Good for You (9 page)

Chapter 17

REID

Olaf is a beast.

I don’t think my trainer expected me to stil be in decent shape, though I told him I’d been working construction for Habitat. Not a fan of bodybuilding through natural means, he employs weights, pul eys, rubber bands and medicine bal s to shape his clients. As far as Olaf is concerned, exercise is not painting, digging fence posts or swinging a sledgehammer to break up a 200 pound boulder. Exercise is done indoors, while a guy who could break you in two over his rock-hard quadriceps provides motivation like,

“What do you want to be when you grow up? A
girl
?” I think I pissed him off, flaunting my organical y maintained muscle tone. I should have feigned weakness.

Once he saw that I was primed for what he had planned, he stepped up the pain factor by several notches in what I can only assume was an attempt to kil me, so he could resuscitate me and kil me again.

I went out with John last night—
not
the best idea after a session with Olaf—and crashed on his sofa around two a.m. I hear him snoring from the bedroom, the sound on exhale a cross between the horn on a semi and a walrus’s mating cal . I have no idea what time it is, but judging by the light, it’s not quite noon. Every muscle in my body is aching, my head is throbbing, and I have no one to blame but myself. And possibly John, because I can.

I shuffle into his kitchen to make coffee… but there isn’t any. Awesome. There’s also nothing in the fridge but beer, a mostly empty tub of margarine, and questionable takeout boxes of sweet and sour chicken and beef with cashews.

No milk. No juice. The pantry boasts a box of stale cereal and an equal y stale bag of corn chips. The kitchen in this place is state-of-the-art, and this is al the food it has to offer? Sad.

Starving, I have no choice but to shower and go out in search of food. John and I are close enough to the same size that I can borrow a t-shirt and shorts, though ten to one there’s something of mine in his closet that I can just reclaim.

There’s a bagel place a few doors down from John’s building. I want bagels and cream cheese, but Olaf is determined to pump up the muscle I’ve got and reduce me to near-zero percent body fat. A compromise is in order—

bagels and lox. Lox has protein, right?

Going out without a bodyguard or a car is always tricky.

Fans in LA or NYC are much less likely to mob celebrities, but it’s far from unheard of, and the paparazzi are always on the lookout. I grab my sunglasses and a hat (Lakers—

pretty sure it’s mine). Pul ing the brim low, I take John’s apartment key off the counter and head out.

*** *** ***

Dori

I’m assisting with the coffee and donut distribution after Sunday school, waiting for the caffeine to kick in from the cup of coffee I gulped while setting up. The coffee isn’t very good—but Mrs. K gets it in bulk from a discount warehouse, along with powdered creamer, one-ply napkins and flimsy paper plates. High expectations would be unrealistic.

“No chocolate with chocolate sprinkles?” Mr. Goody, the most ancient parishioner in the church, frowns at me over the bar where I stand, completely zoned out. His gaze swings over the several open boxes of various donuts.

“Um, no—what’s out is what we’ve got. There are a couple of chocolate with nuts—”

“Nuts! Goodness, no!” He grabs a plain glazed, and glares at me like I suggested a pastry covered in slime.

“Hmph.” Mrs. Perez glares at his retreating back. “Who doesn’t like nuts?”

“Maybe he’s al ergic,” I offer.

“Al ergic to
manners
.” She straightens the stack of tissue-thin napkins as I check my cel . My message light is blinking.

Kayla: Me n aimee r goin to see school pride again.

Wanna join? Come on, u know u wanna.

School Pride
,Reid’s latest blockbuster hit. My pulse stutters, stop-start-stop-start. After a five day hiatus from Reid, my foolish little infatuation is
worse
. How is this possible?

I should definitely say no. The last thing I need to see is a movie in which Reid
stars
.

Me: sure, come get me, i’l be home by 1

I sometimes think Dad can read my mind. In first grade, I was a
huge
Hel o Kitty fan. One day Annabel e Hayes came to school with a tiny package of HK colored pencils.

During recess, I swiped it from her desk. That Sunday, Dad preached on two thou-shalt-nots: coveting and stealing.

When I started bawling in the pew, Mom ushered me to the bathroom, thinking I was sick. Turned out I was a six-year-old with an easily assessed guilt complex.

Dad’s sermon this morning—
temptation
. When his eyes meet mine, I imagine he knows every errant thought in my head concerning Reid. There’s no way Dad could know, but there he stands, detailing how to identify temptation and how to resist it. Meaning to pay strict attention and take notes, I click my pen and open the smal notebook I keep in my bag.

And then I can’t stop thinking about Reid’s hands in my hair and splayed at my waist, propel ing me to the wal , his lips brushing over my cheek as I turned my face away.

There is no logical reason for my inability to stop thinking about that almost-kiss. No reason at al .
Especially in the
middle of church
.

The page in my notebook is stil blank at the end of the sermon.

Chapter 18

REID

Dori seemed surprised but appreciative the day I brought her a soy latte (after having heard her tel someone on the phone the previous afternoon that she was craving one), so I add it to my morning coffee run. Just to throw her off balance, I bring Gabriel e the same thing.

When I get there, the two of them are in Gabriel e’s future bedroom, which we’ve painted a stomach-turning shade of pink. Ceiling fan parts are spread in an organized manner on the floor—nuts, bolts and fan blades in neat piles. Dori reads over the instructions while Gabriel e stands with her arms crossed, looking annoyed—until she sees me. “Reid!” she beams.

For a split second, I wish Dori was that enthusiastic about my presence… but no, her unwavering pretense of indifference is a major aspect of the chal enge of her. She doesn’t look up, but she’s so aware of me—hands gripping the instruction packet tightly enough to crumple the edges, ears almost matching the wal s.

Taking my caramel macchiato from the tray, I choke back a laugh at Dori’s apprehensive expression and focus on Gabriel e, who makes a face when I mention the soy. “Is there syrup in it?” she asks hopeful y.

“In the latte? Uh, no…”

“I’m sure Roberta has some sugar packets,” Dori interjects. Her eyes flick to mine and skitter away. Gabriel e gives me an enthusiastic hug (Dori purses her lips but makes no comment) and goes in search of sugar.

“C’mon, Dori—the first hit is always free.” She reluctantly accepts the cup I hand her and says,

“Thanks,” like it takes a herculean effort to speak the word to me.

She studies the instructions and sips the latte while I regard her silently. She’s sporting the faded red M.A.D.D.

shirt again, but today her hair band matches her shirt, and she’s wearing thin silver hoop earrings. And is that
lip gloss
on her mouth? Interesting and atypical Dori behavior.

On the day I started work here, I stupidly assumed that getting into Dori’s pants would be effortless, and in the same thought I concluded that I couldn’t be bothered to hook up with her. Had she sensed that vain mental verdict and decided to make me pay for it?

“This isn’t the first…
hit
… for me, you know.” She’s obviously hesitant to use addict jargon, even in jest.

“Hmm. I guess you’l owe me, then.”

She doesn’t respond, just sets her cup on a windowsil and takes one last glance at the instructions. Armed with a screwdriver, she picks up the bulky mechanical component and climbs the ladder directly beneath the hole cut into the center of the ceiling. I gather from watching her that she has to get the wiring hooked up before she can attach the motor to the electrical box in the ceiling. She balances the bulky thing in her right hand while she twists the wires together with her left, pul ing safety caps out of her pocket and affixing them to the connected wires.

Halfway through, she fumbles the motor, almost dropping it and exclaiming, “Popsicles!”

I climb up behind her and take the weight of the motor in my hand, but there is no goddamned way I can keep from laughing. What does
popsicles
even correspond to? I’ve heard her say
fudge
—a way more obvious substitute. I’m beginning to think she just tosses out whatever food item she thinks of first.

Without a word, she hooks up the wiring.

If I wasn’t aware of her proximity before, I am now. The light press of her body against mine and the unanticipated sweet scent of her make me abruptly, ful y conscious of it.

Standing on the rung below her places my mouth level with her ear. “You smel good. What are you wearing?” Her breathing goes shal ow, from either threat or desire.

“Deodorant.”

I laugh softly, inhaling careful y. “Mmm, no, something more than that, I think.”

“I… I don’t know. Lotion? Some store brand, I think.” She doesn’t know? My mother and every girl I’ve ever dated, Emma included, coordinated lotions, powders, and colognes. If asked, any of them could have said what scent they were wearing without thinking.

“No… it’s more like… cake, or something else…

edible.” I’m staring at the fine hairs on the nape of her neck, her smal left earlobe, the silver hoop threaded through it, her dark lashes in profile. She’s shut her eyes, as though she’s lightheaded.

“Um… okay…” She opens her eyes, turns slightly towards me. “Reid, I… I want to get down now.” I hop from the rung to the floor, reach up and swing her lightly to the ground, my hands lingering at her waist. She grips my upper arms, not letting go once her feet are on the ground. We look as though we were dancing and someone hit the pause button. Common sense tel s me not to try to kiss her again. She’s not ready yet. So we stand there, staring at each other, silent and unmoving.

She’s conceding ground already; it’s in her eyes. I suppress a smile at the conflict I sense in her, because she’s scrutinizing every nuance of emotion on my face, looking for anything that might betray my intentions.

“Hey.” Gabriel e’s voice startles both of us—perfect timing.

I drop my hands as she jumps away. Turning to snatch my cup from where I set it on the stack of fan blades, I say,

“Later,” giving Dori a surreptitious wink and bumping fists with a confused Gabriel e on the way out the door.

*** *** ***

Dori

If I can just get through one more week, I’l never have to see him again.

The fan motor was heavy and unwieldy, and I should have waited for Gabriel e’s help to hook it up. But I could feel his eyes on me from the moment he walked into the room, and I couldn’t pretend to look at those instructions another minute.

Then my heart was slamming from nearly dropping the stupid motor, and in the next moment he was behind me, laughing at me for my choice of swearword-that-isn’t while taking the motor and holding it aloft like it weighed nothing. I would have chastised him for breaking the one-person-on-the-ladder rule, but I couldn’t speak.

His chest pressed against my back while his arm reached around, his bicep hard against my ribcage, just grazing my breast. I stretched up, my arms burning, and worked to get the wiring hooked up as quickly as possible.

Once the part was snug against the ceiling, I thought he’d step back down. Instead, he remained where he was, our bodies connected, however slightly, in several key spots.

Then he told me I smel ed good.

Trapped on that ladder, al I could do was close my eyes and concentrate.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe
. Until his hands were at my waist, lifting me down like I weigh nothing.

I’ve never been so pleased to see Gabriel e.

Once Reid disappears, I tel her to take the fan boxes to her brothers’ and parents’ rooms and get them unpacked so we can instal them before lunch. That should give me enough time to attach the fan blades… and recover from what he just did to me.

Chapter 19

REID

Javier, one of the new volunteers, is a member of a frat group that’l be here for the week—Pi Kappa something. I think he’s decided we’re BFFs for the duration. We’re the same age, but for the most part, I feel like I’m talking to a kid.

During lunch break, I entertain him with celebrity anecdotes—the websites, the starlets, the parties, the fan mail—while he’s rubbernecking at al the photographers hovering in neighboring yards. “So there might be pictures of
me
on celebrity gossip sites? Like, tomorrow?” I can’t help laughing—celebrities go miles way out of their way to dodge being harassed by the paparazzi, but Javier is ecstatic over the prospect. “They’l probably be up by this afternoon, if not in half an hour,” I tel him.

He pul s his phone from his pocket, starts typing a text.

“Seriously?
Awesome
.” Ten to one he’s texting a friend to check websites to see if he’s made it into any shots yet.

Ultimate photobombing. “So, like, what do you do with al those pictures girls send you? Do you ever, you know, cal up one of the hot ones and hook up?”

I shake my head. “No way. The more, er,
stimulating
photos don’t make it to me—my mail and email is prescreened. I get the ful y-clothed shots. And the
you’re a
god
and
I think you should have won an Oscar
mail, not the
You suck
and
I wish you’d curl up and die
shit. My manager shreds or deletes anything inappropriate.” We each take a paper plate and head for the food.

“Even hot naked girls?
Why?
” Javier is aghast.

“Because photos of naked fifteen-year-olds are
not
something you want to keep, even if they
say
they’re eighteen.”

“Yeah, I guess not.” He grimaces, but doesn’t look convinced.

“Hi, Reid.” Speak of the underage devil.

“Hey, Gabriel e. This is Javier.”

Javier’s eyes widen slightly, taking her in. She smiles and chirps, “Hi.” While he checks her out, she turns back to me. “So, Dori’s
boyfriend
showed up again. God, he’s so
boring
.”

Boyfriend? “What?”

She blinks innocently. “Her boyfriend, Nick—he was here like a week or so ago? I’m going to kil myself if I have to work with the two of them
all freaking afternoon
.” She glances towards the back door. “
God
, there they are.” I’m staring when Dori locks eyes with me.
Nick
is the guy Dori sat next to at lunch during the first week. The one with the poor conversation skil s. She breaks eye contact with me and turns to direct him to the line, her hand on his arm as he drones on about something.
This
guy is her boyfriend? You’ve got to be shitting me. He looks like he just stepped out of a nerd sitcom, where he plays the character who constantly manages to destroy his chances to hook up with
anyone
.

And then I wonder if nerds are what floats Dori’s boat, because I’ve heard that some girls are like that.

Javier invites another frat guy to join us. We al sit on the edge of the patio to eat, and Gabriel e is flushed and talkative, relishing the male-to-female ratio. Javier and his friend Kyle are more than happy to accommodate her, and while I appear to do the same, I’m watching Dori and
Nick
.

Her smiles seem real and her body language is relaxed; when their knees brush or he leans forward to say something, she doesn’t pul back or shy away. He’s not hot, but not repulsive. But there’s no observable chemistry between them, not even guarded touches… and she’s sneaking looks in my direction every few minutes while I appear to be engrossed in whatever Gabriel e is babbling about.

Lunch is almost over when Dori glances over once more, and this time I stare back. Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and while she returns my gaze, I count five long seconds. As a slow smile steals across my face, she snaps her attention back to her boyfriend—if that’s what he is—and doesn’t look my way again.

*** *** ***

Dori

Minutes after Reid left the room this morning, Nick showed up, determined to make up for canceling our plans Saturday and spoiling my night. When I assured him again that he did no such thing, he ducked his head shyly and admitted that he just wanted an excuse to see me, and if a little manual labor was al it took, he was up for it. He’s so sincere and sweet that I wish for the hundredth time that I felt more for him than an intense admiration of his character and a mild attraction to his person.

Gabriel e was her usual crabby self al morning, but with Nick helping out I found her tormented sighs humorous. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud during the first interaction between the two of them.

While I attached outlet covers, Nick was on the ladder, connecting the heating and A/C vent. “Hey, Gabby—can you hand me that set of driver bits please?”

“The. Name. Is.
Gabrielle
.” She glared at him, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

Nick blinked at her vehement tone, then smiled. “Oh, sorry.
Gabrielle
, please hand me that set of driver bits?” She spun around, grabbing the package from the floor and slapping it into his open hand. “
God
,” she said under her breath.

“Thanks, Gabriel e.” He smiled again, which seemed to infuriate her further.

Nick’s presence helps keep me focused on work, but doesn’t inhibit the scenes from Reid’s movie that have been on a constant loop in my head since yesterday been on a constant loop in my head since yesterday afternoon. I didn’t know anything about
School Pride
before we went, while Aimee and Kayla had parts of it memorized.

The premise was a bit sil y—a present day adaptation of
Pride and Prejudice
, set in a high school—but casting Reid as an arrogant Wil Darcy was genius. His natural self-assurance was easy to see in the heated scenes between Reid and his costar, Emma Pierce. And when he kissed her, I swear I felt it.
Ugh
.

When we went outside for lunch, my attention was drawn to him repeatedly, sitting with Gabriel e and two of our fraternity volunteers from UCLA.

Nick was talking about a mission trip he did earlier this summer to Honduras. “…because fifty percent of the population is under the poverty line—can you imagine?”

“Uh, wow, that’s appal ing.” My eyes drifted to the other side of the patio. The first half dozen times I looked, Reid didn’t notice. That last time, though, his dark blue eyes locked with mine. My pulse gal oped. And then his mouth kicked up on one side and I had no choice but to rip my gaze from his.

I stared into Nick’s eyes, thankful for his comforting voice, his gentle smile. And I fought the magnetic pul of the boy sitting across the yard who is everything I do not need and should not want.

***

I’m up late, compiling a list of stuff to pack for my mission trip when Deb cal s. As soon as I say hel o, she says, “Dori, he kissed me,” sounding like the giddy girl she never was, rather than the capable, independent woman who earned the title of doctor two months ago.

“Who—old doc Bradford?” I can’t help teasing her.

“He’s thirty-one!”

“Hmm, thirty-one is reasonable, I suppose.” I know she can hear the smile in my voice. “So when did this romantic encounter occur? I thought you were working twenty-four seven.”

“He picked me up last night for my dinner break, around ten-thirty. We only had about twenty minutes, so he brought burgers and we parked at the back of the hospital lot and talked.”

“Talked, eh?” I leave the list on my desk and lie back on my bed. My ceiling fish are al stationary, waiting for the A/C

to cycle on.

“He told me he wants to make sure I know how he feels about me, since we can’t show it in front of anyone in the hospital. Any gossip could get ugly, even though he’s not directly supervising me.”

“And how does doc Bradford feel about you?” My logical, analytical sister
giggles
, and I cover my mouth and wait for her answer. It’s been so long since she’s been this interested in anyone. “He likes me. A lot, he said.”

“What if someone finds out? Or if it gets serious? I mean you can’t pretend like you don’t know each other for your whole residency…”

“I asked him about someone finding out. He said it’s happened before. As long as there’s no supervisory relationship, the worst that could happen is we’d get a stern talking to.” She doesn’t answer the second question.

“My big sister, skulking around kissing boys in parking lots. I’m shocked! Details, please.”

“I had to get back inside, so I said I could just walk back up, and he said no way, he didn’t want to waste his last two minutes with me. And then he reached over and touched the side of my face, and we moved towards each other like magnets, and, wel …”

“Don’t leave me hanging! How was it? Hasn’t it been like ten years since you’ve kissed a boy?”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny. I guess it has been a while, but kissing Brad was just… perfect.”

The air comes on overhead and my fish begin to sway.

“Please tel me you were a
little
late getting back in.”

“A little.” She sighs, and I know she’s reliving the whole thing. “I have to get back on the floor. I just had to tel you.”

“I love that you did. And I’l say a prayer that you don’t get caught.” We laugh and say goodnight, and I lie there, smiling, for another few minutes. Until my thoughts cycle back to Reid, and the blocked kiss. Maybe I should have let him do it, before pushing him away.

But if I’d have let him kiss me, I might not have been able to push him away at al .