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Paulina’s eyes widened and I felt her grip tightening on my hand.
“Lara,” she choked, “why is this huge-ass male galloping in your direction like he wants to make meatballs out of you?”
“Uh…” The rest of my answer died in my throat.
Because what the shit?
I’m going to ask again, for the people in the back—WHAT. IN. THE. ACTUAL. SHIT?
What was he doing? Why was he doing it? And why did it make me low-key…happy?
Alex didn’t stop until he reached me.
When he did, he extended his arm to tug the tip of my ponytail gently, angling my face up so our gazes met. My heart slammed against my ribcage so fast I was pretty sure I was going to throw it up on the ground, which was so not a good look.
All I could think of was, Oh my God. I didn’t even tell Pauly about him.
“Cat got your tongue?” He lifted one eyebrow, dripping nonchalance.
I said nothing. Everyone was looking. This was not what I was expecting whenever I dreamed of a grand, romantic gesture. Honestly, this wasn’t even something I thought could happen in real life.
“Alex?” I heard a voice behind me.
Ryan.
Ryan was here.
Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.
Alex didn’t spare him a look. His eyes were fixed on me. They were brown and bottomless and very, very angry. Suddenly, I remembered that despite our easy conversation, and the fact he hadn’t kissed me yet, Alex wasn’t a kitten. He was a tiger. And I’d be wise to stay on guard around him.
“She’s coming to the picnic, Ryan,” Alex announced flatly, his voice ice-cold, still staring me down, not giving half a shit about the audience that gathered around him. “And by the way, I have her number. And we’re dating. So.” He let go of my ponytail, and I let out the breath I’d been holding. Alex turned to give Ryan a nice, cordial, F-you smirk. “Keep your fucking distance, or I will make sure I rearrange your face and kick you out of the band. You know I have the pull to do it.”
Alex threw me another look. A fleeting, bored one this time.
“Pick you up at two thirty, Honeypie.”
Me: You’re insane.
Me: You’re ABSOLUTELY, UNDOUBTEDLY insane.
Me: Were you raised by wolves?
Me: WE’RE DATING NOW? You didn’t even KISS me yet.
Me: Who told you it’s okay to treat women like this? WHO?
Me: My best friend Pauly didn’t even know you were alive. This makes me look like such a bad friend. I don’t even know how I’m going to explain this to her.
Me: Is Ryan mad? He won’t answer any of my texts. This is such a shit show.
Alex was online, but my messages were left unanswered.
On Saturday, Alex picked me up at two thirty sharp.
We skipped the whole rioting for veganism/anarchism part that came beforehand—thank Jesus and his entire holy crew—and cut straight to the picnic part.
Not that vegan food in the early 2000s was significantly better than getting arrested by the cops, but at least it had some degree of dignity to it, you know?
I was still seething, and by seething I mean disturbingly charmed, by Friday’s display of possessiveness, in which Alex went all caveman on my ass and basically informed Ryan in front of my entire school that we were dating.
No one had ever done anything so proactive to try to win my heart (read: panties).
In fact, save for the occasional typo-ridden love letters and a few uninspiring flowers/chocolate deliveries, no one had ever done anything romantic for me.
So my standards were pretty low to begin with.
But you wouldn’t suspect Alex was trying to woo me now. Not while he was sitting behind the wheel, looking like a solemn, sulky Nordic prince, his pink, narrow mouth curled in dissatisfaction, his eyes hard on the road. He wore a black holed shirt, ripped black jeans, and pristine white Chucks.
God, he was dreamy.
In a this-man-could-kill-me sort of way. I briefly pondered if I was turning into one of those women who was pining for sociopaths. You know, like the ones who wrote to the Richard Ramirezes of the world in jail and married mass murderers who were sentenced to life in prison.
You always kind of wondered who these people were. I didn’t want to cross the point of no return. To go full Afton Elaine Burton (Google that when you have a minute. Fascinating stuff).
“Did you talk to Ryan?” I demanded when I secured the seatbelt next to him. I was still worried sick for our mutual friend.
Alex hitched a shoulder up. “We don’t shoot the shit during rehearsals, we work.”
Okay, Mr. Springsteen. So sorry for the misunderstanding.
“What if he’s mad?” I gnawed on my lower lip nervously.
“He doesn’t have any reason to be. You don’t want him and he knows it. He told Tom and Daniel he knows you’re not game. Said every time he goes in for a kiss, you pull away. Are you supposed to sit around and wait until this asshole grows sex appeal? Because in that case, get comfortable, sweetheart, because it ain’t going to happen. He is not going to wake up one day and become fuckable. Not to you, at least. Time to move on.”
