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“I must,” she interrupts.
I prop my phone up against my opened laptop and cross my arms over my chest. “Just a kiss. Nothing to get all worked up over.”
“You kissed? You kissed Owen? Are you sure he didn’t kiss you and you just happened to show up to that party? Because last I heard, you were the queen ofalmost.”
I sit up a little straighter, leaning so that my glare is front and center in this camera phone. “Mean. Kayla. When did you become so mean?”
“I’m sorry!” She’s walking and talking and bending and—are those Captain Jack Sparrow Underroos in her hand? She’s all over the place. “But I like Owen. He’s my pick.”
“He’s always been your pick.”
“Yeppers!”
Yeppers? Really? The girl has got to get out. She hangs out with six-year-olds too much.
“And I was right, and you were wrong. So, don’t mess this up, Annie.” Apparently, the part where I cry and she holds me, telling me it’s all going to be okay, is over. What happened to my sister who took me home and tucked me in bed and coddled me? “Leave that idiot Maddox in the dust and move on, girl.”
So much for leaving Maddox Powell out of it.
Maybe Kayla’s right. Maybe I am afraid to try. Because I have never, in fifteen years, ever been nervous about Owen coming over—and yet, I am shaking like a leaf. He’s coming to talk.
As a boy.
Who likes me.
Wholikelikes me.
I press down on my knee—attempting to stop the nervous rhythm there.
The knock on my door sends a tremor throughout my entire body. But then—he’s pushing open the door, like always, rather than waiting for me to answer. He ducks his head inside, slips off his shoes, and peers up with a smile.
It’s Owen.
He’sstillOwen.
And sure, he confessed a few feelings.
And yes, he sort of floored me with a more than passionate kiss… but he’s still my bestie. He’s still the dork who dressed up like an Oompa Loompa with me in the sixth grade.
“Hey,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Man, he’s cute. And I’ve always known it, but it’s suddenly more apparent.
“Here’s the thing,” I say before I order our pizza or tell him to take a seat. Nope—no pretenses, let’s just get to the truth of the matter. “We both know my history. It’s not great. I can’t—I’ve never been able to stay with someone long. We both know—” My hands shake in the air, and my mouth goes dry with my rambling words.
“Hey,” he says, beelining for me. Owen snatches both of my trembling hands in his. “I’m not worried about any of that, okay?”
“How can you not be?” I say, and my throat clenches as if close to tears.
“I’m just not. So, you can’t be either. Okay? This is my idea. I’ve already made you a promise. So, don’t stress about anything else.”
I blow out a slow, trembling breath. I’m not sure that’s possible. But he seems normal and that helps. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“I know. But I have an idea. It could benefit the article too.”
“Wait.” I huff, my shoulders slumping. “Let me order the pizza, and then we’ll talk.”
It takes me less than two minutes to place the order online. Owen and I always do pizza on Thursdays, and it’s always the same order: extra cheese, mushrooms, and sausage.
