Undecided (15 page)

Maybe I’m
a great actor or maybe it’s just the cold that prevents her from catching on.
Or perhaps it’s the fact that though she’s trying hard to pretend she doesn’t
notice them, she’s got one eye on Nate and Celestia, who sit in a corner
working on a crossword puzzle together.

“Want to
go in the back and make donuts?” I ask, hoping to stop her tirade against
Celestia before it begins.

“I’ll
come in the back and
eat
donuts,” she
replies, reluctantly pulling her gaze away from the adoring couple. “We—” She
breaks off and stares over my shoulder as the door opens, the faint sounds of
light traffic filtering in along with the new customer. “Well, this is
interesting,” she murmurs, a coy smile curving her lips.

My heart
immediately starts beating overtime as I slowly turn, expecting Crosbie.

But it’s
not Crosbie. It’s Kellan.

“Hey,” he
says, shooting me a grin. He’s wearing a sweatshirt, shorts and sneakers, dark
hair damp at the temples.

“Hey,” I
respond, hoping I don’t look as disappointed as I feel.

“Hey,”
Marcela says.

It
doesn’t take a genius to see where this is going.

“Hey,”
Kellan replies.

They
smile at each other, no other words needed.

“Did you
want a drink?” I ask loudly. “It’s on me. Marcela, why don’t you go into the
back and start on the donuts?”

“Donuts?”
Kellan echoes with great interest.

“Come
on,” Marcela says, lifting the panel on the counter so he can step behind.
“I’ll show you how we make them.”

“You’re
sick!” I accuse. “You can’t make donuts.” I turn my attention to Kellan. “And
you don’t work here, so you can’t make donuts, either.” I herd them both out
from behind the counter and follow, effectively locking us all out.

Kellan
holds up his hands defensively. “Simmer down, Thelma. I thought you’d be more
relaxed after—”

I widen
my eyes in a warning Kellan actually heeds, cutting himself off before he
announces my mysterious sexual escapade to Marcela. Marcela scowls as she grabs
a lemon from the basket on the counter, turning her back to us as she slices a
piece for her drink. With her attention averted, Kellan makes a face like,
Why
doesn’t she know?

“I’m
shy,” I mouth back. It’s not the best response, but it’s all I can come up
with. Fortunately, Kellan buys it, nodding his understanding.

The sound
of a throat clearing gets our attention, and the three of us look over to see
Nate standing a few feet away, next to a customer waiting for a refill.

“Sorry,”
I mutter, hastily reaching around to grab the coffee pot and pouring him a new
cup. “My apologies.”

Nate
crosses his arms and looks at Kellan. “If you’re not going to buy anything—”

Marcela
looks ready to argue, but Kellan answers before she can, pulling a wallet from
his pocket. “No problem,” he says with an easy smile. “I came for the
brownies.” But the way he’s looking at Marcela says his focus may have shifted.

“Here,”
Marcela says, using tongs to select a brownie from the plate in the display
case. “This is the biggest one.”

Kellan’s
smile widens. “Lucky me.”

I look at
Nate and he looks at me. We both look like we want to gag.

“What’s
the hold up?”

The four
of us turn at the sound of the door and the wash of crisp fall air that sweeps
in alongside Crosbie. Like Kellan he’s wearing shorts and sneakers, but instead
of a sweatshirt he’s got a black T-shirt that clings to his broad chest.

Our eyes
meet for a split second, then he turns his attention to Kellan. “You said you
were getting a snack,” he accuses, joining our awkward little group. “Not
robbing the place.”

“I
am
getting a snack,” Kellan replies.
Then he shoots Marcela a charming little smile. “And maybe a phone number?”

I cannot
believe he just did that. The same disbelief is stamped all over Nate’s face,
and this no doubt spurs on Marcela as she grins and writes her number on a
nearby order pad. She rips off the top page with a flourish and slips it into
Kellan’s waiting hand, their fingers lingering about twenty-eight seconds
longer than necessary.

I feel
bad for Nate and annoyed with Marcela and exasperated by Kellan. But they’re
all just background noise when Crosbie shifts a little bit closer, near enough
that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the faint tang of his
sweat.

“Um…” I
say when the silence lingers awkwardly. “Do you want a brownie?”

Crosbie
grins at me, but there’s nothing special in the gesture, nothing to suggest
anything happened between us, nothing to suggest it will ever happen again. “A
brownie?” he asks. “Or a phone number?”

Everyone
laughs and I grit my teeth, annoyed.

“Dude,”
Kellan says, still laughing. “As if!”

Another
customer comes in and Nate looks at us all sternly. “Let’s break this up, shall
we? You two have work to do.”

“And
you?” Marcela snaps. “You have to figure out the answer to thirty-three
across?”

Nate
narrows his eyes. “Get back to work.”

“Sorry,”
Kellan says, polishing off his brownie and putting a five dollar bill on the
counter. “We’re out of here. See you at home, Nora.” He smiles at Marcela. “And
see you later. I hope.”

Ugh.

I turn to
go back to work, halting when a firm swat on my ass makes me jump. I whip
around, stunned, to see Crosbie casually strolling out the door after his
friend. He doesn’t look at me until they’re outside, but when he turns his head
to catch my gaze through the glass, the slight arch of his brow says everything
I’d hoped to hear.

“I’m
sorry,” Marcela says immediately. Ten seconds later we’ve hustled into the
kitchen, away from Nate’s evil eye and any actual work.

I look at
her blankly. “For what?”

She
gestures toward the front. “For that! I know you’re into Kellan and—” She
lowers her voice as though there’s someone around to eavesdrop, “and you two
hooked up. This isn’t me trying to hurt your feelings or steal him—”

I stand
frozen as she rambles on. Somehow, over the course of moving in with Kellan
McVey, sleeping twelve feet away from him, and sharing the occasional bowl of
cereal, I’ve absolutely gotten over whatever lingering remnants of attraction
I’d had. If I looked annoyed out front it was because Marcela was putting on a
show for Nate’s benefit and Kellan was, well, being Kellan.

“Stop,” I
say, holding up a hand when she shows no signs of tiring. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not
fine,” she replies, looking pained. “That was a terrible thing to do—”

I
hesitate, hoping to walk the fine line between girl-who-used-to-be-into-Kellan
and girl-who-is-now-into-his-best-friend. “I’m over him,” I say firmly. “I’m
just…over it.”

“But
you—”

“You know
that saying, absence makes the heart grow fonder? Well, living together has had
the opposite effect. He’s a nice guy and a surprisingly tidy roommate, but
that’s it. I’m not into him.”

She looks
like she wants to believe me but can’t. “Are you sure?”

“A
hundred percent. Honest.”

She lets
out a breath. “I wasn’t actually going to go out with him,” she says anyway.
“It was just—”

“To make
Nate jealous?”

“No!” she
protests, too loudly. “To show Nate I’m fine with him and what’s her name. I’m
less fine with the discount she gets on her shitty drinks, but…”

I don’t
believe her for a second but I’m feeling guilty about keeping the Crosbie thing
in the dark, even though not for one second do I consider coming clean about
it. “Her drinks are so shitty,” I agree instead.

Marcela
grabs the tray of uncooked donuts from the oven where they’ve been rising. “And
can we talk about the fur coats?”

“Of
course—” I break off when my phone buzzes in the front pocket of my apron. “One
sec,” I say, frowning at the screen. The number is local but the caller is
unknown. I open the message anyway.

Sorry
,
it reads.
Shouldn’t have slapped your ass.

Crosbie.
Did he really memorize my number when I rattled it off two mornings ago? More
likely he stole it from Kellan’s phone. Not that I’m complaining.

As for
the apology, it’s completely unnecessary. I’m not interested in being tossed
over his lap and having my ass spanked, but the faint sting of his hand is a
pretty heady reminder of the other things those hands can do.

No
prob
—I start to type, stopping when another message arrives.

I’m
hard just thinking about it
, it says.
Makes running a bitch.

I delete my
response and stare at the screen, feeling my chest and stomach tighten. I want
more. I want more texts and more hands and more, more, more. More Crosbie
Lucas, if it can be believed.

Another
text.
When do you get off tonight?

I write back immediately.
Eight.

I’ll pick
you up.

Aware of Marcela watching me, I keep
my expression neutral as I type “Okay” and hit send.

“What was
that?” she asks when I put away my phone.

“My
mother,” I lie, too easily. “She wants to know if I’m going home for Thanksgiving.”

“Are
you?”

I shake
my head. “No. I’ll save that special brand of torture for Christmas.”

“Good. We
can cook a turkey.”

“Do you
know how to cook a turkey?”

She’s
quiet for a second. “No. Do you think Kellan does?”

I look at
her sharply, then follow her gaze through the glass windows on the doors, where
Nate and Celestia huddle behind the counter while Nate makes one of her
specialty drinks.

I sigh.

* * *

My bike is
parked in the alley behind the shop, so when we close up for the night I wave good
night to Nate and Marcela, who head to their respective cars with goodbyes so
cold I shiver in my winter coat. Because Burnham is tiny, the town shuts down
fairly early and the streets are dark and quiet, making it easy to spot Crosbie
parked half a block away, his car shut off. He lifts a hand in greeting and I
nod back, then round the building to the alley. A second later the growl of an
engine turning over cuts through the night.

We’d
texted back and forth a bit more throughout the evening, agreeing to meet back
here after Nate and Marcela were gone. Now I watch headlights illuminate the
dumpsters as Crosbie turns into the alley and drives toward me at a crawl.

I’m not
going to lie. I’m totally willing to shuck my jeans and hustle into the
backseat and do everything people do when they meet each other in dark alleys
at night. Though our texts were relatively tame, I’m burning with anticipation.
I’ve never really felt like this before. Truly, seriously…horny. A crude, lame
word to describe what’s going on in my belly and the places below, but there
you have it.

Crosbie
seems to be on a different page, however, because he stops the car and simply
reaches over to push open the passenger side door. No lunging out for a
passionate, forbidden embrace. I squash my silly disappointment and get in, and
the overhead light immediately blinks off, leaving us in the dim glow of the
tiny dashboard lights. The car is old but clean, with roll down windows and
seats that sag slightly in the middle. There’s a gear shift between us and an
air freshener in the shape of a candy cane dangles from the mirror, making the
car smell like toothpaste.

“Hey,” I
say, suddenly shy.

He
glances over and smiles as he puts the car in drive. “Hey.” He’s wearing a
puffy black jacket and jeans, and even in silhouette, he’s sexy.

This
seems like a good “Your place or mine?” moment, except neither of those places
is an option. I live with Kellan, and Crosbie lives in a frat house. I peer
surreptitiously over my shoulder at the small backseat.

“Don’t
worry,” he says, steering us out of the alley and turning onto the street. “I
cleaned up.”

“I wasn’t
worried about that.” Though I am disappointed—clean or not, there’s no way the
two of us could fit back there. In fact, now that we’re here, I’m not sure
where it is we are, exactly. Or where we’re going. Crosbie heads for the
freeway, taking the exit south and merging neatly with the sparse traffic. I
clear my throat and look around. “What, uh… What’s going on?”

He looks
over. “You all right?” He drives with just his left hand, his elbow propped up
against the window. His free hand rests on top of the gear shift, fingers
tapping in time with the song playing on the radio, the volume so low it’s
almost impossible to hear.

“I’m
fine. Just…what are we doing?”

“Getting
out of Burnham for a bit,” he replies. Then he takes a second look at me,
concerned. “Is that not okay?”

Two exits
away is a slightly larger town called Gatsby. No buses come this way, so I’ve
only been a handful of times when Nate or Marcela drove. It’s a nice enough
place, with box stores and movie theaters. Things to do that don’t revolve
around coffee, alcohol, or school.

“It’s
fine.”

“You want
to go back? We can, no problem. But I didn’t know where we could go, you know?
Kellan twisted his ankle and wanted to stay in to ice it, and my place is
always busy.”

“I don’t
want to go back,” I tell him. “I just wanted to know where we were going.”

“We can
go wherever you want,” he answers. “Do whatever you want.”

Crosbie
flips on his blinker and pulls into the right hand lane to exit into Gatsby.
From here I can see the large signboard for the theater, the marquee too
distant to read.

“Want to
see a movie?” he asks as we drive closer.

I squint
at the list of shows. It’s an enormous multiplex and the parking lot is packed.
Crosbie inches past the front so we can see what’s playing.

“
Kill
Glory 3
is out? I thought it wasn’t coming until December.”

Crosbie
laughs uncomfortably when I name the latest installment of the popular horror
franchise. “What else is playing?”

I look at
him. “You don’t like scary movies?”
He purses his lips. “I like them fine.”

My jaw
drops. “You’re afraid.”

“Am not.”

“Maybe
Toy
Story 6
is playing.”

“The
Toy
Story
franchise is classic.”

“Okay, fine.”
I crane my neck to try to see some more names. “There’s
Tanker Race 2, Soda
Shoppe Gals, Operation
—I think that’s based on the board game—and that
documentary about seals. Anything you’re dying to see?”

He finds
parking at the end of a row and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Lady’s choice.”

“
Kill
Glory 3
.”

“Never
mind, you can’t choose.”

“Have you
seen the first two? They’re excellent. It’s about this death angel named Glory
who keeps returning to earth to try to get revenge—”

“I saw
five minutes of the first one, and that was enough.”

“So…
Soda
Shoppe Gals
?”

He tips
his head to peer out the windshield at the start times. We’ve got half an hour
until the next showings. “We can see
Kill Glory 3
,” he says reluctantly,
reaching over to tug me in by the collar. “But let’s make out for a bit first.”

“Make
out?” I feign offense. “You haven’t even bought me popcorn.”

“Can I
just give you the ten dollars?”

We’re
laughing when our lips meet, teeth bumping until we get serious. Crosbie
displays none of the urgency I’m feeling, kissing me leisurely, exploring,
learning. Again, it’s a surprise. He’s got one hand curled against my neck
while the other rests against the back of the seat. If I’d ever given any
thought to making out in a car with Crosbie Lucas, I’d have pictured him
sticking his hand up my shirt—or down my pants—in the first thirty seconds. But
that doesn’t appear to be the plan for tonight, and I quash the tiny part of me
that’s disappointed and tell myself to just enjoy the moment. I’ve actually never
done this before. I had zero boyfriends in high school, and I don’t think any
of the guys I kissed last year even had a car. At least, I never bothered to
learn enough about them to find out if they did.

Teenagers
walk by and holler “Get a room!” breaking us apart. We’re both breathing hard,
the windows only starting to steam up, advertising our activities without
actually obscuring them.

“Hi,”
Crosbie says, smiling.

I can’t
help but smile back. “Hi.”

He
reaches over to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “Did you get in trouble at
work after we left?”

It takes
me a second to remember what he’s talking about. “Oh, Nate?” I shake my head.
“Nah. He’s all bark and no bite. And there’s very little bark to begin with.”

“He
seemed pretty upset.”

I think
about Marcela giving Kellan her number. “It was nothing. He was just trying to
seem authoritative because his girlfriend was there.”

“Ah.”
He’s quiet for a second. “What do you think about Kellan hooking up with your
friend?”

I roll my
eyes. “They’re not going to hook up. She was just…” I wonder how much I can say
before I’m a bad friend. “Things are weird between Marcela and Nate and she was
just doing that to show him she’d…moved on.”

Crosbie’s
brows raise. “They’re hooking up.”

“How do
you know?”

“How do
you think I know?”

“They
just met this afternoon! She got off work twenty minutes ago.”

“And
Kellan’s got the apartment to himself.”

“You said
he needed to ice his foot. And he promised not to bring people home.”

He
shrugs. “So you’re not okay with it.”

“I’m—” I
stop myself. Crosbie’s studying the steering wheel with far too much focus.
Belatedly I realize he wasn’t just gossiping, he was testing me. I think back
to that first conversation we had, right after I’d gone by to view the
apartment. How he told me not to expect happily ever after with Kellan McVey,
assuming I’d be like every other girl on campus, desperate for his attention.
He hadn’t been entirely wrong then, but he’s wrong now. “Crosbie,” I say
seriously. I repeat his name when he doesn’t look at me, and finally he turns
his head. “I don’t have a thing for Kellan. Honest.”