A Guy Like Him Page 7

  I dumped a handful of guts in a bowl as Betty asked me more and more questions — had Krista booked a venue, what were her colors, what kind of dress was she going to wear — and I kept thinking of the poster boards on our wall, how they seemed to be screaming at me every morning and night when I passed by them. Betty became Martha and Martha became Yasmine and Yasmine turned into Margie, I found myself answering these questions on autopilot, wishing I could be anywhere but here. Because every question was a reminder of something I still needed to do, my stress levels rising.

  “How’s it going, sweetie?” Mom asked, looking at the pumpkin I’d been working on.

  I’d moved to a table by myself, having helped all the women and answered all their questions. Now I was trying to focus on my own pumpkin, my ticket to getting out of here.

  “Did you use one of the kits?” she asked, reaching out to lightly touch the pumpkin I’d butchered.

  “Um, well, I tried.”

  I had been so stressed when I started that its eyes were uneven, two different shapes because I’d messed up the first triangle. In my haste to fix it, it had turned into a circle. But then I’d messed up the circle for its other eye, and somehow, it became a square. Its mouth was a gaping hole, closer to screaming for mercy than the wicked smile I’d been going for.

  “How is school going?” Mom asked, too polite to discuss my pumpkin anymore.

  Midterms had ended over a week ago, and I’d received my econ grade today. I wondered if Dad had marked it in his calendar to ask her to follow up with me. If I hadn’t worn my borrowed pantsuit, I would have made a B.

  “Great,” I said, giving up and just scribbling a nose on my pumpkin with a marker. “Did Krista tell you that she thinks she’s close to booking a venue?”

  Mom’s face lit up, and she sat down, wanting to hear all about it. I told her all I knew, keeping a close eye on the clock over her shoulder. By the time she walked away, headed toward Krista to see photos of the potential venue, it was 9:37. I pulled out my phone, making sure no one was paying attention to me, and looked at the message that had popped up on my screen.

  Wanna meet up?

  I bit my lip and moved my phone so it was safely shielded by my pumpkin. If anyone glanced over, it would just look like I really liked my handiwork. I need 15 minutes.

  Perfect. I can duck out of here early (no hot girls sticking around until closing time tonight).

  I grinned, rolling my eyes, typing back: Parking lot?

  Sure. See you then.

  Krista and Mom were in deep conversation when I interrupted, saying I was going to head out.

  “It doesn’t end until 10:30,” Krista said, glancing at my pumpkin and raising her eyebrows.

  “Yeah, but I got here before you, remember? To unload the pumpkins and set up tables. So I’m going to grab some food and head to the library to finish up some homework.”

  “It’s not a competition on who volunteered more,” Mom said, distracted by one of her friends who was manhandling a carving tool, as we both rolled our eyes. “Thank you for coming, Skylar. It’s great to hear that you’re so focused on school. Both of my wonderful girls are so dedicated. We’ll see you on Sunday for dinner.”

  I waved bye, rushing out before Krista could ask more questions.

  Dean opened the door, scooping up the pumpkin from the passenger seat as he sat. He laughed. “What in the world is this?”

  “It’s a pumpkin,” I said dryly.

  “This might be the worst carving job I’ve ever seen,” he said, tilting it to the light, tapping its scribbly nose, and laughing again. “Did you do this?”

  I scowled. “I had to, okay? It was a whole thing. Rule 1, remember? You can’t ask me these things.”

  Though we hadn’t been back to his place since fall break, we had referenced the contract in the several times we’d seen each other, the rules memorized by now. I still hadn’t figured out how exactly to slot him in my busy schedule since I was going to end this soon anyway, not really wanting to make this another problem I had to solve on top of all my other obligations. He didn’t seem to care, probably preferring the convenience of just meeting me outside after work anyway.

  He laughed and faced me, smiling. “Okay, but can I add an amendment to the rule that I get to know about art projects in advance so I can help you? I mean, Skye, this isn’t even what a nose looks like. No body part should look like this.”

  “What do you know about art?” I said with an eye roll, grabbing the pumpkin from him.

  “Rule 1, right? Guess I can’t tell you,” he said, sliding his hand over my cheek and leaning in to kiss me. His skin smelled like coffee, his kiss long and slow. I immediately felt my stress melt away, knowing he wasn’t going to ask me questions about the wedding because he didn’t know anything about it. It was so refreshing.

  I kissed him harder, dumping the pumpkin in my backseat so I could climb on top of him. As things heated up, he asked if I had protection.

  I paused from undoing his shirt buttons. Krista had wanted to borrow my purse, saying it matched her outfit better, and in my haste to hide the condoms I kept in there, I’d dumped everything in my closet, shoving a blanket over the pile as she walked in my bedroom.

  “Shit. No,” I groaned.

  “It’s fine,” he said, sliding his hand up and down my back, somehow a soothing motion. “Let’s just move to my car.” He glanced over his shoulder at the pumpkin. “Honestly, it’ll be better anyway because then that thing won’t be watching us with its demented face. I’m going to have nightmares.”

  I laughed, shoving him as he laughed. “I didn’t want to make that pumpkin, okay? I had to.”

  “No one has to carve a pumpkin,” he said with an eye roll.

  “Well, I did,” I said, moving off of his lap, grabbing my shirt. “You don’t understand. I live in a world where people do have to carve pumpkins.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense to me,” he said, opening the door.

  He paused and looked at me for a moment, realizing I was serious. Then he scooped up the pumpkin from the backseat and stepped out of my car.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, following him.

  “You were really forced to make this?” he asked, holding it up in the palm of his hand as he walked backward to the rear of his car.

  “Yes. I mean, no one told me to make it this ugly, but, yeah, I had to go to a volunteer slash pumpkin carving slash networking event.” I rolled my eyes at how lame that sounded. “I didn’t want to.”

  “You should smash it.”

  I stared at him, not understanding. “What?”

  “Yeah, it’ll make you feel better,” he said, placing it on the trunk of his car. He put his hands on my hips and lifted me up so I was sitting next to it. I kind of laughed, not quite sure what was happening. “Come on, Skye. You spent your Friday night carving a stupid pumpkin at a … what was it, a networking thing? That’s horrifying. Just smash it.”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m not going to do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s totally ridiculous. Even if I wanted to, I don’t know how.”

  “Just stand up and toss it on the ground. See what happens,” he said, stepping back to gesture to the empty parking lot in front of us.

  I stared at him in his halfway unbuttoned shirt, not a care in the world as he smiled, his brown eyes sparkling under the streetlight.

  “To clarify, you want me to stand on the trunk of your car?”

  “Yeah, you’re really light, it doesn’t matter. Don’t overthink it.”

  I laughed again. I hadn’t realized how much I’d hated tonight until this moment. How stupid it was that I had to carve a pumpkin for some club I wasn’t even a part of, networking with a bunch of women I didn’t know and never would, answering question after question about my sister. And all I ended up with was a pumpkin Mom and Krista were too polite to call ugly. No one had even asked if I’d wanted to carve it in the
first place.

  “Okay,” I said slowly, gingerly standing on his car. I’d never stood on a car before — of course, because there was never a reason to do something so irrational — and I felt higher up than I knew I really was. “I still think this is weird, but I’m willing to give it a try.”

  He grinned, stepping back as I picked up the pumpkin. I looked at it, laughing at how awful it was, and held it over my head. He clapped, laughing, as I hurled it down. It exploded between us, breaking open with a loud clap, pieces of orange bits going everywhere.

  “Oh my god,” I shouted, unable to control my volume, bursting into laughter. “I just smashed a pumpkin while standing on a car.”

  “Hell yeah, Skye,” Dean cheered. “Didn’t that feel great?”

  He hopped over the remnants, catching me as I jumped off his car. I wrapped my legs around him, kissing him hard, still laughing, somewhat shaking from the adrenaline rush of doing something so crazy, so unplanned, so illogical. He kissed me back until we were halfway lying where I’d just been standing on the trunk.

  After a moment, I pulled away, and he smiled. “What?”

  “Thanks,” I said, glancing at the orange mess behind us. “And sorry for breaking Rule 1. Maybe we can add a pumpkin-related sub-amendment.”

  He grinned and took my hand, pulling me toward the backseat of his car. “Yeah, and next time we come out here, maybe I can smash my thousandth pumpkin spice latte.”

  I threw my head back and laughed, glancing at the pumpkin one last time as we fell inside his car.

  “Yeah, next time.”

  ★☽★★☽

  “Skylar, are you paying attention?”

  I looked up from my phone and glanced at all the eyes staring at me. I quickly straightened up in my seat. “Yes, sorry, I can order posters for the winter concert.”

  “We’ve moved past that agenda item,” Lindy said with a scowl. “You already agreed to that. We’re talking about upcoming service projects.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, looking down at my notes as all the SGA Social Outreach committee members waited on me. “Yeah, so we’re volunteering at the soup kitchen in two weeks for Thanksgiving and hosting a winter gift drive for the assisted living home. We’ve determined what makes the perfect gift…” I flipped through my notes, trying to find where I’d written this down, as my phone buzzed again. I covered it with my notebook before she could look at it. “Lindy, do you want to go over the gift ideas we came up with?”

  As she stood, launching into a long-winded discussion about the topic, I snuck a peek at my phone.

  One message was from Krista, probably asking when I would be home because she’d been dealing with a “dress emergency” all day. The other was from Dean, responding to my question to hook up tonight. I hovered over the messages, not sure which to read first, when Lindy sighed loudly in my direction.

  “Sorry,” I said, dropping my phone in my purse.

  “If you can’t pay attention and give the SGA committee members the respect they deserve, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  I glared at her. “I put it away. Sorry.”

  “Thank you,” she said tersely, moving forward with the next agenda item. I focused on taking notes and trying to feign interest for the rest of the meeting.

  “Lindy, I’m sorry,” I said once the meeting was over. “That was totally unprofessional. Can I buy you a coffee to apologize?”

  She flipped her hair over her shoulder and smiled. “Sure,” she said, already dragging me in the direction of the shop. “Who was texting you? Let me guess, it was Brad?”

  I laughed. “No, just Krista. Wedding stuff.”

  I paused, wondering if Dean had said yes to hooking up. It was Friday, so I knew there was a good chance he’d have other plans. Rule 2 said he could do whatever with whoever, no discussion needed. But in case he said yes, I turned to Lindy.

  “Also, you’re right, it was Brad, too,” I said before I changed my mind. “So I was wondering if I told Krista you and I were hanging out tonight at your place, you’d cover for me?”

  She stopped walking, excitedly jerking me back. “Are you serious? Of course. I cannot believe this guy has stuck around for so long. It’s been a month.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” I said as we walked in the coffee shop. “…has it really been a month?”

  I thought back to the first time I’d kissed Dean in early October, right after Krista’s engagement. It was mid-November now. I quickly did the math in my head. Lindy was wrong — it had been more than a month. Thirty-four days exactly.

  After Lindy ordered a pumpkin spice latte, she turned to me as Dean wrote on her cup.

  “So you must really like this guy. You couldn’t stop checking your phone the whole meeting. Let me see what you two talk about.”

  I glanced at Dean, but his expression didn’t change. He punched her order in the register and looked at me. “What would you like?”

  “Uh,” I said as Lindy nudged me, sticking out her hand for my phone. “Black coffee.”

  “Give me your phone, and I’ll pull up the messages myself. Something clearly kept making you check your phone every two minutes during our committee meeting. As chairwoman, I feel like I get to see it, too.”

  “No,” I snapped, pulling my purse closer to my body.

  “What size?” Dean asked, his hand hovering over the cups.

  “Small.”

  “You said you’re seeing him tonight?” she asked, talking a mile a minute, leaning against the counter with her back to Dean, not even noticing him. “Didn’t you say he’s the best sex you’ve ever had?”

  “Oh my god, Lindy,” I said, shushing her.

  “Light or dark roast?” Dean said with a half smile, the dimple on his cheek so cute, an unmistakable laughter in his eyes.

  “What? You’ve never asked me that before,” I said, flustered. “I guess light.”

  “Good choice. It’s the best roast we’ve ever had,” he said easily, turning to pour my coffee.

  I glared at an oblivious Lindy, my face on fire.

  She laughed. “What? I’m happy for you. But you do need to focus for a minute and order those posters. Are you working the canned food drive or the gift drive?”

  Dean slid my coffee across the counter as I handed him my card.

  “I guess the gift drive,” I said, pulling out my planner to write it down. “I have family photos on Thanksgiving.”

  “Oh, right, you’re going to your lake house,” she said and then grinned, raising her eyebrows. “Are you bringing Brad?”

  “No, of course not,” I said with an eye roll. That reminded me I needed to buy an outfit for the photos. I made a mental note to write that down in my planner, too.

  Dean handed me my card back as my phone buzzed.

  “Thanks,” I said, distracted by balancing my wallet, planner, and cup in one hand as my phone buzzed again. Krista was officially in panic mode.

  “Oh, can you lead the next committee meeting the week of Thanksgiving?” Lindy asked. “I’m going to Brandon’s family for the holiday, so I won’t have time because I’ll need to leave.”

  “Right, okay, sure,” I said, making a mental note to write that down, too.

  My phone buzzed again, and once I was in my car alone, I looked at my screen. It was flooded with messages from Krista, a few from Mom, a missed call from Dad, and a couple calendar reminders. Dean’s response had been pushed to the very bottom, and before I could open it, my phone rang.

  “Did you see my messages?” Krista said as soon as I answered. “The dress I want, the one I’ve been admiring since before I got engaged, it was one-of-a-kind. So I called the store today and thought I could just try it on, you know, just to see, during my lunch break, maybe cross one thing off my list, and it was sold.”

  She sounded frantic, and I knew she was pacing in front of the poster boards filled with sticky notes.

  “Can’t you just get another one?”

/>   “Are you even paying attention? It’s going to take me months to figure this out. It was one-of-a-kind. Do you know what that means? It means I can’t just get another.”

  “I know, but can’t you get, like, a different dress? Isn’t it a little early to be dress shopping anyway?”

  I tried to visualize my planner, wondering if I’d somehow missed this on my to-do list. We had slotted dress shopping for after Thanksgiving, so we still had two weeks.

  She sighed, loud and long in my ear. “When are you coming home? We need to figure this out. But first, can you pick up dinner? I haven’t had time. I’m so busy with this wedding stuff. And can you get something for us to bring to family dinner this weekend? I told Mom we’d bring a side dish.”

  I turned, making a detour to the store. “Okay, sure. I’ll be home in,” I glanced at my car clock, “forty-three minutes, okay?”

  Forty-two minutes later, I walked in the apartment, balancing the coffee I hadn’t had time to drink, my backpack, open planner, three grocery bags, and several bridal magazines I’d scooped out of my car. Krista took the magazines and sat down on the couch, flipping through the pages I’d bookmarked between my last class and SGA.

  “Okay, these are good options,” she said, sounding less frantic. She patted the spot next to her. “Come sit, let’s figure this out.”

  I hesitated for a half-second and then sat next to her, pointing out the dresses I’d flagged. I told her how each one would look beautiful on her and that she should focus on that, I’d take care of dinner, don’t stress about the side dish either, I could make it before family dinner so she’d have time to try on different outfits with Kyle for their upcoming engagement photos.

  By the time I arrived at Dean’s place, I was 13 minutes late.

  “I am never late,” I said as he opened the door.

  I paused.

  Once again, his outfit made no sense to me. He was wearing striped track pants with loafers, an oversized white denim jacket, a relaxed button-up, the buttons undone where the first tattoo on his chest started, several corded necklaces, all his earrings silver hoops.

  He wrapped his arm around my waist and kissed me before I could say anything else. “It’s cool,” he said casually, pulling me forward. “I didn’t even notice.”