Awkwardly Ever After (5 page)

Dylan leaned forward and I fought the urge to remove a clump of mud from his hair. “You made me promise to stay close.”

My breath caught as he inched forward.

“And I always keep my promises, Melanie.”

M
ackenzie called my name and I used the distraction to scramble past Dylan.

It wasn't like he didn't already know how his proximity got to me. Dylan was an observant guy, and there was no way he had failed to notice my pulse thrumming erratically in my neck, my uneven jerky breathing, the way I had forced my fingers to cling to the pockets of my jeans so they wouldn't be tempted to venture anywhere else. I felt like I had pretty much plastered an enormous sign on my forehead that read,
Melanie Morris has a crush on Dylan Wellesley.

And I knew that if I told him to back off, he would instantly give me space.

All I had to say was, “That's one promise I don't want you to keep anymore, Dylan,” and he would respect my wishes. He wouldn't even consider going around them, because if anyone tried to pull that crap with his sister, he would go ballistic. Logan and Dylan seemed to get along just fine, but there was no doubt in my mind that if Dylan heard Mackenzie crying, he would get right in the hockey captain's face.

I doubted Dylan would appreciate it, but the word that most readily came to mind when I thought of him was
sweet.
Hot chocolate sweet. The kind that made me feel warm and safe while I melted like a marshmallow.

So he didn't try to stop me from hurrying over to the others even though I knew he'd probably been hoping I'd answer the one question that always seemed to hang heavy in the air between us.

Am I willing to give us a shot or not?

And all I'd been able to determine with any real sense of certainty was . . . not now.

“There you are, Melanie.” Mackenzie held up the DVD of
Pocahontas
and gestured at the couch where Izzie was perched nervously between two Notable hockey players, a bowl of popcorn sitting on her lap. “Are you ready?”

“Um . . . sure.”

Izzie tried to stand up but couldn't seem to manage it without risking the upheaval of the snacks. “Here. Take my spot, Mel.” Her eyes were full of desperation.

“That's okay.” I didn't want to get close to Spencer King any more than she did. I wasn't about to discount the way he had winked at me earlier. So instead of allowing Izzie a safe escape, I sat down on the floor and leaned against the couch, effectively trapping her behind me.

Izzie leaned forward so that she could whisper in my ear. “I will kill you for this, Mel. Someday. When you least expect it.”

I forced out an incredibly fake-sounding laugh. “Good one, Izzie.”

Spencer eyed us suspiciously. “Want to share the joke?”

“No . . . just, y'know, classic Isobel Peters humor. This girl. Laugh a minute.”

Izzie's hands clutching the popcorn bowl turned white and I suspected it was because she was fighting the urge to dump it on my head.

“That's me, all right,” she said dryly, as Mackenzie popped in the DVD and reclaimed her seat on the couch next to Logan, scrunching Izzie even closer to Spencer in the process.

I couldn't help but notice the way Izzie drew her finger across her throat in the universal signal for impending murder. When Spencer glanced at her, she used that hand to hurriedly adjust her glasses as if that had been the plan all along.

I doubted Spencer bought it for even a second, especially since his mouth quirked upward into an amused grin. Logan couldn't have cared less about any of us. Mackenzie was cuddled up against his chest and judging by his smile, that automatically meant all was right with the universe. Meanwhile, I settled back against the couch, ready to watch the movie, play it cool, and get the whole awkward double date setup over with already.

Then I heard the unmistakable sound of water running.

It made sense. Dylan probably didn't enjoy hanging around with a coating of mud and sweat on his skin.
Of course
he would shower after coming back from his soccer practice.

Of course he would.

Unfortunately, even knowing that there were three rooms and two doors between us, I still felt jumpier than hell. Worst of all, I felt guilty about it. Because what kind of a person agrees to watch a movie at a friend's house and then spends the next twenty minutes trying not to imagine what her little brother looks like under the spray.

It was just . . . wrong.

Izzie seemed equally tense and one of her legs next to me began vibrating with impatience. She also kept snacking away on the popcorn, as if that would be enough to keep the discomfort at bay. If the prickles on the back of my neck were correct, none of our behavior was going unnoticed by Spencer.

Mackenzie was the only one of us who looked thoroughly engrossed by the movie, and that was probably because she was kept busy pointing out historical inaccuracies. Which wasn't exactly hard to do given that the movie totally glossed over the treatment that the Native Americans received at the hands of the English. Still, every few minutes she would pipe up with some random factoid.

“Yeah, they have the wrong flag on the ship,” Mackenzie murmured while I debated how quickly I could flee from the room . . . and just how much trouble I'd be in with Izzie later. “Great Britain wasn't united under that flag until 1707.”

Logan shook his head in disbelief. “Okay, seriously, Mack. How do you know that stuff?”

She reddened a little as she turned to face her boyfriend. “I may have Googled it.”

“God, you're cute.”

Okay, yeah, it was definitely time for me to leave. I wasn't even going to make it to the whole “Colors of the Wind” part. Sue me, I wasn't in the mood for adorable animated raccoons or historically inaccurate representations of America. If I was going to be stuck in a lecture, I preferred it to happen in a classroom.

At least at school I was legally obligated not to bolt.

“Well, this was fun, but I think—”

Dylan sauntered into the room, part of his hair still waterlogged, with spikes going in all directions because he had obviously toweled off as quickly as possible. He grabbed a chair and settled in to enjoy the movie.

Right.

Because
Dylan
enjoyed nothing so much as watching a Disney movie with his older sister, his older sister's boyfriend, the girl he wanted to be dating, the best friend of the girl he wanted to be dating and . . . Spencer.

“What were you saying, Melanie?” Mackenzie asked distractedly.

I lunged for Izzie's popcorn, shoved a handful of it in my mouth, and sat back down on the floor. “Mmmphing.”

Spencer didn't even try to contain his laugh of disbelief at that one. My cheeks heated and I decided right then and there that Izzie had the right plan all along: Just keep eating popcorn and wait for the awkwardness to pass.

The movie could last for only so long. And then I could flee without having to answer any of Mackenzie's questions.

I just had to sit it out until then.

No big deal . . . until I literally hit rock bottom. Bowl bottom.

Whatever.

“Um . . . will you look at that! We're out,” I said, yanking the bowl out of Izzie's grasp, probably earning myself another black mark in the column with the title,
Number of times Melanie Morris has thrown me to the wolves.

I owed her some serious groveling.

But unlike Izzie, I usually don't have a problem taking the easy way out. Not when the hard way involved obsessing over whether my best friend's little brother was intentionally trying to make me admit we were “soul mates” or something equally insane. So much for simply enjoying the movie in peace. To be fair, it wasn't like anyone else was really paying much attention to it either. Izzie's sole focus had been on the popcorn, Logan and Mackenzie had been playfully stealing kisses when they thought nobody else was looking, and Spencer was doing his whole
I'm the coolest person in the room and I could be partying it up right now
routine by glancing repeatedly at his watch.

“I'll, uh, get us a popcorn refill,” I said lamely, hoping that nobody would remark about the way two freshman girls had been able to kill a snack faster than two of the star players on the Smith High School hockey team.

“I'll help you with that.” Dylan stood easily and I instantly wished that I'd been smart enough to mention the idea of a refill when there was still enough popcorn at the bottom to make it semi-plausible that I had just changed my mind.

“It's popcorn. I think I can handle it.”

Dylan just shot me an amused look. “Do you have any idea where we even keep it?”

“I'm guessing in the kitchen.”

Okay, I admit it, maybe that was a bit snarkier than necessary, but the prospect of once again being alone with him already had me so jumpy, I felt like I had downed three energy drinks in a row. I couldn't handle it.

Not when his hair was still damp from the shower. Not when his sister would be only one room away.

“What kind of a host would I be if I let the guests fend for themselves?”

“The kind of host who isn't so much a host as an accidental party crasher?” I pointed out. I sort of thought that would put an end to it—all of it—the flirting, the glances, the incredibly unsubtle attempts to spend time with me alone.

I thought that all it would take was a little confirmation that, yes, I could be that bitchy and rude. Usually, I tried to keep that side of me from showing, but when provoked . . . well, let's just say I have a tendency to be a little on the defensive side. Maybe some of that comes from years spent bracing myself for a comment about my dad. There were only a few times a year that the amount of liquor he bought at the supermarket didn't raise eyebrows: Saint Patrick's Day, Super Bowl Sunday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

Every other day it was painfully obvious that he wasn't celebrating anything with a large circle of family and friends. He was just trying to numb himself a little bit more.

Dylan didn't react, though, not outwardly, with anything more than a speculative gleam in his eyes. Which only served to annoy me more. Was there some special guy class that I had missed where all the jocks were taught how to look skeptically at each other as some kind of demented means of intimidation ?

I was willing to believe it.

Instead of waiting for me to make a move, he snagged the empty bowl from my hands, turned on his heel, and headed right to the kitchen. I could have sat down and pretended nothing had happened, but with the mixture of confusion (Mackenzie), disapproval (Izzie), and disbelief (Logan and Spencer) coming at me from every side of the room, I hastened to make my exit.

I trailed silently after Dylan and prepared myself to apologize for my rudeness. To end whatever it was between us that kept making me act like such a head case. To break whatever knotted thread appeared to be binding the two of us together.

Case closed.

“Listen, Dylan . . .” I began, determined to say the words before I could chicken out again. “I'm sorry, I was way out of line. But I don't want to give you the wrong impression. We're friends, right? I think we're friends. And I think we should, y'know . . . stay that way. So . . . no hard feelings?”

“I'm just curious; how many classic breakup lines did you consider before settling for the
I just want us to be friends
approach?”

I crossed my arms defensively. “This isn't a breakup. You have to be
together
in order to be broken up.”

There was a flash of pain in Dylan's dark brown eyes and I instantly felt like crap. Correction: I felt like a dung beetle stuck on a pile of crap, even though I was the one trying to make the best out of a really shitty situation.

Better that I hurt him a little now than to let him think that there could be something between us.

“If it's not a breakup, then why the grand speech? The last time I checked, I hadn't mailed a declaration of intentions or a love letter to your house. Not that I even know where you live since the one time I walked you home, I seriously doubt you let me come within two blocks of it.”

Three blocks, actually.

But that had nothing to do with Dylan. Not really. I just didn't want to become evasive when we reached my doorstep. And I definitely didn't want him coming inside.

I'd learned early on that compartmentalizing my life was the key to surviving it.

Dylan was part of the outside world. And I needed him to stay there.

So I had walked the last three blocks by myself and hoped that he wouldn't read too much into it. Apparently, he had.

“Look, I just . . . I'm here with Spencer,” I blurted out. “So I thought we should clear the air.”

The microwave beeped, but Dylan's attention didn't waver from me as I consigned myself to a lower level of hell for lying to him. Again.

The scary part was that if Mackenzie got her way, I would be telling the truth.

“Interesting,” Dylan said slowly. “I don't see him with you now.”

I curled my lip in disgust. “What does
that
mean? I'm not a fire hydrant that you can pee on to stake your claim over all the other dogs on the block.”

He laughed and for a second I could almost believe that we were actually friends again, the way we had been right before that party. Right before we'd complicated things by flirting with each other for hours....

“Nice analogy there. And here I was going to unzip and—”

There was a hesitant knock on the door that thankfully cut him off. There are some things that are better left unsaid, and I had a feeling that was one of them.