He hasn’t kissed me since that night at Pinot Noir. We’ve been too busy talking, I guess, exploring each other’s secrets. And okay, a few times I’ve been tempted. Sometimes when we’re sitting side by side in the sand, a companionable silence nestled between us, I’ve wondered what he’d do if I just reached out and pulled him to me. I guess I haven’t because I’m scared that introducing all the physical stuff might interfere with the friendship growing between us. Right now hanging out feels so natural—easier and more satisfying than my days with Cody ever did. If we start adding kisses to that equation, can we still be together with this effortless grace, or will things get all messy and confusing? I suspect it might be worth the risk, though, if that one kiss was any indication.
Right now, I can see by the set of his jaw he’s going to throw caution to the wind. He rests his hands on my shoulders; the warm pressure of his fingers through my sweater feels so good I find myself edging closer, turning my face toward his. Just as he starts leaning into me, though, a rogue wave slams up the beach, soaking our pant legs and sending us scrambling for dry land. We’re shivering with cold as we head toward the warm, dry Rolls.
Stupid wave.
It’s dark when Attila and Jack drop me off at home. My pant legs are still a little damp from our romantic-moment-turned-near-death-experience. I’m eager for a sauna and a hot shower. I walk to my yurt, smiling a private, dreamy smile. I don’t even notice there’s someone sitting on my porch in the twilight until his voice makes me freeze.
“Hey, Dakota.”
My head jerks up, startled. There’s Cody, getting to his feet, his face frozen in a nervous smile.
Be nervous, I think. Be very nervous, you dick.
Cody’s cute in a nerdy way. He’s not tall and brooding like Jack or all slick and coiffed like Miles; he’s more the skinny, funny, super intelligent art-boy you feel sorry for and find adorable at the same time. He’s got self-deprecating sweetness dialed; it’s practically an Olympic sport for him. I guess that’s why seeing him for the first time since Christmas, I feel both angry and not angry. I can’t decide whether to slap him or invite him in for a cup of chai.
Totally confusing.
“I didn’t expect a warm welcome.” He peeks out from under his lashes. “But maybe you could say something.”
“What are you doing here?” I finally manage.
“Um, well, I finished with my finals a little early, and I really miss you. I haven’t heard from you, so I figured my best shot at getting you back was to come here immediately and grovel.” He shrugs. “That’s pretty much it.”
“Cody…” I sigh. “You can’t do that.”
“Can’t do what?”
“You can’t show up here out of the blue and expect me to act like everything’s okay.”
“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “I fully expect you to beat me within an inch of my life before you even consider taking me back.”
“It’s not funny.” I force myself to sound stern. “You really hurt me.”
He looks at his shoes. “I know.”
“Plus you totally messed with my college plans—you understand that, right? I got my acceptance to RISD the same day River emailed me about…” I trail off, unsure of what to call the thing they did. She made it sound like they were in a relationship, whereas he made it sound like a random hookup. Did one of them lie, or did they just have very different ideas about what it all meant?
“Wow! You got in.” Cody completely bypasses the point of my little tirade and focuses on the good news. “I knew you would. Obviously. I mean I got in, and you’re way more talented than I am.”
I scowl at him. “I probably won’t go because of this.”
“No!” He grabs his head, like this news causes him physical pain. “Don’t say that! You’re being ridiculous. You’re not going to let a stupid, random kiss ruin your future, are you?”
“River made it sound like you guys were destined to be together!” My voice rises in frustration. “I don’t want to be around that.”
He looks up at the sky. “It meant nothing, Dakota.”
“Then why did you do it?” I grind out through clenched teeth.
He gives a helpless little one-shoulder shrug. “I don’t know. I was drunk, I was lonely, I was stupid. If I could undo it, I swear I would.”
“Except you can’t.” I reach for the doorknob.
He puts a hand on my shoulder. I shake it off, irritated. How dare he touch me? I can’t help but notice how invasive his touch feels right now, unwelcome. An hour ago Jack’s hand on my shoulder felt like a balm, like the thing I craved more than anything.
“Let me come back tomorrow,” Cody says in a meek voice.
“No.” A new thought occurs to me, and I feel like someone’s plunged a knife into my stomach. As much as I want to end this conversation, I have to ask. “Is River home, too?”
He shakes his head. “No. Not yet.”
Relief washes over me. I never would have thought I’d be so happy not to see my best friend. That’s just sad. I wonder if I’ll ever feel like seeing her again.
“It’s not just us you messed with,” I say, tears stinging at my eyes. “My friendship with her is probably screwed up forever.”
His eyes glisten with tears, too, but I don’t care. I want him to hurt.
“I know I screwed up,” he breathes. “Believe me. I know.”
“Then stop trying to make me forgive you.”
He holds up both hands. “Understood. You need space. But I’m not giving up.”
“Go home, Cody.” I feel very tired suddenly.
“For now. Good night.” Then he steps down off the porch and heads toward his car, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Watching him go, I can’t help thinking that in just a few days I’ve told Jack more about what really matters to me than I ever told Cody. Cody and I come from the same world—hippie parents, tofu since birth, secondhand clothes, all that. Jack and I couldn’t be more different in our backgrounds, yet we seem to connect on a level Cody and I never even approached. I used to think Cody and I were close, but now I see we were just comfortable. He didn’t challenge me or draw secrets from my depths. He didn’t make my heart race with a sideways glance.
Because he isn’t Jack.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jack
Friday, I text Dakota to see if she wants to go to the beach again. I play at the restaurant tonight, so it will have to be a little earlier than usual, but I still want to go. We’ve fallen into a rhythm: Attila and I pick her up around two every day, and we walk on the beach until after sunset. I always have Felix pack a picnic basket with meat and cheese and good bread, fresh fruit, chocolate, that sort of thing. Walking in the sand for hours can make you hungry. Plus I love to watch her devour everything, licking her fingers, totally unselfconscious.
When she texts me back saying she can’t hang out, my spirits plummet. I know I’m probably overreacting, but I can’t ignore the anxiety that sits cold and heavy in my gut. Everything’s been so perfect until now. I wonder what’s changed. Somehow, though, I know it has changed, the way you know the sun’s gone behind the clouds even with your eyes closed.
I drag myself through hours of rehearsal though my fingers feel sluggish and clumsy. Then I retreat to my bedroom with a book, unable to muster the energy for a workout. Someone knocks on my bedroom door a little after one. I don’t feel like dealing with whoever it is, but I can hardly pretend I’m not here.
“Yeah?”
Attila opens the door, looking confused. “We don’t go to the beach?”
“No. She can’t.” I turn back to my book, conversation over, but he lingers.
“Why not?”
I sigh and stand up. Maybe retreating isn’t my best course of action right now. Maybe I need to be around people. “I don’t know, but I feel like something’s wrong. Is Joaquin around?”
“He is still at the high school, no?”
“Le
t’s go get him,” I say, grabbing my sweatshirt.
Joaquin looks surprised to see us parked outside the school. As usual, though, he takes it in stride. A bunch of students have gathered around the car, gawking. He gently nudges them aside and climbs into the backseat. He wears mirrored sunglasses; after he closes the door he props his glasses on top of his head and gives me a long, assessing look.
“What’s up, Sauvage? You look like someone died.”
“I don’t know. She’s just…I feel like something happened—something bad.”
“Where do we go?” Attila asks, starting the car.
“I’m starving,” Joaquin says. “You guys want to grab a burger?”
“I don’t think I can eat, but if you’re hungry, that’s cool.”
“I can eat,” Attila announces. “I can eat like a horse.”
“You can eat a horse,” Joaquin corrects him.
“That too.”
Joaquin directs us to a little burger joint on the outskirts of town. There are picnic tables scattered outside. We find one in the sun and take a seat. Attila and Joaquin both dig in. I just sip my soda, unable to work up an appetite even with the delicious smell of fries and grilled meat hanging in the air.
“So what’s all this?” Joaquin asks between bites. “You’ve been so happy all week and suddenly you’re like walking gloom.”
I try to find words for the dread coagulating inside me ever since I got her text. “You ever just have a feeling? It’s not logical, but you know something’s wrong?”
“Sure. You’ve got that?”
I nod. “Maybe she’s figured it out.”
“Figured what out?” Attila looks puzzled.
“The whole thing—that I’m really Alejandro and I lied to her.”
Joaquin makes a sound in this throat. “No way! How could she guess that?”
“Maybe she’s just…” I hesitate, worried that I sound paranoid, “I don’t know, intuited that I’m not being totally honest with her.”
They look at me like I’m crazy.
“What?” I say, sounding defensive even to myself. “That could happen. The better she knows me, the more she can see I’m hiding something.”
Attila shakes his head. “I don’t go on your beach walks, but I’m with you in the car, and I do not think she ‘intuits’ anything. She likes you. I can tell.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” I’m not convinced, though.
“You’re not actually going to tell her, are you?” Joaquin’s voice says clearly what he thinks of this idea.
“Maybe I should. She might be mad for a day or two, but after that…” I trail off.
They’re both wearing matching scowls.
“Okay, maybe not,” I concede.
Joaquin slaps me on the back. “You’re just getting nervous because everything’s going so well. Give her space. She can’t hang out with you every single day. Where’s your sense of mystery?”
“I don’t want mystery.” I steal one of his fries and stuff it into my mouth. “I want her.”
“And you’ve pretty much got her,” he assures me.
“Hardly!”
“They have not even kissed,” Attila reports solemnly.
I shoot him a dark look. “Hey! That’s not true.”
“Not on my watch,” he replies with an arched brow.
“Just because I don’t make out with her in the car—which would be creepy, by the way, with you driving—doesn’t mean I’ve never kissed her.”
“You treat her like a breakable thing,” he says cryptically.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Stop bickering, you two. You sound like an old married couple.” Joaquin finishes his burger and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “You’re totally closing in. Just don’t get all needy. That’s deadly.”
I want to believe him. I really do. But some part of me knows it’s not going to be that easy.
…
Dakota
I decide I can’t go to the beach with Jack on Friday. I need a boy-free day to sort through my feelings. Cody’s arrival has totally shaken me up. Yes, he’s a jerk, and everything that’s happened between us in the last two months has completely destroyed my trust in him. On the other hand, he’s the first guy I ever kissed, and he is sorry, and I don’t think what happened between River and him was quite as sordid as I first imagined.
Seeing him last night confused me, but I can’t deny it also helped mend my shattered ego just a little. After he got together with River and didn’t even bother to call and break up with me, I felt pretty disposable. Knowing he wants me back doesn’t erase the pain he inflicted, but at least now I get why he didn’t call—because he knew how badly he’d screwed up. It was cowardly and despicable, but it was never about me, and realizing that is kind of a relief.
God! Boys!
Right now I really wish I had a friend I could talk to about all this. Obviously River’s out of the question. Anya’s a good confidante, but she and Jo went camping in Santa Cruz for the weekend. Fran’s cool, but she’s pretty old. I’m not sure she’d get it. Besides, she’s such a dedicated writer; I wouldn’t feel right interrupting her work to ramble on about my messed up love life. I fiddle with my geisha sculpture, but I can’t seem to concentrate.
I hear someone playing guitar in the garden and look out the window to see who it is. Emily’s sitting in the long grass under the cherry tree, strumming away. I can tell she’s a beginner; she forms each chord with tentative fingers. Dad’s sitting beside her, reaching out now and then to demonstrate. She looks young and small beneath the riotous cloud of cherry blossoms, much of her body hidden by the overgrown grass. Dad watches her, a look of profound tenderness on his face. I can’t help noticing how happy they both look.
Maybe I’ve been too harsh in my judgment of her. Talking to Jack about my parents’ divorce, I can see I still have some pretty tangled feelings to sort out. Not that I’m going to make an appointment with Gandalf the Stinky to “process.” I can just tell there’s some lingering bitterness I didn’t want to acknowledge before. It might take me some time to bleed that poison from my system, but I’m starting to think it’s possible. Jack makes it so easy to talk about that stuff, and saying it out loud makes it seem less scary.
I suspect my lingering resentment about Mom has spilled over onto Emily in unfair ways. I can’t assume every woman my dad likes will screw him over. Of course, there’s no guarantee they’ll live happily ever after. Watching them side-by-side in the grass, though, I can’t help but think they have as good a shot as any of us at lasting love.
After a while, Dad goes inside and Emily lingers, practicing the chords he showed her. I decide to see what happens if I approach her with a little less attitude.
I walk outside, cross the garden, and head for the cherry tree. When I sit down beside her, she turns to me with a look of mild surprise.
“Hi,” I say simply.
She stops playing. “Hey. How’s it going?”
“I’m okay.” I slump against the tree.
“You seem kind of down,” she ventures.
“Guess I’m having guy trouble.”
“Oh, I see.” I can tell she’s pleased that I’ve provided her with an opening. It makes me feel a little guilty for being so stingy with her all this time. I’ve been about as warm and receptive as a block of ice.
“You know about Cody and River, right?” It’s kind of an awkward segue, but I figure I might as well dive right in. She was there the night I freaked out at Dad by the fire pit, blurting out my personal problems in front of everyone, so I figure she’s not completely clueless.
“Cody was your boyfriend?”
“Yeah.” I yank out a weed by the roots and start twirling it around my finger, wrapping it round and round like I’m dressing a wound. “He hooked up with my friend River in Rhode Island.”
She sets down the guitar carefully in the grass and hugs her knees, looking sympathetic. “That must have been
awful.”
“It sucked. But then I met a guy about a month ago. He’s great. I really like him a lot.”
“Miles?” She gives me a sly look.
“No. Someone else.”
“Okay,” she says, adjusting to this. “I’m with you so far.”
“So then Cody showed up last night and he wants me back and he says he only kissed River one time, they never slept together—and he is really sweet in his own way—but I don’t think I’m ready to forgive him. All I ever wanted was to go to RISD, but when everything happened with Cody and River, it’s like I got sent off on this other path, and now I don’t think I can turn back.”
“Why did you want to go to RISD so badly?” Her gaze is steady.
“I want to be an artist,” I say, like this should be obvious. “I figured they could teach me something about art and design.”
She thinks about this. “But now you don’t want that? What happened with Cody and River ruined your dreams of being an artist?”
“No! It’s not that. It’s more like it made me stop and think about other ways of becoming an artist.” I try to organize my thoughts, which are flitting haphazardly around in my head like a swarm of bats. “I’m afraid I’d be so miserable there I couldn’t concentrate.”
“Sometimes misery is good for art.”
I sigh. Dad wants me to stick to the plan, go to RISD, get a degree. Maybe Emily feels obligated to push that agenda too. “I’ll still go to art school. I’m not giving up on college. I just think traveling for a year could be good for me. I might learn something about myself and what I want to say before I go off and study how to say it.”
She listens intently, her expression grave. “Do you have money for travel?”
“A little.” The truth is I only have about five hundred dollars in my bank account, and even that’s not rock solid; the number gets smaller if I use too much gas or indulge in too many chai lattes. RISD’s pricey, but I’d planned on getting financial aid. I know I can’t expect Dad to pay for my travels; he doesn’t make much, and he’s not exactly wild about my plan anyway. I have vague ideas about working more hours and leaving as soon as I’ve saved enough, traveling super cheaply, maybe even finding work once I’m there. They’re just that, though—thinly constructed, fragile notions that fall apart under closer scrutiny.
The Truth About Jack (Entangled Crush) Page 16