by Judith Tewes
“I felt it. I feel it,” I blurted. “Forget the list. The list is shit, okay? And the last resort thing.” I sucked in a breath. “That was just there, at the top, because I knew how stupid this whole thing was. But it wasn’t about you. Because you changed everything.” I bounced on my feet, struggling to keep warm and fearing hypothermia was making me botch this. “And you made me feel all this stuff, crazy, scary, wonderful stuff.” I rubbed my arms with my hands. “I want to explain everything, I do, but I am as cold as fuck right now. Can we just go for a drive?”
Behind me, Mom called out from the front step, “Charlie, so what’s the deal? Are you eating with us, or not?”
Eric opened the passenger door, he raised a brow.
“Not,” I called back, breathless, and I slipped inside the car. As we pulled away, Mom waved, a smile playing on her lips.
We drove in silence for a few minutes while I held my fingers up to the vents in the dashboard. Fine tremors shook my shoulders.
“How are those feet of yours?” Eric adjusted the heater; soon warm air gusted from the lower vents as well. “Feel them yet?”
“Oh yeah,” I said on a sigh, pressing my toes directly over the heat. “That’s the shit.”
Eric shook his head. The movement had me staring at him, watching the smile that spread across his lips.
“What?”
“You. The way you talk.” He shrugged. “I like it. I never know what you’re going to say next.”
“Neither do I.”
He laughed.
“I’m serious. It’s the story of my life. I blurt, or react, or question, and then everything blows up in my face. You need to know that. I’ll do it again.”
“Hey, I’m no saint.” Eric made a smooth pass. “I don’t take criticism well, never have. It’s something I’m working on, getting past. I have to if I want to go into business on my own.”
“I think that’s why I want to be a writer.” I grinned. “You’re always your own boss.”
“You write?”
“Screenplays.” I nodded.
“Ah, that explains Bueller and the movie fixation.”
“There’s a lot we don’t know, isn’t there?”
“That’s part of the pull of it, don’t you think? Are we seriously going to try?” His fingers flexed around the wheel.
“I want to.” I swallowed back a rush of nerves. “Do you?”
“Yeah, absolutely. I’d always wonder if we didn’t.”
I pressed back against the headrest. “Me too.” I fidgeted with my seatbelt.
Eric shot me a sideways glance, then held out a hand. I placed my palm over his. Our fingers interlaced. I savored the warmth of his skin, the way he held gently rubbed his thumb along the back of my hand.
“You never did tell me about that vow of yours.” I shifted so I could take in his strong profile as he drove.
Eric began to laugh, inducing sympathetic snickers from me.
“What?” I asked, tightening my grip on his fingers. “Tell me already.”
He dipped his chin. “It’s a bit ironic.”
“I live for irony.”
“When I left rehab, I took a year-long vow of celibacy. I still have six months left to go.”
“A vow.”
“Of celibacy, yeah.” He turned his head to study me. “I’ve been worried about how to tell you.” His gaze held mine for a second too long. A car horn honked and he focused on the road. “Are you okay with it?”
“I’m more than okay. It’s perfect. Hilarious, but perfect.” And then I laughed. I laughed so hard, I cried, and I couldn’t stop for a long time. Laughing and sniffling, and making an ass of myself as we drove off into the…
There really should have been a sunset, but it had already set hours ago. Then again, that was my life.
Not quite according to the script.
About the Author
Judith Tewes - author and screenwriter - resides in small town northern Alberta, where she: writes, sings, plays bass guitar in an all-woman band, walks her three crazy labs, and suspects she's living the life of a superhero's alias. Her edgy, contemporary young adult fiction is full of heart with a side of snark. She also writes paranormal YA under the pen name, Judith Graves.
You can find her online at @judithtewes
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my critique partners who have read this book in its various forms and stages of readability. Whew, it’s finally done.
Thank you to Bloomsbury Spark and my editor, Meredith Rich, for taking a chance on the foul-mouthed Charlie (and me!).
And always, to my husband and our three labs – thanks for the love and all the crazy.
Bloomsbury Publishing, London, New Delhi, New York and Sydney
Copyright © 2014 by Judith Tewes
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means, (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
First published in June 2014
by Bloomsbury Spark, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.
www.bloomsbury.com
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
available upon request
ISBN 978-1-61963-538-8
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Cover design by Ashley Poston