. We still have some dancing to do, and some geeks to make jealous.”

That smile came back. “Exactly which geeks are you talking about?”

I laughed. “Um, all of them? Our shirts are awesome. ‘Do not drink and derive?’ Come on. Who’s not going to be jealous?” I swallowed a lump in my throat that had risen there independent of any specific thought.

A seasoned Mathlete would have cracked up, but Vincent just sort of shook his head and gave a vague smile. He must have gotten the joke, but I guess it just wasn’t hilarious unless you lived and breathed math.