Then again, Jade isnice, so maybe she’d give me a chance to explain. That sounds a heck of a lot better than sitting around an empty apartment all by myself.
I roll to a stop at the intersection, one road leading to Main Street, the other to Jade’s place. I overheard her tell Hayley that she’s staying at her grandma’s. I still remember having to drop Jade off there after sleepovers.
I brace my boot on the road, and the bike tilts slightly beneath me.
To Jade or not to Jade? That is the question.
Am I going to get any sleep if I head home with my head more tangled than Ella’s yo-yo string? Nope. And a man my age needs his beauty sleep. I guess there’s really only one choice left to make.
* * *
Before I know it,I’m pulling into a driveway that leads to a little brick rancher. Jade’s white Civic is parked out front.
When she answers the door in a pair of lacy shorts beneath a thin Rob Zombie T-shirt, my hibernating dick decides it’s time to rise and shine. Man, am I glad I came over tonight.
“Dylan. What are you…” She clears her throat, throwing frantic glances at the empty street. “What are you doing here?”
“I was an”—I mime the word “asshole”—“to you earlier, and I’ve come to apologize.”I also really like that T-shirt you’re wearing. How’d you feel about taking it off?
The taken-aback look on her face is warranted. I’m as surprised as she is that I’m even here, saying these words.
“Um, okay. Do you want to come in?” she asks.
The warmth in my chest expands. “Sure.”
When the door closes behind me, she beelines for the living room to pause The Exorcist. What’s she doing watching that shit all by herself this late at night? I wouldn’t be able to sleep. “Want anything to drink?” she asks, heading for the fridge.
I can’t take my eyes off the curves of her ass rounding out her shorts, which is a thousand times sexier than Cindi’s neon thong.
This isn’t good.
It’s so not good.
And having a drink here isn’t a good idea either because drunk Dylan tends to forget things like the fact that he shouldn’t be checking out his baby sister’s best friend. Sober Dylan knows better…
Mostly.
I force my eyes toward the pot of ramen steaming on the stove. “No, thanks,” I reply about the drink.
“Suit yourself.” Jade carries a bottle of light beer over to the couch and drops down, tucking one leg beneath her and the other so that her chin is resting on her knee.
Is she trying to look as cute as hell or is this her natural pose?
Expectant green eyes wait patiently for me to sit next to her.
I’m about to ask what Dickhead Williams told her about me when I realize that’ll only piss me off more. Instead, I decide to go back to the beginning. “I started going out with Miranda Williams at the beginning of my senior year.”
Jade’s eyes widen, and her ponytail sways when she shakes her head. “Oh, Dylan. You don’t have to tell me.”
“I know I don’t. But I want you to know my side of the story.” Scratch that. Ineedher to know. I don’t really understand why the fuck that is, but I do. I slide my clammy hands down my jeans and inhale a shaky breath. “Miranda was my first girlfriend. Technically, she’s been my only girlfriend.” Which is kinda pathetic when you think about it. “Anyway, her home life was shit, so she spent a lot of time at my parents’ place. Everyone loved her, and she latched onto them more than she ever did to me.”
A slight wrinkle appears between Jade’s brows.
“One Friday night, Miranda called me saying she fell down the stairs and thought she may have broken her arm. She refused to call an ambulance, so I picked her up from her house and drove her to the ER. Since she wasn’t eighteen yet, the doctors called her parents. Her stepdad came in fuming, swearing at me like her getting hurt was my fault.” I’d wanted to knock his teeth out for talking to me like that, but that’s neither here nor there.
“The staff threatened to call the police,” I continue, “but he calmed down. Miranda got this pink cast on her arm, and I was the first to sign it.” I took up all the space on the front of that thing, drawing hearts and shit like a lovesick idiot. “But the next Monday, she showed up at school without a cast, acting like it never fucking happened, wearing long sleeves and refusing to show anyone her arm.
“They’d given her some heavy painkillers, and I didn’t even realize you could get hooked on that shit until a few months later when I caught her taking pills at lunch. She told me they were prescription, so it was fine.” Only it wasn’t fine. Not by a long shot. “By the time I learned the truth, it was too late. I tried to get her to find help, but she kept insisting that she didn’t have a problem. Then she started getting these panic attacks about me breaking up with her when I went to college. I didn’t intend to end things, but it was like she was determined to push me away. Everything kinda snowballed from there. She’d break up with me, then come to my house crying and begging me to take her back. I wasn’t sleeping at all—could barely keep my eyes open in class. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore and broke up with her. Needless to say, she didn’t take it well.”
