“Maybe we could help each other with our resumes,” he suggested after dessert, his hand lingering on top of mine. “Remember when we used to review each other’s college applications and essays? And after all those applications, all those essays, all those late nights…” he trailed off, knowing I already knew the end of his sentence, the memories rushing back.
And after all that work, we’d decided to go to the same school — the same as our parents — our future plans already mapped out by the time we’d graduated high school. But I’d been the reason things didn’t go according to plan.
“I really should go,” I said, feeling lightheaded and confused. I’d never wished more to hear the opening notes of “Closing Time.” “This has lasted way longer than forty-five minutes.”
He paid our check, held the door open for me, even walked me to my car. He did all the right things, all of his movements familiar. Especially the one I knew so well, the one where he would hug me and then kiss me. It was the exact same move he’d used when he’d first kissed me when I was 18, and it was the same ever since.
I ducked my head as he leaned in, my face hot and my hands shaking, realizing instantly that I hadn’t kissed anyone besides Dean in six months.
“No way,” I said, opening my car door. “This wasn’t a date.”
“It felt like a date,” he said, charming enough that if I didn’t know him so well, I wouldn’t have known he was annoyed by my rejection.
“Well, sometimes things can feel like dates, and they aren’t,” I snapped, hating that I thought of all those moments with Dean and not one counted as a date.
“And sometimes you have to learn that the hard way,” I said, slamming my car door shut before he could say anything else, something to bring me back to the past, to convince me I hadn’t changed.
★☽★★☽
I breathed a sigh of relief when we walked into the coffee shop. Roe, the barista I’d met on Dean’s birthday, was working alone.
“Okay, fine,” I said to Lindy, who had been ignoring my insistence to come a different time anyway, “we can try this.”
She nodded, excited to see how far she could push a guy to get what she wanted. Our final Behavioral Economics assignment for the semester was to go into a business and negotiate a cheaper price for an item. Which was how I ended being dragged by Lindy after class to the coffee shop.
“What are you going to say?” I asked, feeling less nervous now that I knew Dean wasn’t here. I didn’t want our first interaction together to be this, not sure if things were weird between us, and I certainly didn’t want Lindy to be in the picture again.
She shrugged, smoothing her hair, and smiled. “How do I look?”
“He’s not going to give you a discount because you’re cute,” I said with an eye roll.
“Whatever. These guys love being flirted with. It’s probably the most exciting thing that happens in their boring day,” she said, grabbing my arm.
I was so tired of her dragging me around, but I gave in anyway, letting her pull me to the counter. Roe was busy making a latte, saying he’d be with us in just a second.
“What if he says no?” I whispered, running through the worst-case scenarios in my head. “We don’t get an A if we don’t get a discount.”
“He isn’t going to say no,” she said with a laugh. “You just have to go out there and get what you want, Skylar. This isn’t just a coffee shop and an economics class. This is life.”
“You are so intense,” I said, trying to quickly research negotiation tactics on my phone as we waited.
As Roe put the latte on the bar and turned to walk to the register, Dean walked out of the back. I felt my heart jump in my chest, and I didn’t know if it was because it had been seven days since I’d seen him or because of this economics assignment. They were equal distance from the register when Dean said he could take it.
“What can I get you two?”
Immediately everything I’d been planning went out of my head. I shoved Lindy forward, surprising both of us. She recovered from her shock quickly, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
“Hi,” she said, flashing a smile worthy of a beauty queen at him.
I narrowed my eyes at her, annoyed she was going to flirt with him and she didn’t even recognize him as the guy she’d just met a week ago.
“Can I get a nonfat half caff white chocolate mocha with no whip?”
“Sure. Do you want whipped cream?” he asked, barely even glancing at her as he wrote on her cup.
“You know, actually I do,” she said with a light laugh. “You must be a mind reader.”
He looked at her and then me with the faintest trace of confusion.
“Right,” he said, punching her order in the register. “Is that all?”
“Actually, I was wondering if you could do me a favor?” she said in a sticky sweet voice that made me want to shove her again.
I couldn’t believe she didn’t even remember she’d met him. Even if he was wearing a black sweater and black jeans, he still had his unmistakable hand tattoo, his collarbone tattoo peeking out from the hem of his shirt, his earrings, his tousled hair, his rich, sparkling eyes. She was so focused on getting what she wanted, wanting to cross this off her to-do list in a rush, she wasn’t even paying attention to what was in front of her.
Dean glanced at me again before looking at her. “What’s the favor?”
“Is there any way I could have a discount on this order?” she asked, twirling a strand of her hair and cocking her head.
I couldn’t believe this. I rolled my eyes.
He shrugged. “Sure, I can give you a dollar off.”
Lindy turned to me as he rang up her card, looking like she’d won an impressive battle, when really I knew Dean just didn’t care.
She walked away to wait by the bar, and I stepped up, taking a deep breath. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he said and smiled. “Do you want your usual?”
“Um,” I said, feeling awkward and nervous for too many reasons. So I hadn’t planned to say what I said next, “I was actually thinking of trying something different.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Okay, cool, like what?”
“What do most people order if they don’t get black coffee?”
He laughed. “Why are you going to get something different if it’s just to get the same thing everyone else gets?”
I looked at him, having never thought about it that way. “Huh, I guess you’re right. Well, I guess I want to try a small mochaccino?”
He nodded, sliding my cup to the side, and punched in my order.
“$3.45.”
I took another breath, already distracted from why I was here.
“Do you think I could get a discount?” I asked, not sounding nearly as confident as Lindy had when she’d flirted with him.
“A discount?”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding, reminding myself this wasn’t real life like Lindy said. Dean and I didn’t have to have some grand discussion about how we’d left things seven days ago.
This was just a coffee transaction.
He was just my barista.
“Like the one you gave my friend.”
He looked at me with that focused expression reserved for when he was really paying attention, really taking something in.
“Sorry,” he said after a second. “I’ve already given away too many free coffees this semester to one of my regulars.”
I felt the beginning of a smile forming on my face.
“Are you serious?”
He nodded, smirking. “Yeah, I don’t think I can do two discounts in a row.”
I glanced at Lindy who was on her phone, not paying attention.
“You know,” I said, leaning forward slightly, “I’ve heard sometimes it pays to break the rules.”
He smiled, shrugging. “That’s weird, I’ve heard the opposite.”
I shook my head, smiling. I couldn’t believe I’d thought things would hav
e been weird between us.
“As a regular, I don’t feel like I’m being treated fairly.”
“Such a princess,” he said, pouting at me.
I laughed out loud, not caring if Lindy was watching.
“What time do you get off?” I asked as if I didn’t already know.
“Do you ask all your baristas that?”
I smiled. “No, just you.”
“I’ll see you at 10 then,” he said as Roe called my name, my drink already on the bar. I looked at Dean, and he shrugged, stepping away from the register. “On the house. Tell your friend your flirting was better.”
★☽★★☽
A year ago, Michael and I sat across from each other at the campus coffee shop at our usual table. It was the best one, in the back corner, with a perfect view of the door and the clock. The one where if we sat there long enough, I could watch the sunset over his shoulder, the sky turning a beautiful pink and orange, as he talked.
It was easy to tune him out since I knew his cues so well.
If he touched my hand, he wanted me to agree with whatever he said. If he tapped his fingers on the table, he was annoyed so I should actually listen. And if he leaned back in his chair, he wanted us to leave. It meant he had decided it was time to go back to his place or to a dinner where he’d already reserved a table, not bothering to ask me what I wanted in advance.
But this moment, almost exactly a year ago, was different. Finals were one week away, and we were both stressed, not really talking to each other because when we were stressed, we would fight.
Despite our perfect facade to the rest of the world, Michael and I would fight constantly, shouting at each other in our cars, slamming doors, storming away, always at odds. Sometimes I would start it, making a snarky comment just to get under his skin, or he would say just the right thing that would make me snap, usually comparing me to my sister or casually mentioning something he knew would hurt my feelings that my dad had said about me to him at the golf course.
When things were good, we would work together to impress our parents, Krista, Kyle, and our professors, determined to be the absolute best. When things were good, they were so good because we were essentially the same person with the same goals, an almost identical way of doing things and seeing the world.
When things were bad, we would take that fierce competitiveness out on each other, and sometimes that felt so good, too, just like most destructive habits do.
That day, almost a year ago, was a bad day.
We’d just had family dinner with my parents the night before, and the topic of our future plans had come up.
Kyle and Krista were a year out of college, having graduated at the top of their class, their future completely and totally mapped out. They probably even knew that five months later, they would get engaged on October 7, but they hadn’t shared that part with the rest of us over pot roast. Instead, they talked about how they eventually would get engaged, where they would live together after, even how many kids they wanted once they turned 30.
“And what about you two?” Mom asked, loving this little future planning game.
I glanced at Dad. He was listening closely, probably taking mental notes to hold us to what we’d say.
Before I could answer, Michael spoke, “Well, my grandmother has always said I could have her family ring right after graduation. Only if I graduate with top honors, of course,” he added with a laugh, one I knew as bitter, one my parents heard as charming. “So, realistically, we could plan on getting engaged almost right after graduation, right, Skylar? Maybe in June.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Michael asked 22 hours later, looking at me across the table.
“Why did you say that last night?” I snapped. “Why did you basically commit me to marrying you in two years? You know my parents don’t take that sort of stuff lightly.”
He scowled at me, annoyed, not bothering to respond.
I sighed loudly, knowing he hated when I did that.
“What’s the big deal? You certainly weren’t going to say anything. You were just sitting there looking shellshocked, waiting on me to say something so you didn’t look unprepared in front of your dad.”
I ignored his dig, focusing on his question instead. “The big deal is, we have never talked about getting engaged. I don’t even know if I want to get married. I’ve never even thought about it. I didn’t even know about this whole family ring thing. You think your dad would really give you something so treasured?”
“Of course you want to get engaged,” he said with an eye roll, dodging the insult I’d thrown back at him. “We’ve always said that we were going to attend the same school, you graduate and work at Krista’s firm, and I go to law school. So of course we’d get married after. That’s the plan, Skylar.”
I shook my head, refusing to believe that was true.
He rolled his eyes at me again. “That’s what people do. Why are you being so difficult?”
“I’m not being difficult. I just don’t know if that’s what I want.”
I felt myself getting flustered, like I was admitting a secret I’d kept from everyone, and they all would judge me if I said it out loud. I just wasn’t sure. I didn’t know what I wanted yet. This feeling was familiar, the same feeling when I was about to step on stage, following in Krista’s footsteps, everyone staring at me, expecting me to be just like her, my chest growing tight, not sure how to tell everyone I wanted to get away, that this wasn’t what I’d chosen for myself.
He tapped his fingers on the table, growing more irritated.
“You really mean to tell me that you don’t want the same thing your parents want for you? What Krista has or will have? Don’t be so irrational,” he said, scowling at me before glancing at his watch. “Come on, we need to leave. We have dinner reservations.”
He stood, waiting on me.
“No,” I said, not moving.
He rolled his eyes. “Skylar, stop. We don’t want to be late.”
“I’m not going with you,” I said, keeping my gaze focused on the untouched iced caramel latte he’d ordered for me.
He glanced around the crowded coffee shop, and I knew this pissed him off more than anything, looking foolish in front of people.
“You’re embarrassing me. And people are looking at us,” he said, reaching for my hand.
I felt the heat rise in my face as I realized he was right. At some point, our voices had grown louder, and a few people had glanced our way. I stood, crossing my arms over my chest, jerking away from him, knowing that would make him even madder. We left, our coffees still on the table, ignoring the barista’s goodbye, walking to his car in a fury.
As soon as we got in the car, we started shouting at each other, saying all the terrible things we thought about the other. I told him he sucked, his dad was right to think he wouldn’t be successful, he was boring, and if my parents didn’t like him so much, I would have dumped him a long time ago. He told me I was difficult, if I wasn’t so pretty, he wouldn’t have stuck around this long either, and we were only together because of our parents.
“Why can’t you just be a good girlfriend?” he asked, his voice loud and frustrated. “Why do you have to make things so hard? It’s like you enjoy being complicated. It’s not interesting to be complex, you know? No one is going to give you more attention because you’re trying hard to be different.”
“You’re a terrible boyfriend,” I shouted back. “You think you’re so perfect, but you’re not. You aren’t,” I said, mad at myself for the tears that formed in my eyes.
He rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, now you’re crying? Geez, Skylar, get it together. You’re a lot of things, but you aren’t weak. What is wrong with you?”
We shouted at each other the whole way to the restaurant, our favorite place, both of us getting out of the car, slamming the doors, furious we were five minutes late. I took a deep breath, smoothing my hair, and he put on a sports coat, looking me up and down.
&
nbsp; “Are you ready?”
I nodded, taking another breath, glancing at my reflection in his car window, making sure I looked okay.
“You look beautiful,” he said, meaning it even though he was still annoyed. I took his hand, and we walked in, guided to our favorite table, sitting across from each other, smiling those fake smiles we knew so well, pretending everything was perfect.
★☽★★☽
“This doesn’t have mass appeal,” Lindy said skeptically, looking at the vegan muffins I’d sat down on the table in the quad.
I shrugged. “I don’t care.”
She stared at me, unable to believe what I’d said. I laughed, kind of unable to believe it either.
“At least I brought something. Plus, the cookies I made aren’t vegan,” I said with a smile, putting my arm around her as she tried to wriggle away. “Come on, Lindy, it’s a beautiful spring day, and it’s the beginning of finals week. Just chill.”
She stared at me, stepping away and looking at the vegan muffins again. “Okay, this is positively terrifying. Who are you?”
I laughed, shrugging, thinking of the night before.
It had started with Dean and I unable to get enough of each other after seven days apart. Afterward, lying on the bed upside down, he looked at the bags I’d placed on his kitchen island. “What is that stuff?”
“Oh,” I said, laughing. “It’s stupid. I was wondering if I could use your oven? I have to bake muffins and cookies for SGA to hand out in the quad tomorrow as a pick-me-up for the start of finals.”
He laughed. “You know, most people don’t plan post-hookup activities,” he said, watching me as I walked to his kitchen to pull out my ingredients.
“I thought you didn’t like doing what most people do,” I said, turning on his oven and rummaging in his cabinets for a bowl.
“Fair point,” he said, walking to me, shirtless in distressed jeans.
I bit my lip and looked away, trying to focus on the task at hand, having completely forgotten what I was even supposed to be doing.
“Here, let me help you,” he said, reaching for a mixing bowl that had been right in front of me. “What can I do?”
A Guy Like Him Page 21