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For a second, Mrs. Bates looked helpless, like I’d just told her I was from the planet Zorcon. Then she turned and looked at Evie. It was a strange look, full of meaning, and Evie’s cheeks went red.
“Evie,” Mrs. Bates said.
Evie crossed her arms over her chest. “What, Mom?”
Mrs. Bates sighed and seemed about to say something, but someone else came into the kitchen. She was curvy like Evie, her brown hair in a lumpy short braid over the back of her neck, and she wore a big sweatshirt that had a photo of Blondie on the front. She stopped in the doorway when she saw me.
“Hey, Trish,” Evie said. “There you are. This is Nick.”
I nodded at her, and she managed a faint “Hi.”
“How is school?” Evie asked her.
“Whatever,” Trish said. She pointed at me. “Evie,thisis your new boyfriend?”
“Trish,” Mrs. Bates chided. “Manners.”
I was surprised for a second about the wordboyfriend,though I supposed I should have expected it. “You got a problem?” I asked the little sister. “What’s wrong with me?”
“You’re totally good-looking,” Trish said. “Evie usually dates dogs.”
“Trish!” Mrs. Bates was shrill now.
Trish rolled her eyes. “That guy with the goatee?” she said. “Please. And Josh was just creepy. His teeth were so white.”
Okay, I liked the little sister. But Evie rubbed a hand over her face. “Oh, my god. Can we eat now?”
I was still staring at the little sister. Trish. “What guy with a goatee?” I asked her.
“He was solame,” Trish said. “He worked in insurance, but he said he wanted to learn guitar in his spare time.”
I looked at Evie. “For real? Jeez, redhead. Thank God I came along. Every guy before me was a warm-up.”
“Nick,” Evie said.
That was when Mrs. Bates banged the pan of chicken on the counter a little harder than necessary. “Time for dinner,” she said. “Let’s go.”
TWENTY
Evie
Dinner did not improve things.
I was tense. I knew it. I knew it was out of proportion, and I knew it wasn’t helping. But there was nothing I could do about it. Sitting here at the table, with Nick’s crazy presence next to me, I felt ready to jump out of my skin.
Every guy before me was a warm-up.
I had brought guys home before, like Trish said. Josh, and before him the goatee guy (his name was Dave.) This should be no different. Except those guys were not Nick.
He was like a crackle of lightning, sitting next to me at the table. An insanely hot guy in a worn black Henley that showed the muscled lines of his shoulders beneath the fabric molded to his skin. I knew what all of that skin felt like against mine, what that sinful mouth felt like against mine, against the other parts of my body. I hadn’t been a virgin when I brought the other guys home, but with Nick it felt like a neon sign: WE’RE FUCKING. My mother was giving us disgruntled, uneasy looks. Trish just sat with her jaw open whenever she stared at him.
“Trish is trying out for the volleyball team next week,” Mom said nervously, putting potatoes on her plate.
My little sister slumped in her chair. She was deep in the throes of teenage-girl derision these days, and in its annoying way it was kind of awesome. “I hate volleyball,” she said.
“Tut,” Mom said. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.” She turned to Nick. “Do you play a sport, Nick?”
Nick poked the chicken on his plate. “I box,” he said. “I hit things.”
