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I rub my hand along my entire face vigorously. “Jesus Christ.”
“He did, didn’t he?” She’s even closer now, and this—what she’s doing—is the dictionary definition of “accosting.”
Before I can come up with a response, the bathroom door opens again, and of course, it’s Dean. He smirks, a disbelieving snort leaving him right before he pulls his phone from his pocket. “Oh, this is good,” he says, snapping a picture of Bethany and me. “Jamie’s going to love this.”
32
Holden
Besides,you know, being anadult,I have never, not once, avoided anything.
Difficult situations?Come at me!
The harsh realities of life?Let’s fucking go!
A freight train full of ninjas?I’m ready!
Jamie’s possible reaction to a picture of me and her arch-nemesis alone in a bathroom at a party?I’m noping the fucking out.
I’d spent the entire weekendavoidingany and all potential scenarios in my head, which, yeah, is a pussy move, but I like my balls intact. Realistically, it wasn’t all that hard to do. Jamie didn’t call about it, didn’t text, didn’t email, didn’t send any carrier pigeons or trained assassins my way. Which could mean one of two things: she’s giving me the silent treatment or…. Dean never sent the picture. I’d prefer the latter, but it’s been proven that Dean’s a narcissistic asshole, and so, now, I have no choice but to wait it out.
Monday morning, and I’m the first of our tragic trio to get to our lockers. I’msweating. And not from the heat. Dean’s next, and he’s wearing a smirk that I’d love to slam against a brick wall. I check the time—there are only a few minutes until the warning bell, and Jamie still hasn’t shown.
Maybe she’s avoiding, too.
Just as I’m about to shut my locker, hers opens.
Game time. I move around her to the open side of the locker and lean against the one beside hers. “Hi.”
She doesn’t look at me when she says, “Hi, back.”
“So…”
She eyes me sideways. “So…?”
I suck in a breath, let it out slowly. And then I take her in from head to toe. Because it might be the last time I get to do it. Crisp white blouse tucked into a pale gray skirt, and honestly, her clothes are the only thingmehabout her. Everything else is like a solar eclipse, and I don’t know why I never noticed it before. “Did you get a text on Friday night… maybe a picture…?”
Jamie looks away, focuses on removing books from her bag and shoving them in her locker as she fights back a smile. “You mean one of you and Bethany alone in a bathroom?”
My stomach sinks. “That’s the one.”
“Yeah, I got it,” she says, shrugging. “I just figured it was Dean being a dick.” She slams her locker shut, revealing saiddick. He’s going through his locker, but it’s obvious he’s been listening in on our conversation, hoping to see his planned disaster come to life. Jamie looks back at him, then returns her focus to me. “Why? Should I be feeling a certain way about it?”
“Hopefully not.” I shrug. “So, we’re good?” I don’t know what I’m asking. It’s not as if we’re dating. Or are we? Truthfully, I don’t think either of us knows what we’re doing.
She nods. “We’re good,” she states. “Besides, I’ve seen the way you are when you want someone.” She says this loud enough for Dean to hear. “And that’s not what I saw… you just looked annoyed.”
“I was,” I tell her, relief washing through me.
“So what happened?”
I give her a quick rundown, and when I’m done, I tell her, “It was weird, and I didn’t like it.”
She laughs, and I watch her, watch the way her smile reaches her eyes—eyes that twinkle beneath the harsh overhead lights, and I want to kiss her. I want to wrap her in my arms and lift her off the floor and spin her around the way guys do in the sappy movies Mom forces me to watch.
I don’t do any of those things because that would be incredibly lame and entirelynotme. Instead, I say, “You didn’t call me.”
“Phone works both ways, Eastwood,” she says, and she’s still smiling, and I’m still watching her every move.
