Awkwardly Ever After (4 page)

I had a feeling that “practicing yoga” was Mackenzie's new not-so-subtle way of covering up her clumsy moments. And given how often Mackenzie managed to stumble over nonexistent obstacles in her path, she probably found herself making up excuses fairly often. Not that any of us—Mackenzie included—expected Logan to actually believe any of it.

She smiled up at him but batted away the offered hand. “That's right. I'm just practicing the downward-facing klutz position.” Mackenzie rose and brushed off her jeans where dirt clung at the knees.

“Act injured. Right now,” Spencer ordered desperately, but it was too late. Steffani Larson was already close enough to all of us to stick her cosmetically altered nose into our business. I actually kind of felt sorry for Fake. I had glanced once at Mackenzie's freshman high school yearbook and Steffani's face had far more character when there was a slight bump in her nose and dirty blond hair that didn't come from a bottle.

Well, maybe
sorry for her
was a bit of a stretch. The girl got her kicks making the easy targets in the freshman class feel as uncomfortable as humanly possible. Sympathy has never been something that I extend to bullies. But that didn't prevent me from having a morbid curiosity as to how she could've transformed herself so quickly into someone completely, well . . . fake.

“Hey, Spencer,” she said breathily, as if she were auditioning for the part of Marilyn Monroe. “Long time no see.”

“Uh, yeah. Long time. Funny how that happens.” Except he didn't look like he found any humor in the situation whatsoever.

Ashley beamed at him, too, her white teeth looking particularly bright against her orange tanning salon skin. No way would anyone start calling
her
Pocahontas, though.

“You promised to come talk to me after your hockey practice yesterday,” Ashley pouted. “What happened?”

“Oh, you know,” Spencer said evasively as he took one rather large step backward, accidentally positioning Izzie in front of him like some kind of shield, placing her right in the line of fire. And my brilliant best friend was completely oblivious to the danger in becoming a target, probably because she was staring at all parties involved as if watching a particularly riveting daytime drama.

“I think it's pretty obvious that they want you to go into more detail. Maybe you should try using really small words. Two syllables or less,” Izzie muttered under her breath.

Something I happened to find pretty damn funny. Unfortunately, this time I was in the minority. Everyone else was staring at her in disbelief.

“Are you calling me
stupid?
” Steffani demanded, ignoring Spencer as she tried to incinerate Izzie with her eyes.

“Nope,” I interrupted before the situation could slip even further out of control. “Izzie's just worried we won't make it to that . . . thing on time.” I glanced down pointedly at the beatup watch on my wrist. “Oh, man, we've got to go. See ya!”

That earned me a grateful smile from Spencer as we booked it for the boys' cars.

I only realized as I clicked my seat belt on that earning his gratitude was the absolute last thing I was supposed to be doing given that my goal was to stay well within the Friend Zone.

So much for following Izzie's advice.

“O
kay, Spence, want to tell me what
that
was all about?”

It was weird hearing Mackenzie address a hockey player so casually, because pre-fame she would've been every bit as frazzled by his presence as Izzie. Now she was acting like it was totally normal for Spencer to pull up to the curb and saunter over as if he hadn't peeled out of the parking lot like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

To be fair, that wasn't far from the situation . . . and maybe for Mackenzie this was the new normal.

Spencer smiled, clearly ready to go back into full-on charm mode again. “Nothing. I'm curious about that yoga move you mentioned, though. Does the downward-facing klutz transition into any other interesting positions?”

Mackenzie reddened, but she didn't look like she had any intention of backing down.

“I'm serious, Spencer.”

“Oh, me too. Have you and Logan tried any advanced poses together? Because I'm more than happy to give my buddy here some pointers.”

“Spencer is having some girl troubles right now,” Logan answered for him, which probably broke some friendship rule. Although I was willing to bet that a quick punch on the shoulder would be enough to wipe the slate clean.

Izzie didn't make much of an effort to hide her disdain. “Why? Has he run out of girls to sleep with or something?”

She was probably already calculating the most likely percentage of girls he'd had sex with in each class.

“Not yet, obviously. But I'm more than happy to remedy that error.” Spencer gave her a slow once-over and I could've sworn the tips of Izzie's ears reddened. “What do you say, Isadore?”

“Isobel.”

He shrugged. “You say potato, I say—”

“My
name
. Correctly.” She shoved her glasses up higher. “His girl troubles no longer surprise me. I'm just amazed he's ever able to keep one interested long enough to have a problem.”

Spencer laughed outright at that, but sobered when Mackenzie tried to discreetly elbow him.

“Yeah . . . the problem is that they won't leave him alone.”

I couldn't help staring in disbelief, first at Logan as his words began to sink in, and then at the imperturbable Spencer King.

As far as problems went . . . that was a pretty great one to have.

“I fail to see the problem here,” Izzie said abruptly. “He clearly has a short attention span. So why exactly is it a bad thing that he's the one being pursued?”

Spencer moved forward, and though there was nothing overtly threatening about the sudden movement, I watched Izzie's shoulders instantly hunch as he drew near. He paused only when they were well within touching distance—within kissing distance—forcing Izzie to struggle to hold her ground. I'd expected her to trip over her own feet in her haste to put some space between them.

But she stuck it out. Barely.

“There is showing interest and then there is pursuit. I don't happen to enjoy it when people don't respect my boundaries.” He cocked his head in a thoughtful examination as Izzie struggled to breathe naturally. “How do you like it?”

I couldn't tell if he was coming on to my best friend, making a point, or terrifying her; either way, I instinctively wanted to put a halt to it.

Izzie wasn't prepared for Spencer's kind of games, and the last thing she needed was to get all wound up over a guy who didn't stick around. She was just back to eating normally. If Spencer ended up kicking her to the curb for Fake and Bake, I wasn't sure how long it would take to raise her self-esteem out of the gutters.

Logan interceded before I did, though. “Shut up, Spencer.”

Which looked like exactly the response Spencer had wanted, given the way his shoulders relaxed as he leaned against the front porch of Mackenzie's house. “No problem.”

Then he began whistling cheerfully.

Izzie and I traded looks. Hers said quite clearly,
What the hell am I doing here? You've got to find a way to get me out of this!
I shook my head just to make sure she knew that there was no way she was ditching me now.

Not when awkward tension was already filling the air.

Still, Spencer was true to his word; he didn't speak while he waited for Mackenzie to unlock her front door. But then it swung open as if we were all cast in some painfully overly choreographed play.

And on the other side of it stood Dylan Wellesley.

He was absolutely filthy. Dirt was smeared on his face, in his hair, and down his whole left side, so that it looked as if he had decided to rub himself against the side of a mountain or fought a losing battle with a landslide. Seeing him so thoroughly coated with dirt should have been funny, but I couldn't manage even a hoarse laugh because my body seemed to go on the fritz. My heart started beating too quickly, my pulse started racing as if we had a whole pack of Notable girls armed with hairspray and tweezers sneaking up behind us. I shoved my hands in my pockets because any second they were going to start shaking with nerves.

It was ridiculous. I half-wanted Izzie to tug me out of sight and force me to snap out of it. Dylan wasn't the first boy to make me go a little weak at the knees. He also wouldn't be the last. Although I still freaking
hated
that he had this effect on me.

I mean, let's be real: Most high school relationships end. They fray under the pressure of waiting for college acceptance letters and come completely unraveled as soon as a long-distance relationship becomes a reality. And sure, some people defy the odds and end up marrying their high school sweethearts. Some people find a way to stay together despite everything life throws in their path. Some people also win the freaking lottery—that didn't mean the odds were in my favor. The very last thing I needed was a relationship complicating things even further. Not when I had classes to pass, tests to take . . . guidance counselors to impress when they inevitably poured over a handful of standardized tests and tried to use it to divine my future.

Ahh . . . you scored well on your SAT II for the Spanish language exam. That might help compensate for your abysmal score in math. Congratulations, you might not be doomed to a crappy minimum wage job after all!

Too bad my racing pulse wasn't willing to consider all the reasons why getting involved with anyone—let alone someone as intertwined in my life as my close friend's little brother—was a bad idea right now.

“Um . . . hi, Dylan,” I mumbled. “Fancy seeing—I mean, it's . . . uh, good to see you.”

I glanced over at Izzie to see if she had even noticed my near fumble with our code. She seemed a little preoccupied giving her glasses a quick cleaning.

So much for having a brilliant observer of human nature watching my back every step of the way.

Dylan grinned, as if seeing me on his doorstep automatically canceled out every annoyance that might have accrued over the course of the day. The interest, the keen sense of attraction that I was determined to keep under wraps, was written all across his face for everyone to see, right beneath the mud and dirt that streaked his jaw, the left side of his nose, and his temple.

I wanted to dismiss him as cute—adorable, even—in an open, puppy-doggish kind of way. To shrug it off as some fleeting infatuation from some kid who was going through a stage and be content knowing that when Dylan Wellesley looked back at his life, he would have fond memories of his first crush on Melanie Morris. That he would idly wonder whatever happened to me before he shrugged and then greeted his perfect girlfriend, who was probably just returning home from her morning run. He deserved that kind of happiness; the cup of coffee with his soul mate over breakfast every day thing.

And that girl was never going to be me, because I wasn't cut out for that kind of life.

Not when I needed to devote a large chunk of my time to making sure my dad didn't choke to death on his own vomit.

Which didn't stop Dylan from self-consciously wiping at his cheek to remove the mud. “Hey, Melanie. I haven't seen you since—”

“Yeah, long time no see.” I winced when I realized just how closely my words echoed the ones that Spencer had used to shoo away Fake and Bake. “Um . . . we were just going to watch a movie, but I actually have a lot of homework waiting for me, so . . .”

For some reason Dylan refused to take the hint. I could tell that he was hearing my message loud and clear; his eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened, and he nodded slightly. But he didn't appear discouraged.

And he never took those enigmatic espresso brown eyes off me.

“I'm betting my sister would be happy to help you with your homework,” Dylan said easily, as he stepped out of the doorway. “Isn't that right, Mack?”

“Of course, but I thought you felt pretty good about your history test after our study session yester—”

Mackenzie never got a chance to finish that sentence because Izzie interrupted. “Do you have popcorn?”

At least Izzie was following our previously established protocol.

“I've been sort of craving . . . popcorn recently.” The freshly cleaned glasses were shoved higher up her nose again. “So if you don't have any, I was thinking maybe Melanie and I could pick some up before we start the movie. Maybe . . .”

Izzie was just as bad at covering for me as I was at doing it myself, but oddly enough it seemed to work. Mackenzie didn't suspect a thing. She just slung an arm across Izzie's shoulders and led her inside, right past where Spencer stood examining them both with one sardonically raised eyebrow.

“I think we have some popcorn. Unless Dylan has already eaten the entire contents of the house. Again,” Mackenzie said.

Dylan lifted his hands in mock innocence. “I haven't touched it. The Pringles, on the other hand . . . yeah, those are history.”

Mackenzie laughed and gave her brother a playful shove, but Logan lagged behind her. He paused and then looked pointedly from me to Dylan as if he wanted to deliver some kind of warning but found himself at a loss for words. I almost felt sorry for the guy; it had to be hard picking up on social tension that went straight over his girlfriend's head, especially since it involved her only sibling. Thankfully, he held his tongue and followed the girls inside. Spencer trailed after Logan, but his smirk made it clear that he knew I had something unfinished with Dylan. Then again, we had hit the dance floor at his party together before everything went to hell.

Maybe he had remembered that when he accepted Mackenzie's invitation. That's certainly how it looked to me when he winked before he sauntered inside.

Leaving me completely alone with Dylan.

I seriously considered making a run for it. Just booking it across the weed-strewn lawn, leaping over the mud-caked soccer ball resting against the base of the single tree on their property as I sprinted for the street. Three blocks from where I stood was an elementary school, a block past that was a chain store where I could probably lose him if he decided to pursue.

Except I would have to explain to Mackenzie later why I had fled from her younger brother. And considering that he had never once done anything to me, unless smoldering glances counted, that wasn't something I wanted to discuss. Mackenzie might be oblivious sometimes, but she wasn't stupid.

At some point she would figure it out if I didn't keep my feelings tucked away.

“So are you avoiding me now?” Dylan asked, his words at odds with the total unconcern in his face. “Or is there some other reason you look like you're ready to head for the hills?”

Crap. Apparently there was nothing subtle about my reactions.

“No. Nope. Not at all . . . I don't know what you could be talking about.”

Dylan merely grinned. “You want to rethink that answer? Because the last time we were alone, I had my hands on your waist and then I moved them to your—”

My face flushed as I mentally replayed that moment at Spencer's party. I didn't need to hear Dylan remind me how great it felt to have my arms wrapped around his neck, my fingers toying with his hair, my body pressed against his, as we moved in time to the music. Just like I didn't need him to make any comments about the way his hands had slowly moved down my back in a caress that I could easily have broken if I had wanted to protest.

But I hadn't.

I blew out a frustrated breath as I forced myself to walk toward him. “I remember it, thanks. I just don't think we need to talk about that night. It was obviously a mistake. So . . . let it go, Dylan.”

“Let it go?” Dylan pretended to consider the idea as the distance between us shrank.

My body felt all tingly as I drew up within touching distance. I had half-hoped he would step back into the house so that I could pass him in the hallway with my sense of personal space perfectly intact.

Yeah, like that was really going to happen. Even with ten feet between us there was something about his gaze that left me feeling like I was pressed against him as closely now as I had been on the dance floor.

“There's just one thing stopping me from doing that, Melanie. Something you seem to be forgetting.”

“Oh yeah?” I said with false bravado as I pressed myself against the doorjamb so that I wouldn't accidentally brush against him. “What's that?”