For Real (Rules of Love, Book One) (4 page)

“Um, bathroom is here. At least that stays clean, because I’m a little obsessive about it.” He points to the door where the bathroom is and I tell my bladder that it’s going to have to hold on for however long I’m here, because there is no way I’m going to use it, no matter how clean he assures me it is. I’d rather pee in the woods.

“And, um, this is my room,” he says, pushing open a door off the living room and right next to the bathroom. I try to prepare myself for it to be disgusting, but it isn’t at all. In order to cover up the horrible dark wood paneled walls (who EVER thought that was a good idea?), he’s hung posters of famous paintings and interspersed in between them are what I can only assume is his own art. Half-finished drawings done in ink on white paper, some with color, some without.

The room is small, but the art makes it feel a little bit bigger. The only furniture in the room is a bed with a bright red comforter on it, a desk covered in paper and stained by various art supplies and a dresser with a lamp on it. The room is clean and orderly, and there even seems to be an order to what’s where on the wall.

“Wow. Did you do this?” I cross the room and point at a half-done picture of a young girl. It’s almost Da Vinci-esque in its simplicity.

“Yeah. That’s my little sister River. She’s nine in that picture.” His voice gets tight and sad again when he mentions her. There’s definitely some family drama there. I know all about that, but I don’t want to seem weird by saying anything, so I just kept looking at his wall.

I also notice that he has several paper cranes made from different materials pinned here and there, and there are some scattered on the dresser.

“Sometimes I freak out and making those calms me down. It’s a habit now, I guess,” he says as I pick one up off his dresser that’s made from what appears to be a test he’d gotten a good grade on.

I turn around and he’s still standing in the doorway. Oh no. This is one of those times when I’m bound to say something stupid.

“Sometimes when I freak out, I imagine what kind of underwear people are wearing based on their personality. You know how they tell you to picture people naked when you’re nervous about public speaking? That freaks me out, so I imagine what their underwear is. Not that I’m doing that right now, because that would be weird—” Thankfully, I’m able to cut myself off there as my face goes redder than his comforter and I drop the paper crane.

He just looks at me like he doesn’t know what to make of me and then shakes his head and starts laughing.

“Whatever works for you, I guess.” I die a little inside and pray that he asks me if I want to go sit in the living room.

“You wanna watch a movie or something?” He jerks his head at the living room.

“Yeah, sure.” Still, mortified, I leave his room and he shuts the door again.

“Oh, yeah. Let me tidy this up first.” The couch is covered in crap, including a few hoodies, takeout boxes and more red plastic cups. Part of me wants to take them and build a fort. If they were clean, I might attempt it.

Jett mutters to himself and cleans the couch off, goes back to his room and comes back with his comforter and spreads it on the couch.

“Um, yeah. You kinda want a barrier between you and the couch. Don’t ask why. Just trust me.” My mouth drops open and he laughs again. It makes his eyes crinkle up and I can’t help but smile, even though I don’t intend to. Are smiles contagious? Like yawns?

“I’m sorry. If you knew Javier, you’d get it, but luckily, you won’t have to meet him.” He sits down on the couch and pats the empty space beside him.

I stop for a moment and assess how weird this situation is. I’m going to sit and watch a movie with this guy I’ve barely met (who smells great and has a swoony smile) so that my friends will think I’m out losing my virginity to said guy. Is this my life now?

“I don’t bite, I swear,” he says and smiles again, and my stomach gets a little fluttery at the thought of sitting next to him, even though I’m terrified of the couch.

I sit down and there’s about a foot of space between us and it feels like it actually has weight and substance. A wall. He grabs the remote and turns on the television, which is a fancy flatscreen that probably cost more than all the other furniture in the apartment combined.

“It’s Javi’s,” he says in answer to my unasked question. “Okay, so we have movies with explosions, movies with robots and explosions and movies with superheroes and explosions, some really weird porn that belongs to Javi,
The Hangover
,
Knocked Up
,
Superbad, Serenity
and, for some reason,
Mean Girls
. I honestly have no idea where it came from. Sorry I don’t have more choices.”

Actually, those aren’t bad choices, except for the porn. There is no way I’m watching that with him. I like robots and explosions and all that, and I’m a huge fan of superheroes, but my ultimate choice is the last movie he mentioned.

“Have you watched
Mean Girls
?”

“Uh, no. It looked kind of lame.” Yup, that settles it.

“Uh, no, it is the greatest thing ever, so that is what we are watching.” I take the initiative and get up and grab the DVD box off the shelf beside the television where it’s the lone pink box. Now it’s time to figure out how to work the stupid fancy DVD contraption. I push what I think is the eject button, but nothing happens. This is why I can’t have nice things.

“Here,” his voice says and suddenly, he’s right behind me and he’s breathing on me and I can’t move. I am paralyzed as I hear his voice in my ear and he reaches around me to hit the right buttons and get the little tray that you put the DVD on to come out.

His tattoos go all the way to his wrist. I somehow make my body move and put the DVD in and turn around and I nearly crash into him, but he puts his hands on my shoulders to prevent it. He laughs nervously.

“Steady there.” My body tingles from head to toe, almost like the pins and needles when your arm falls asleep and starts to wake up. Only my whole body is waking up.

“Sorry. I’m, um, not always this uncoordinated.”

His hands are still on my shoulders and the DVD starts to play previews, but neither of us seems to be able to move. And then it’s like Jett shakes himself mentally and goes back to the couch. Takes me a second to do the same.

“Usually I wear heels and I think I’m more coordinated in them than flat shoes. That makes no sense, but it’s true,” I babble as he skips the rest of the previews and goes right to the movie menu, but doesn’t start it.

“Do you, uh, want some popcorn or something? I’m sorry, I should have asked sooner. I suck as a host. I just don’t have people over that often. Or at least, I’m not the one who entertains them. That’s all Javi.” He gets up and it’s like he needs a reason to run away from me. What? I’m completely confused. There is no way that I could have done something to make him want to run away from me. Unless, when he was standing close to me, I smelled bad.

Oh my God, do I smell bad? While he’s searching through the fridge, I do an armpit check. Nope, my deodorant is still working, and I’d sprayed a little perfume and I can still smell a hint of it, so I don’t think I smell bad. Unless, I’m one of those people who doesn’t know they smell bad, because it’s you and you’re so used to your own smell—

“I don’t have anything to drink other than beer, orange juice and water. Sorry, I haven’t bought groceries. You came on the worst night, I guess,” Jett says, interrupting my freak-out about smelling bad.

“Oh, um, water is fine.” He pours two glasses and then puts a bag of microwave popcorn in to pop and then comes back when it’s done.

He hands me the glass of water and our skin touches and I get just the teeniest bit of tingles. I can feel myself blushing, so I turn my head and reach for the remote to start the movie.

“You ready for this?” I say as he rips open the popcorn bag.

“Let’s rock it,” he says holding the bag out to me so I can have the first handful.

I hit play and then grab some popcorn. Since I have crazy small child-sized hands, I only get about four pieces, but I pop them into my mouth.

The movie starts to play and I reach for another handful of popcorn. Jett shifts closer to me, presumably so I can reach for the popcorn, but I can’t really tell. Wouldn’t it be great if boys’ thoughts would just emerge like those little bubbles in cartoons? Or maybe not. I probably wouldn’t want to know ninety percent of what they’re thinking.

“Wow, Lindsay Lohan looks really different,” he says, and I’m a little relieved. I always talk during movies, especially ones I’ve seen before, and I was hoping Jett wouldn’t be a shusher. Those are the most annoying people.

“Yeah, those were the good old days,” I say as both our hands reach into the popcorn bag. We both pull back and laugh nervously.

“Ladies first,” he says, and I grab another handful and then a huge sip of water.

He laughs at something in the movie, and I’m glad I’ve already seen it so I can figure out exactly what he’s laughing at. Let’s face it, I’ve seen this movie enough times that I could do a one-woman show and quote the entire thing.

For the next half hour, ninety percent of my attention is on Jett and the other ten percent is on the movie. He’s much more interesting than Regina George at the moment.

I’m trying to figure out what his tattoos are. His left arm is clearly a dragon’s tail that swoops all around and around and ends where it curls around his wrist. I’m guessing the rest of the dragon is up further and goes across his chest or his back. His other arm looks like it has waves on it like one of those old Japanese paintings. I want to ask him to take his shirt off, but that would be rude and kind of awkward and totally weird. He also has stuff around his neck, but I couldn’t really see what it is because his shirt is in the way. Curse you, shirt.

It’s really hard to watch someone out of the corner of your eye when you’re sitting right next to them. I’m kind of afraid that my eyeballs will get stuck that way, or that he’ll see me, but it seems like his attention is fully on the movie. He doesn’t glance at me once.

Maybe I do smell.

“This shit is funny,” he says, laughing again as I struggle to make my laugh convincing as I check back into the movie to make sure I know what’s was going on.

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites. Tina Fey wrote it, and she’s a genius.” I have a bit of a heterosexual girl crush on her.

Jett shifts again, and his shoulder brushes mine and he moves a fraction closer to me as I try not to freak out. It’s only an inch closer and our shoulders have barely brushed. Nothing to make a big deal out of. I’ve touched boys’ shoulders before. I’ve had plenty of shoulder-touching experience. I’m not a shoulder virgin.

But still, I shiver as he brushes against me again.

“Are you cold? I can get you a blanket.” Without an answer from me, he gets up and comes back with a fuzzy blanket and places it over me. Then he sits down and pulls part of the blanket over his lap. We are sharing a blanket. This should not be cause for me to get fluttery again, but it is.

“Better?” he says holding the popcorn out again.

“Yeah, thanks.” Not much is left but the half-popped kernels and I don’t like those.

“You can have the rest.” He dumps them into his hand, crunches on them and moves closer to me again. Any moment now, my eye is going to start to twitch, or I’m going to say something dumb. I just know it.

He puts the bag down and then he rests the arm closest to me on the back of the couch, right behind my shoulders. I freeze for a moment and then lean back a little. This is the signal for him to put his arm around me, right? God, I suck at this.

The arm creeps closer to my shoulders and then, there it is. I make sure I don’t look at him, because if I do, I don’t know what will happen. I shift closer and he finally slides his arm around me.

Letting out a shaky breath, I finally look at him.

“Is this okay?”

“Y-yeah,” I say, my voice shaky too. God, I’m a freaking junior in college. I should not be acting like a sixth grader at her first dance who’s wondering if she’s going to be asked to slow dance. This is what happens when you have nearly zero dating experience. If only it was something you could learn from a book. I’d be all over that.

“Good,” he says and he pulls me closer so I’m almost resting on his chest. It’s a very nice chest. Not too skinny, but not too muscle-y. Those guys that have so many muscles that the veins stand out are gross. Hazel thinks they’re sexy, but I think she’s out of her mind.

The rainforest-y smell floods my senses and I swear he can probably hear my pounding heart as the hand that’s on my shoulder starts making little circles on my arm, as if he’s not even aware that he’s doing it.

Wow. I guess I don’t smell. Or maybe I do and he thinks it’s sexy. That could also be a possibility.

The movie keeps playing and I find myself actually relaxing, and before I know it, my eyes are closing and I’m falling asleep against Jett.

“Wake up, princess,” a male voice I only sort-of recognize says in my ear. My eyes are slow to open and I’m staring right at a chest I don’t remember falling asleep on. I lift my chin and meet a set of gorgeous brown-gold eyes.