Losing Romeo (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Patience was a virtue Rosaline didn’t have. She drummed her fingers on her legs and tried to watch TV, but there was nothing good on.

A knock sounded on the door, and she shot up to answer it. Winslow wore dark gray slacks and a pale blue button down. The breeze carried the scent of his cologne, something musky and rich smelling.

“Do I look that bad?” Winslow looked down, tugging at his clothes.

“You look nice,” Rosaline said. “Really nice.”

Winslow stepped inside. “Your face fell when you saw me.”

Because she’d been hoping it was Bryson.

Rosaline jerked a thumb at the couch. “Have a seat, and I’ll let Dafne know you’re here.”

She knocked on Dafne’s door as she entered the bedroom. Her aunt was on the bed, buckling her shoes—cute red ones with spiked heels. The little black dress Rosaline had helped her pick out looked amazing on her, and the dangly silver earrings caught the light.

“Wow, Aunt Dafne. If Winslow doesn’t step it up tonight, I’m ordering him a CAT scan.”

“Is he here?” Dafne asked.

“He’s out on the couch.”

Judging from the way Winslow’s eyes widened when Dafne stepped into the living room, the CAT scan wouldn’t be needed. He stood and placed his hand on Dafne’s back, gently leading her to the door.

“Have fun,” Rosaline said. “I’ll just be here, throwing a raging kegger and then desperately trying to clean it up so you won’t find out.”

Dafne arched one eyebrow. “Very funny. Be good. Call if you need anything.”

“Don’t worry. All I’m really going to do is wait for Bryson to get home.”

“He’s home,” Winslow said. “Got in a few hours ago.”

The words slammed into her, making an ache rise in her chest. “Oh. Good to know. I guess he must be tired or something.” Her throat felt like it was closing up. “You guys have a good night.”

She waved and closed the door—probably with a little more oomph than needed. Bryson had come home and he hadn’t bothered coming by. He hadn’t called.

For a second, she contemplated grabbing her stash of candy out of the bedroom, curling up on the couch, and feeling sorry for herself. But she’d spent
days
waiting for him to get back from Wichita. She’d dipped into her almost non-existent funds to buy him a present.

No pity-party for her. She was going to march up to the house and find out what the hell was going on.

***

The doorbell jolted Bryson out of his dazed stupor. Another couple minutes and he would’ve drifted off. Using the remote, he punched off the TV and then went to answer the door.

Rosaline stood there, hair wild and wavy, the way that drove him crazy. He could barely make out the scratch on her cheek, mostly healed from her wreck now. She put her hands on her hips. “So you’re not dead. You’re legs aren’t broken, so that means you can walk. I assume you can talk.”

He opened his mouth to prove he could, but before he got any words out, she charged inside. “I mean, is it really so crazy that I expect a simple hello when you get back?” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Is it?”

“Hello,” he said. “And by the way, one of my legs is a little broken. I thought you knew.”

“Oh, now you’re gonna be a smartass? I’ve been waiting days for you to get back, thinking you might be the
tiniest
bit excited to see me, too, but obviously you’ve got
way
more important things to do. Like…” She made a big show of looking around. “Sitting around doing nothing, apparently.”

Bryson put his hands on her shoulders. “Whoa. You need to slow down. I worked several long days, had a flight from hell, and I’m a little groggy. What did I do to piss you off now?”

Her mouth turned to a pouty frown. “You didn’t call. That was bad enough, but then you didn’t even come see me now that you’re back.”

“I thought you’d be busy. And I did call. Last night. But you were gone.”

Her internal battle over whether or not she should still be mad showed in her confused expression. He didn’t know why she got to be mad—she was the one who had a boyfriend. Still, he felt this inexplicable need to try to make it better.

She ran a hand through her hair, stopping halfway up. “OMG. I was just the crazy jealous girlfriend, wasn’t I? Which is extra crazy since I’m not your girlfriend.” Her gaze held his, almost as if she wanted an answer.

He let out a long exhale, wondering if he was really going to do this. “Last night I was with this girl…”

Her posture tensed. “Oh. I…”

Great choice of words, Mercer.
“I was at a party and—”

“I don’t need to hear the rest,” Rosaline said, stepping back and shaking her head. “You met someone else. I get it. It happens to me a lot.”

Bryson grabbed her hand, holding on to it like the lifeline it was for him. “What I’m trying to say is, all I could think about was how I’d rather be talking to you. So I left the party and ended up watching yet another stupid movie by myself. All day I wanted to see you.” He swallowed, trying to get out the words that were lodged in his throat. Since they weren’t coming, he leaned toward her, deciding to just kiss her.

And she stiffened. He froze, his lips not quite touching hers.

She looked up, eyes wide. Horrified.

A horn cut through the silence, long and loud, like someone was laying on it. Bryson let go of Rosaline’s hand and turned to go see what was going on, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world.

***

Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I did it again.

Bryson had almost kissed her, she was sure of it. He’d leaned in and she’d started thinking about how all her relationships always ended after the kiss. About how awkward it’d be for her and Bryson if things ended badly. Well, it was
definitely
awkward now.

The door stood open, sending that crisp, earthy-scented air into the room, and Bryson was still outside. She wanted to make it right, but she also wanted to run away and never let him see her again. How embarrassing! And now he had the completely wrong idea.

I’ll just…tell him I’m an idiot and that I want him to kiss me—that I’m
dying
for him to do it, actually.

Because nothing turns on a guy like desperation.

Whoever had interrupted them at the worst possible moment was shouting, an urgent tone to the words she couldn’t make out.

“I’ll be right there,” Bryson called back, and then he stepped inside and grabbed his keys.

“What’s going on?” Rosaline asked.

“It’s George, our neighbor to the east. A pipe burst, and I’m going to go help him take care of it.”

“Bryson, I—”

He squeezed her shoulder, an affectionate, tender gesture that made her skin hum. “It’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then he was out the door, leaving her standing there in the huge house to rehash how incredibly stupid she was.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Please, please pick up,
Rosaline thought as the phone rang and rang and rang. With all the Mudtown festivities going on today, she didn’t have much time, and she couldn’t go the entire day without talking to her best friend first. She needed help, and she needed it now.

The second Clara answered, she said, “Oh my gosh, Roz, I was just about to email you! I ran into Juliet yesterday and she was totally wedding dress shopping. She said she’s filing for emancipation from her parents and that Romeo’s doing the same, and then they’re going to Vegas and getting married. She went on and on about love at first sight, and I was like, yeah, he falls in love at first sight a lot, but of course I didn’t say that aloud, just thought it in my head, and I—”

“I’ll have to get the update later,” Rosaline said. “Right now, I need your help. I’m pretty sure I screwed up my entire life.” She paced her room as she filled in her best friend on last night’s disaster with Bryson. “I froze up. I’ve been waiting and hoping for him to kiss me—the way I feel about him makes what I felt about Romeo a pathetic joke. And still, I just….” She dropped her forehead against her door. “He’s never going to talk to me again.”

“It’s like you’ve got this strange disease that kicks in whenever you like a guy. You’re, like, relationshipily challenged.”

Rosaline groaned. “Making up a name for my condition isn’t really helping. I thought because he and I were friends first, it’d be different. That since it’s right with him, I’d just magically not freeze. But I still psyched myself out.”

“The good news is, I can tell you how to fix it.” Clara sounded so confident, Rosaline desperately wanted to believe her.

“I’ll do anything.”

“You have to ask him out. Not to hang out—not anything that can be confused with friendship. A nice, clear gonna-be-a-date signal, along with a flirty gesture that says, ‘Just so you know, we’ll be ending the night by making out.’”

“I don’t know if I can be that bold.” Rosaline twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “I’m getting all panicky thinking about it. And what if he rejects me? I don’t think I can take another hit like that. And what scares me even more is that I’ll end up losing him as a friend, and besides you, he’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“Dang, girl. You’ve fallen hard. You sound about as crazy about him as Juliet sounds about Romeo. Next thing I know, you’re going to be trying to run off to Vegas.”

“Give me some credit. I’m not
that
crazy. Seriously, what are they thinking?” Rosaline shook her head. “Let’s not go there. Right now, I need to figure out a way to tell Bryson that I like him, which would be a lot easier if my brain would stop focusing on all the ways my attempt could go down in flames.”

“Stop thinking,” Clara said. “But not with the help of—you know. No drugs this time.”

“Yeah, yeah. I learn from my mistakes. With drugs, anyway. Not with guys apparently. But, yeah. No drugs this time.”

“Okay, so get all dressed up, go over there, and you ask him out. I’d tell you to just kiss him, but I think baby steps are the way to go for you. Be brave. You’re a funny, pretty girl, and the boy tried to kiss you, so you know he likes you. Go get him.”

Rosaline took in a deep breath. “Okay. I can do this.”

“You totally can. Now, you know I’ve got nothing but love for you, but the surf is calling my name, and there are fine, shirtless boys down on the beach. You go get your man. I’m going to go find one for myself. Don’t worry, before I go, I’ll send a quick prayer to Saint Jude for you.”

“Very funny,” Rosaline said, not exactly loving the implication she needed help from the Patron Saint of Lost Causes.

“Call later with details.”

Rosaline promised she’d update her when she could. With Clara’s pep talk replaying in her mind, amping her up, Rosaline grabbed the outfit she’d specifically picked out for Mudtown Days. Frayed denim skirt that landed mid-thigh, lacy white tank top, and the ridiculously expensive red boots she’d seen in town and had to have. She topped it all off with her black beaded cross necklace.

Normally she’d flat iron her hair, but Bryson said he liked it wavy and wild, so she put in curling moose to make it extra big.

Excitement swirled through her tummy. She was going to ask Bryson to the dance tonight—that was a definite date, date—and everything would be okay.

“Where are you going?” Dafne asked as Rosaline reached for the knob to the front door.

“I’ve got to go talk to Bryson for a minute.”

“We’ve got to go. You’re helping Leanne with her jewelry stand, and I promised I’d help set up the booth for the pie eating contest.”

“It’ll only take a minute.”

Dafne wiped her hands on her pants—she was actually wearing jeans today. Looked good in them, too. “I’ll finish loading the truck, then drive up to the house and honk.”

As Rosaline stepped outside, the thrilled feeling turned into nausea.

***

The plan hadn’t involved Winslow standing in the living room, and Rosaline hadn’t thought through to a plan B.

She stared at Bryson, the awkwardness from last night returning as he rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the room, everywhere but at her.

“What can we help you with this morning?” Winslow asked.

“Actually…” Rosaline fingered the charm on her necklace. “I need to talk to Bryson.”

“I’ll leave you two to it then.” Winslow patted Bryson’s shoulder, then left the room, leaving them alone in the suffocating weirdness.

The lack of enthusiasm on Bryson’s face made her already shaky courage waver. What if he’d just been going for a hug last night? What if he was glad they hadn’t kissed?

Shut up, brain.

She crossed the room, rapid pulse throbbing through her head. Her voice shook, and she worked to keep it steady. “Did you get those pipes fixed?”

She couldn’t believe she couldn’t just force the words out:
Go out with me. I want you to kiss me
. Anything but,
Did you get those pipes fixed?

Bryson nodded. “We got the leak stopped, yeah.”

Short. Precise. Totally cold.

Her knees trembled, and her heart and climbed into her throat. “That’s good.”

Bryson finally looked at her. Really looked at her. His gaze raked over her, heating every place it touched. “Are you trying to torture me, showing up looking like that?”

Her mouth went completely dry. “About last night…”

He lifted a hand in the universal stop-right-there gesture. “I get it. You want to be friends. I don’t need to hear the speech.”

Thump, thump, thump—man, her heart was beating fast and hard. “I want you to come to the dance with me tonight.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You do?” A slow smile spread across his face, and he took a step forward, closing the space between them. But a serious expression quickly replaced the happy one. “I’m not going to Lowell. Not to Mudtown Days, not to the dance.”

“But—”

A horn honked, and through the window she saw the truck in the driveway, Dafne behind the wheel.
Seriously? Are all horns out to get us or something?

Bryson put his hands on her hips, drawing her attention back to him. “There are a lot of things I’d do for you,” he said. “That isn’t one of them. Looking like that, though”—the muscles along his jaw tightened—“I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding a dance partner.”

She put her hand on his biceps and locked eyes with him. “I don’t want another partner. I want it to be you.”

He just looked at her.

“There’s going to be fireworks,” she said.

Dafne honked again.

Her chest tightened. She was trying not to feel rejected, but that was exactly how she felt.

“I gotta go,” she said, turning to do just that.

Bryson caught her arm. “Rosaline, you know I care about you.”

She hesitated, heartstrings tugging at his words, and slowly twisted to face him. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

Using his grip on her arm, he yanked her to him and lowered his mouth to hers. This time, she didn’t freeze. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed into him, moving her lips with his. The kiss was soft and urgent all at the same time. All their fights, all their nights together, all wrapped into a perfect dizzying kiss that sent heat singing through her veins.

“I think Dafne’s waiting for…” Winslow trailed off as he stepped into the room.

Rosaline pulled away from Bryson, cheeks flaming.

The stunned expression on Winslow’s face only sent another wave of embarrassment through her. “Oh, I, um…”

The front door flung open, and Dafne called, “Rosaline! Come on, we’re going to be late.”

Since Winslow had already witnessed the kissing, she figured there was no point in hiding. She tipped onto her toes, kissed Bryson’s cheek, and whispered, “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”