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“Don’t be. I’m already mentally preparing myself for the chance you two hit it off and you come home engaged, and I may never kiss you again.”
“Whoa, slow down. I don’t believe in love at first sight, remember?”
He rotated so he could sit on the edge of her bed. “Right.”
She regarded him for a second, hoping common sense would rouse her rarely used filter and prevent the next words from leaving her lips. No such luck. “Would it bother you to never kiss me again?”
Graham’s chin dipped but his gaze lifted to hers, his eyes dark and conflicted. “I think it’s best I don’t answer that.”
Claire could interpret that two ways. One, it would bother him but he didn’t want to admit it. Maybe the thought freaked him out like it did her. Or two, it wouldn’t bother him, but he didn’t want to risk offending her and forgoing the chance to get laid in the near future.
Based on the Graham she knew, odds were it was reason number two.
He pushed to his feet. “I’d better let you get ready...unless you need help getting dressed?”
Definitely reason number two. “I’m good.”
“Have fun tonight,” he said, and tossed a lingering smile over his shoulder before he left.
16
From: [email protected]
Subject: I...like you?
Claire,
You just left for your date with Mr. Real Estate. You wore the yellow dress. Which makes me an asshole, because while you look damn good in it, it’s the green top that would have made the guy lose his mind. And contrary to what I said, I guess I’m not ready to let this go yet.
I’m not sure what it is, but I’m inclined to blame you. You’ve been taking my dog on walks, for crying out loud. If there’s a faster way to my heart I don’t know what it is. Don’t freak out (me—I’m telling myself that), I’m not professing my undying love or anything ridiculous. I’m just feeling...something. Something I haven’t let myself feel in a long time, and I don’t know why it’s changing with you. For the most part I’m the same Graham around you as I am around everyone else, but lately I’ve slipped and said some things to you I don’t normally talk about, like my mom’s MS diagnosis or the fact that we were too poor to have a pet when I was growing up.
You didn’t run away screaming or get all weird and awkward. It was nice.
AND, though I don’t want to admit it, I’ve sort of liked these secret conversations we’re having via email. Secret because you don’t know about them, but on my end they’re going well. I get why people do this (but I’ll take that to my grave if you ever find out and ask me about it). It’s sort of freeing to be able to say anything and put it all out there without fear of shame, embarrassment, or rebuke. None of which I particularly enjoy, but lived with on a daily basis before I left Santa Fe for college.
I went to a fancy private school, did you know that? Westfield. Only about two hundred kids between the middle and high school, so pretty close-knit group. Except for me, that is. At the beginning at least.
Up until sixth grade I went to a public school by my house and loved it. I had a ton of friends, played basketball, and made good grades. But the summer before junior high my dad got a job as the nighttime janitor at Westfield, and as an employee, he was able to send his only son to the prestigious school tuition free even though we lived miles from the district border. My parents were so excited about the opportunity that I went into it with a pretty open mind.
Yeah, that lasted about twenty minutes. Those rich-ass kids picked up my low-income scent in no time and I went through that entire first year a complete outcast. I was made fun of, picked on, and beat up on occasion. I was pretty small back then but wouldn’t have had the guts to fight back even if I could have. I had one friend—the English teacher, Mr. Sikes. And my dad, who spent his nights mopping the floors and cleaning up after those punks.
In eighth grade we had a partner science project and I was paired up with Angela DiMarco. She’d always been decent to me, and by that I mean she didn’t knock books off my desk or call me names. But during the project she actually talked to me, and naturally, as a thirteen-year-old boy I developed a huge crush on her. By the end of it I thought we were friends. She even talked to me in the hall where other people could see.
So I got up the nerve to ask her to the fall fling dance, which was so fucking stupid, but I was so gone for the first girl that had been nice to me that I wanted to go SO. BAD. I’d go to sleep thinking about walking in holding her hand, dancing with her, and maybe even kissing her in a corner somewhere.
Mr. Sikes had gotten me onto yearbook committee, and several days per week I hung out in the media room, where we put together photos and stories for that year’s book. It was also where they kept recording equipment for announcements and this cheesy radio show the school played for people in the carpool lane.
So the day we turned in our science project I asked Angela to meet me in the media room after school. When she came, I let it all out and told her how much I liked her, waxing poetic about her kindness and how she was the prettiest girl in school. I don’t know what happened, it was total word vomit once I started. At the end, I asked her if she’d go to the dance with me.
As I’m sure you can guess, since we hate Angela now, she said no in pretty spectacular fashion. Said she couldn’t be seen going to the dance with the janitor’s kid. Not only that, but having anticipated a potential opportunity when I asked her to meet me there, she secretly turned on the recording equipment and replayed my entire speech, including her rejection, the next day at school. This was junior high, mind you, so I’m sure you can imagine what my life was like after that.
I’ll give you a hint: relentless torment.
Anyway. I’m not sure why I just told you all that, but it was my first experience telling a girl how I felt about her, and my heart was ripped to shreds and the pieces hung around the entire school for everyone to see. Embarrassing yourself in front of friends is one thing. Doing it in front of people who already hate you is another thing entirely.
So thanks, I guess, for not treating me that way. I’ve never felt judged by you.
