Are You In The House Alone? (plus: Love Me) (10 page)

CHAPTER 2

I stare at Ryan. We’re still in the
restaurant’s bathroom. I’m still on my fifteen minute break, supposed to be
waitressing—and Ryan is still on his date. Nothing has changed, yet
everything has changed.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “You need
closure?”

“Yep.”

“We haven’t even spoken since the
eighth grade.”

“Right. But we used to be close,
Lexi … in case you can’t remember. In kindergarten, my mom made me change
classes—out of yours, remember that? She said I was forming an unnatural,
over-dependant bond with you. Because I didn’t want to play with the other
kids. Or
you
to play with the other
kids. I just wanted you. And liked you. Too much. From the beginning.”

I scoff, “Well, you got over
that—apparently.”

I mean, the dude has dated every
girl in our school. Well, every girl but Carly. Well, every girl that is
popular and centerfold-worthy.

He grins slightly. “Obviously I
didn’t get over it. Or I wouldn’t be trying to make this deal with you.”

I sigh, knowing this is a bad idea.
To even toss him a bone. “Okay, what’s the deal you’re counter-proposing?”

He keeps his eyes on me—like
directly into mine. “I’ll spend time with your friend, and in return
you’ll
spend time with me. A little
fun—for both us. Your friend can have her fun with me—I’ll get my
fun with you.” His eyes twinkle as he grins, “Come on Lexi, you’ll be helping
people. You like to help people, right? So, it’s a win-win—all the way
around. You’ll be helping out your friend, and helping me get my closure.” His
lips twitch, “Helping people—that will be your fun, right?”

His brow rises as I think it over.
He says around an adorable grin, “Come on, like you said—it’s only a
month. Ease me out of the relationship, this time—blame it on your
therapist. Convince me it’s not me, it’s your therapist.”

He’s just basically making fun of
me. Duh.

And he’s grinning the whole time he
does it.

He grins now, huge. “What do you
say?”

I negotiate it in my
head—which I wouldn’t be doing if he weren’t basically calling me out.
But since he is … I consider the arrangement, since he’s basically throwing it
in my face that he doesn’t want to do it; so if he has to do it, then so do
I—spend time with someone I’d rather not. To “help.”

“Fine,” I mutter finally. “I’ll
spend a
little
time with you.”

He grins. “I’ll spend as much time
with your friend as you spend with me.” His grin grows. “We’ll make a chart.”

I groan. Then grumble, “Don’t you
have a date waiting?”

He nods. “I do.”

He cocks his head. “So, we’re going
to start seeing each other on the sly or what?”

I rub my forehead. “I need to think
about it.”

His lips twitch. “Fine. Take all
the time you need. I won’t go near Carly until you do.” Then he adds, “And I
get to date until you do. I mean, openly. Other people—that aren’t you.”

He stresses, “But if you take the
deal, I won’t go near another girl for a whole month. Only your dear fragile
Carly—and you.”

He raises his eyebrows, “I’ll treat
her like a queen.”

CHAPTER 3

Okay, the sweet thing that Ryan
did? The thing that had Carly mooning about him even more than usual? It
happened last weekend. She caught him following me home from work. He had even
admitted to her he was following me. He said he likes to make sure I get home
okay.

“Can you not tell her, though?” he
asked Carly coaxingly. Then glanced to the donut shop they were standing in
front of. “I’ll buy you a donut not to tell her.”

Of course she accepted. To Carly it
was their first date.

But she didn’t keep her end of the
deal. Because this was Carly. And it was about Ryan. The guy she’d been pining
over all year (even though she had a boyfriend for most of it).

She had called me right after their
“date” gushing, “Ryan follows you home from work—
every
night.”

Well, I only work Saturday nights.
So, there was no “every” night. There was at the most every “Saturday” night.
But I doubted that was true—that he even did it that often (since he’s a
busy guy, spreading his sunshine and everything). Still, hearing that—it
had sent a jet of warmth through me, especially when she said why he did it.

She gushed, “He does it just to
make sure you get home safely. Isn’t that sweet?”

It
was
sweet. But you have to know Ryan. He’s sweet … but so
not
at the same time. I mean, we have a
past. Obviously. Since now he’s claiming he needs “closure.” (Roll your eyes at
that, because what he needs is a punch in the stomach. The dude has known me
since we were four. My mom was his cleaning lady—well, his mom’s cleaning
lady. But I used to come with her to work since it was cheaper than daycare.
His mom would have me entertain Ryan while my mom worked. It left him thinking
I’m his possession. Even now, apparently.
FOUR
years after I told him to take a hike.

CHAPTER 4

So, to summarize: Last weekend when
Carly called me about Ryan she had gushed on and on about him—about how
romantic it was that he follows me home (on occasion). “I wish he followed me,”
she had moaned all dreamy-like.

Which is why when I saw Ryan come
into the restaurant tonight I gave him a second look—instead of hiding from
him like I usually do.

I mean, he comes to the restaurant
a
lot
. But I never, ever wait on him.
Ever. Though he requests my table,
every
time. But I always switch with another waitress. They’re always happy to switch
with me. Well, when it’s Ryan I’m avoiding. Ryan is a huge tipper—and
yummy eye-candy. Though he’s always with a girl when he comes in … which is why
I never wait on him. And you’d think he’d get the hint. Though yeah, I’m pretty
sure he does. He only does it—requests me—to ruffle my feathers.
That’s probably the only reason he chooses our restaurant in the first
place—to bug me. Though maybe not. I work at “The Cheesecake Castle.”
It’s popular.

So, he might just like the food.
The bugging me might just be a nice bonus.

Anyway, I’ve worked at the Castle
over a year now. It’s close to my house, so I can walk there.

When Ryan came into the restaurant
tonight, I remembered how Carly had gushed about him, and since I’d just
learned he follows me home (on occasion), I figured he might do me a favor.
Maybe. Anyway, I thought I might as well give it a shot. But he was with a girl
(of course), so I couldn’t ask him my favor—not in front of her—so
I followed him to the restroom.

When he did his weird
counter-proposal to my offer—you know, me having to spend time with
him—once I heard the obnoxious plan, I tilted my head at him. “Why do you
have to always be like this to me?”

He played dumb, though he knew what
I was talking about (I’ll give you a glaring example later). He jutted his
chin, “What do I do to you?”

“Force me to endure you.”

He breathed out a laugh. “Some
girls enjoy me.”

“Right. Carly would. And that girl
you’re with out there in the restaurant probably does, right? So why bother me?
That girl looks like a model.”

He grinned at that. “She looks like
you.”

Then he conceded. “She used to be a
model.”

“Right. Well, she makes me suspect
you don’t need closure.”

He grinned weakly. “And yet I do.”

His eyes stared into mine. “As much
as I’m enjoying this, you playing with body in the bathroom—I really do
need to use it. Both actually—the bathroom, and my body part that you got
all excited. But it won’t calm down while you’re watching, so I need you to go
away.”

“Fine. I’m leaving.”

He grinned. “But don’t forget to
contemplate our deal.”

CHAPTER 5

Of course I’m contemplating “the
deal.”

But I’m also contemplating his
“body part.” Not on purpose. And not the way you think. (Gag!) I’m just
remembering something. Something I’m sure he remembered too—the exact
moment it happened.

I’m beyond certain the awkward
“movement” reminded him of another awkward moment with me. I’m sure it made him
smirk inside when it happened tonight —like laugh his head off at the
irony, though he didn’t say a word about the incident—I mean, the one
from our past.

I’ll just come out and say it: I
have bittersweet memories with Ryan. If anyone really needs closure from our
past, it’s me. For him, it’s different. He likes to tease me about our past,
but in reality, he’s moved on. He’s dated hordes of girls. So many he can’t even
contemplate spending a month just dating one—Carly. (And Carly is
adorable!!)

For me, it’s different. I try to
act tough—but it’s just that: an act. I still melt around Ryan and turn
into goo when he does something sweet—like the following me home thing.

He probably just saw some creepy
guys checking me out at the restaurant last week and decided he should make
sure I got home okay … which is heart wrenchingly sweet (I know that), but it’s
not like he sits around thinking about me. He doesn’t have
time
to sit around thinking about me. Or our past. When it’s
brought smack into his face—like when it follows him into the
bathroom—then yes, sure, he’ll look at it and go,
Hey, I remember this girl. I used to make her beat me at chess before
I’d let her ride my horse
. (A literal horse.)

Or, he might even remember that’s
how he got me to kiss him the very first time that he got me to.

We were twelve and I’d been at his
house while my mom cleaned. We were playing this game—Zombie
Attack—because he was obsessed with the game, and I was good at it. Which
he loved. So he made me play it with him even while I wanted to do something
else.

As we played, I could see his
family’s horse stables from his bedroom window. (I loved his horses and made
him ride with me like, every time I came over. Though he liked riding about as
much I liked Zombie Attack. Well, in truth I
liked
Zombie Attack. I just didn’t want to play it
all
the time … just like he didn’t want
to ride horses all the time. But he would, in the end, always give in to what I
wanted … after he tortured me with doing what
he
wanted for an hour. I mean that sincerely—a whole
hour. He would put on a timer and everything.)

I told him longingly as I gazed out
the window, “I want to ride your horse.”

He murmured huskily, “I want to
kiss you.”

He said it matter-of-factly, and
yet in a way, just as longingly as I had said I wanted to ride his horse.

I choked on my gum. He wanted to
kiss
me??? We were twelve!! (Yet, okay,
I had dreamed about kissing him—tons of times. But—but … this was
real-life. Very different.)

I choked and choked.

He sighed, doing it the dramatic,
teasing way he has, then strolled over to his bathroom and got me a glass of
water, so I didn’t, you know, choke to death.

Once I gulped the whole contents of
the glass down, he grinned, “We have twenty minutes left on the timer.” He
raised his eyebrows, “We don’t have to play Zombie Attack anymore.” He grinned,
“—I know how you hate it.” His lips curved up even more, “So would you
rather
kiss
me for the next twenty
minutes? Then we’ll ride the horses … for as long as you want. For the rest of
the
day
if you want.”

My heart exploded.

Not going to lie, I’d had a huge
crush on Ryan forever. I always did. But it had quadrupled the week before he
suggested the kissing, so, yeah, I was on fire. And hyperventilating.

The thing that happened the week
before, though—the thing that got me completely bananas and gaga for
him—it happened like this:

My mom was sick one day—
really
sick. So she sent me in her place
to clean Ryan’s house—just do the mandatory stuff. She gave me a
list—not that I needed it. I’d helped her tons of times, so I knew pretty
much what had to be done. Though usually Ryan would steal me away to do my
“dutiful” hour, and then he would do mine, whatever I wanted (which was always
riding his horse). Both our mothers seemed pleased with the arrangement. His,
because I kept Ryan entertained. Mine, because it pleased her boss. (Mom really
liked her job. Ryan’s mom was way nicer than anyone else my mom had ever worked
for.)

The day Mom sent me to Ryan’s alone
was a Monday. Ryan and his mom were never home on Mondays, so that’s when Mom
did most of her “deep” cleaning, so I was stuck doing it.

But once I got to Ryan’s, I
discovered Mom wasn’t the only one that was sick. I started to feel sick too.
Ryan came home early and caught me puking in his toilet.

Shocking me, since I didn’t know
he’d come home, Ryan was at my elbow. He gently held my hair back for me. He
did it soooo tender.

Then he made me get into his bed,
though I kept protesting. “I have to clean,” I told him. “I have this list.”

He snatched the list from me. “I’ll
clean,” he said. “You get into the bed.”

So, I did. And immediately fell
into a deep, sweaty sleep.

When I woke, Ryan had done all my
chores.

And he also lied to his mom and
said I did them.

I heard them talking when I woke,
through his bedroom’s closed door.

His mom was
not
pleased I was in his bed. She was like—upset. Very.

“Mom, she’s
sick
,” he said. “She finished all her work, and then she needed to
sleep.”

“I do
not
want her here alone with you, Ryan. Not ever.”

He sounded exasperated. “I didn’t
plan
it. Soccer practice got cancelled
and Keith’s mom needed to take him to some school thing. So, I came home
early.”

I creaked the door open.

Ryan’s eyes washed over me. He
looked embarrassed that I’d caught them talking about me—and that I heard
what his mom was saying. Her emphatic concern about me being alone in the house
with him—in his bed.

“Where’s your
mother,
Lexi?” Ryan’s mom sounded hostile. It was the first time I
heard her sound that way. Ever.

“She’s—she’s at home,” I
stammered. “She was really sick. So she sent me, since she knew you’re having a
party tomorrow and she wanted your house to be nice for it. But when I got
here—I got sick too.”

Ryan’s mom’s eyes instantly
changed. Turned ashamed, and sympathetic. Totally softened. She pursed her
lips. “Tell your mother I hope she gets feeling better. And thank you for your
hard work, Lexi. The house looks beautiful.”

My eyes cut to Ryan.

He shook his head slightly, giving
me a look that said: ‘Don’t tell her, Lexi.’

So, I didn’t. But I hoped my eyes
told him, ‘Thank you.’

After that day, I couldn’t get how
tender Ryan had been while he was taking care of me out of my head. How he had
gently pulled back my hair. Had tenderly wiped my face.

And now here he was—twelve
years old—suggesting we kiss. It was just like out of my dreams. (The
steamy ones I had just started to have of him—of him doing exactly this:
wanting to kiss me.)

Ryan did a weighing motion with his
hands. He grinned, “Zombie Attack or kissing?”

I started to choke again.

“Kissing,” I coughed.

He smiled. Huge. “Yay,” he murmured
happily.

… we didn’t get around to riding
horses that day. The timer went off, but we just kept eagerly getting our
mouths acquainted. It was even better than my dreams.
Way
better. Ryan’s warm eager kisses had me breathless.

I was swooning. Big time.