Some of the tension eased between us. At least it eased out of him and I hoped I faked it.
“Just wait ’til Pickles is older,” I said, taking advantage of the lightened mood. “She won’t approve of anyone you bring home. Ever.”
He threw a flattened box onto the growing pile. “You never know. She might.”
I was dying to know about Heather. This time the words blundered from me before I could stop them. “So…if she’s not your girl, then Homecoming was…?” The question hung in the air for an eternity.
“What those dances always are. Homecoming, prom, all that crap. Overpriced dinner. Dirty dancing. Drunken puking all over my tux and my car.”
“Oh,” I breathed. “I’m sorry, Lucas. That sucks.”
He loomed over me, his expression impossible to read. But any echo of laughter was gone, thanks to my inquisition. Why did I always talk too much around him? His hand grazed mine as he took the box I’d forgotten I was holding. He sliced into it while he spoke. “It wasn’t the first time. That’s why she’s not my girl. But I promised her I’d go to Homecoming a long time ago, and I didn’t want her to end up without a date.”
Like she wouldn’t be able to find another date. I wanted to roll my eyes at him, but restrained myself. I’d already done enough damage.
He tossed the box on the pile and tilted his head. “So, Darcy. How was your weekend? What did you do besides watch sappy movies about guys named Hubbell and their lovely girls?”
A tiny smile quirked his lips. I took it as a peace offering.
“There was puking in my weekend, too. But it was just Toby. He got into some moldy garbage.”
“Is he okay?”
At last my eyes were free to roll. “Your dog is fine.”
His smile returned. “Good. I’d hate to have to call the authorities. Or the vet.”
“Ha. No need for that. Most of the time Toby has a cast iron stomach.”
Lucas glanced at me. “So do I.”
“So you’re like Iron Man?”
He shook his head in disgust. “Iron Man had iron in his chest, not his stomach. I know you don’t read comics, but didn’t you see the movie? C’mon Shaker Girl, keep up.”
“You think you can out-geek me?” I challenged.
He pointed to his retro Ninja Turtles T-shirt. “No contest. I win.”
I pointed to his pocket knife as he cut into another box. “Speaking of geeks, is that Boy Scout issued?”
He grinned. “Salvation Army store. Way cooler than Scouts.” As he leaned over to grab more boxes, I snuck a glance at his butt. I couldn’t help myself. “My weekend wasn’t a total loss,” Lucas said, tossing me another box, which I caught one-handed. “Nice catch.”
“What was the good part?”
“Yesterday I took Pickles to see some weird movie about punk fairies packing pink swords.”
I gasped. “You saw the Fierce Firestorm movie?”
He laughed. “You are a geek. So you’re a Firestorm fan?”
“Duh.”
“Wish I’d known.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So I could’ve taken her and spared you the agony?”
“No,” he said. “So we could’ve gone together and shared the pain.”
What was happening here? This wasn’t flirting, was it? No, it couldn’t possibly be. Just because Heather wasn’t his girl didn’t change anything. This was what we always did. Witty repartee was our thing, like Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, speaking of Iron Man. Minus the kissing.
Lucas put his hands on hips and cocked his head. “I think I’d like that coffee now.”
I searched his face for signs of any new feelings toward me. What the heck did I think I’d see? Cartoon hearts instead of eyeballs? I was being idiotic. If he’d wanted to ask me out, he could have done it any time since he and Heather broke up. I tossed my box on the pile. “One extra dry, triple-shot coming right up.” I wiped my hands on my jeans as I left the storeroom.
Liz’s shop was quiet and peaceful. I made our drinks quickly but took a moment to calm my nerves before I went back. I spotted a few beads on the floor. I still found them sometimes when I swept, even though it had been ages since the Pickles incident.
I bent to pick them up. One was small, perfectly smooth and dark green. The other was a mosaic, a riot of colors. They rested in my palm. I was the green one, understated and easily overlooked. Lucas was the blast of colors, drawing admirers like moths to a flame.
I shoved the beads in my pocket, reminding myself I needed to keep my feelings for Lucas tucked safely away. I had to focus on reality. There were boxes to pack. Dogs to feed. Moms to sober up.
Lucas and I spent the next hour breaking down boxes and joking around. Coffee perked him up, and by the time the last box was on the pile, all traces of his earlier irritability had vanished. As he tossed the boxes into the back of my truck, he caught me eyeing his tattoo. I’d never been able to get a full view of it, since only part of it peeked out from under the sleeves of his T-shirts. With the change in weather, he normally wore long sleeves these days or covered up with a fleece jacket. The T-shirt showed off those biceps and his ink.
He leaned against my truck, looking very bad-boy cool. “You’re wondering what it is, right?” he asked, as he pushed up his sleeve.
So much for me trying to be subtle. “It’s…uh…it’s none of my business…”
“It’s okay, Darcy. It’s not a gang symbol.” He hesitated. “Or a naked girl.” I heard the smirk in his voice and laughed nervously, leaning in to study the tattoo, careful not to look at his face.
The characters looked like Japanese calligraphy. “What does it mean?” I asked quietly. I had a desperate need to reach out and trace the ink. I raised my eyes to his, hoping they didn’t betray my desire.
“It’s the Kanji symbols for ‘live for today.’” He paused, smiling. “At least, I hope that’s what it is. I hope Eddie at Inkheart didn’t mess with me.”
I nodded, willing myself to relax, be witty. “Right,” I agreed. “Maybe it says ‘I love Hello Kitty.’”
He grinned. “But I do love Hello Kitty. Pickles can vouch for me.”
We laughed together. I swallowed and glanced down the alley, needing to break eye contact.
“Anyway,” he said, his voice low. “I got it after my mom had been gone for a year, to remind myself I couldn’t live in the past anymore, hoping for what was. To remind me that all I’ve got is today.” He pulled his sleeve down and shrugged, almost embarrassed. “Some people think it’s lame.”
I frowned at him. “I don’t think so. I think it’s…meaningful.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled. He tossed the last of the boxes into the back of the truck.
I climbed in and started the engine. He frowned as the Reaper roared to life.
“You need to get this beast worked on,” he called to me over the roar of the engine. He pointed to the blue smoke coming out of the tail pipe.
“I know,” I said. “After the estate sale. I’ll have money then.”
I started to roll up the window but stopped when he stepped closer, his face even with mine. “I can work on it now. You can pay me for parts later.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, swallowing nervously.
He rested his arms on the doorframe, a hint of a smile on his sexy lips. “I know I don’t have to. But maybe I want to.”
“Oh.” I swallowed again, wishing I’d grabbed a water bottle from Charlie’s fridge.
He stepped back, slapping the door of my truck like a quarterback slapping a receiver after a catch. “Let me know if you change your mind, Darcy. You can call me anytime. If this breaks down or whatever.”
“Right. Like you’d come running at three a.m.” Oh crap. I’d used my outside voice, hadn’t I? Damn, damn, damn it. I bit my lip, watching him nervously, wishing I could take it back.
He looked startled, but then he smiled in a
way I’d never seen before. “For you? Yeah.”
Then he turned away, disappearing into Charlie’s store before I could even catch my breath.
Chapter Twenty
November 11
I’d barely started my shift at Liz’s on Tuesday when Lucas showed up.
“Hey, Shaker Girl,” he said, leaning on the counter while I cleaned coffee mugs.
“Hey.” I glanced up and smiled. I wanted to give him a nickname too, but the only ones I came up with I’d never say out loud. His Royal Hotness, Lord Lucas didn’t have quite the same bounce as Shaker Girl.
“So.” He cleared his throat. “Are you doing anything after work tonight?”
The mug slipped from my hands, clattering into the sink but not breaking. I reached for it, trying to compose myself before I dared to look at him.
“Because Pickles needs a babysitter,” he continued, “and I, um, have plans. And my dad actually has a date, which is good. Weird but good. He’s waiting ’til I get home before he leaves.”
I looked up. The butterflies in my stomach turned into an angry knot. He wanted me to babysit while he went on a date? And his dad, too? That teeny tiny flame of hope I’d had about us snuffed out.
“How late are the Martinez men going to be out on the town?” I asked, trying to sound snarktastic, like I didn’t care that he only saw me as babysitter material.
We stared at each other and I was proud of myself for keeping my gaze locked on his. I didn’t blink, but he did. “I, uh…” He reached up to run a hand through his stupidly perfect hair and glanced away. “I’m not s-sure.”
It was fun watching him stammer. I was glad he could tell I was pissed, and that it rattled him.
“I don’t know, Lucas. This is really last minute.” Asking me to babysit was like him throwing me an eighty-yard pass, pushing me so deep into the friend zone I’d never get out.
His frown faded, but he didn’t smile. “Yeah. I know it’s a lot to ask but—”
“But you have a hot date,” I said. “And so does your dad.” And of course it wouldn’t occur to him that I might, since I never did.
He pushed off the counter, shoving his hands in his pockets. He stared at the floor. “No, I don’t,” he said. “But I have to do something after work. I’m not sure how long it will take.” He looked up at me and swallowed. “Look, I shouldn’t have asked. You’ve probably got plans—”
“I don’t.” Somehow him not having a date changed everything. “I can do it.”
He blinked again. “You can? Really?” I wondered how many girls said yes to him because of those damn eyelashes.
“If I can leave by one, it’s probably okay,” I said. “Pickles and I can make jewelry together.”
His lips quirked. “She’s usually asleep by eight thirty.”
Oh. My turn to feel stupid. “Of course,” I said, reaching for another cup to wash. “So I’m just hanging out at your house? In case of a secret ninja attack? How much do you pay?” His shocked expression made me laugh. “I’m kidding, dork. I don’t expect payment. I’ve got a book to read.” I cocked an eyebrow. “And I assume you have a TV?”
“Books. TV. We have one. Both, I mean. Books and TV.” He stepped back from the counter, stuttering and staring at me like I was an alien. Or a psycho. Possibly both.
I frowned, confused. “You okay, Lucas? You’re acting sort of weird.”
He nodded. “I’ll meet you after work. You can follow me to my house.”
To the ends of the earth and back, Your Royal Hotness, that’s how far I’d follow you. But all I said was, “Sure. See you then.”
“Guess where I am?” I said the second Sal answered her phone.
“Paris? Rome? Somewhere with a sexy guy?”
“Close. I’m in Lucas’s bedroom.”
“What?!” Her shriek almost broke my eardrum.
I giggled into the phone. “Check it out.” I snapped a quick photo of his bed and texted it to her.
“Oh my God, Darcy! What the hell are you doing?”
“Babysitting.”
She snorted. “I haven’t heard it called that before.”
“Honestly, that’s all I’m doing. Lucas and his dad are gone, so I’m here taking care of his little sister.” I paused. “Except she’s sleeping, so there’s nothing to do but snoop around.”
“That’s just wrong, Darcy. What if he catches you?”
“I know it’s wrong but I can’t resist. And he won’t. He said he’d be a couple of hours.”
She sighed in my ear. “So he’s out hooking up with some other girl and you’re being a pathetic stalker taking pictures of his room.”
I leaned back in his desk chair, looking around. His room wasn’t a total disaster. The bed was made, and there was just one small pile of clothes on the floor. So far I’d resisted the urge to bury my nose in it.
“He’s not hooking up. He told me he had something to do, but it wasn’t a date.”
“Wait a minute. He specifically told you he didn’t have a date?”
“Yeah.” I spun his chair around to examine his desk. Lots of fat textbooks. A pile of notebooks. A stick-figure drawing by Pickles. A stack of comic books.
“Interesting,” Sal said, her voice full of innuendo.
It was my turn to snort. “He only told me so I’d do this. At first I thought he had a date, and I freaked him out because I let my claws out.” I spun the chair again, surveying his walls. I propped my feet on his bed. A couple of muscle car posters and all the Denver sports teams, but no half-naked girls. Maybe Mr. College Boy had outgrown that phase.
I considered Pickles sleeping in the next room. Or maybe he was just a really good guy, who thought about what his sister would see when she busted into his room, which I assumed she did, probably every day.
“This has got to be the weirdest first date ever,” Sal said.
My feet slammed to the floor. “Wait, what?”
She laughed in my ear. “Okay, it’s not a date. But it’s something.”
“Yeah. It’s called babysitting.” I glanced at his bookcase, which held way more video games than books. A couple of framed photos claimed the prime spot: center shelf. I stood up to go inspect them.
“Anyway,” I said. “You always give me crap for not doing anything fun. I thought you’d think this was funny, me being in a guy’s bedroom minus the guy.” I leaned in to examine the photos. A much younger Lucas. A guy who must be his dad. And a pretty woman who had his eyes. His mom. Him and Pickles with Santa, looking ridiculously adorable together, especially because he was taller than the Santa.
“It is funny,” Sal said. “I’m glad you called.” She paused. “Where does your mom think you are?”
“With you, of course.” I’d texted Mom that I was with Sal, but she hadn’t replied. I knew she was already in her wine coma.
“I got your back, girl,” Sal said, then laughed suggestively. “I bet if you wanted to, you could end up in that bed later tonight. With him.”
“Sal!” I gasped and straightened, scurrying out of the bedroom as if that would somehow undo what she’d said. “You’re totally misreading the situation,” I insisted. I went back to the small living room and flopped onto the couch. I wondered where Lucas always sat. Was it in the corner I’d chosen? Or maybe the other one. God, I was insane.
“How ’bout you call me tomorrow?” she said. “Let me know how this bizzaro undate night ends up.”
I took a deep breath, looking around the cozy living room, so unlike our enormous one we never used. “Yeah, sure.”
After we hung up, I pulled out my novel. Reading a romance in Lucas’s house felt weird. Sort of risky. But also exciting. I kicked off my shoes and wrapped myself in a faded afghan, burrowing into it. I was tempted to sniff it to see if I could catch his scent, but decided I’d already gone Stalkers R Us by taking a picture of his bedroom.
I read for a long time, flinching occas
ionally as unfamiliar creaks sounded throughout his house. The wind howled outside, but I felt safe, like he was there with me. Ridiculous. I refocused on my book boyfriend, pushing away thoughts of Lucas and whatever non-dating activities he was up to.
My eyes grew heavy as I read the same paragraph over and over. I curled deeper into the blanket. Maybe I’d take a catnap…just for a little bit…
“Darcy.” A voice trickled into my dream. I danced in an elegant ballroom, the light from hundreds of crystal chandeliers glinting off the charming duke who spun me around. I danced like I’d been born to do it—graceful and light on my feet, no tripping or stumbling.
“You’re beautiful,” said my dance partner. Lord Martinez was regal in his evening clothes. I knew I was the luckiest girl in the room.
“Thank you,” said my dream self. Not, “Shut up!” Or “As if!” I smiled into his eyes and he leaned closer. “I want something, Darcy,” he whispered, his breath tickling my dream ear. “Something only you can give me.”
I felt something on my cheek. On my hair. Something warm. Solid. That didn’t make sense; we were dancing. He had one at my waist and held my hand with the other. Who was touching my face, my hair?
“What?” I asked, twisting and turning. I lost my footing, stumbling against the duke. “What do you want from me, Lucas?”
“Darcy?” The hand moved from my hair to my shoulder, shaking me gently. “You need to wake up.”
My eyes flew open. Lucas sat next to me on the couch. Like right next to me. Somehow while sleeping I’d stretched out my legs, and he sat on the middle cushion, my body almost wrapped around him.
I leaned into the back of the couch, trying to put space between us. He dropped his hand from my shoulder. How long had he been sitting there watching me sleep? Was it his hand I’d felt on my face? In my hair? Or was that part of the dream?
He smiled down at me and I wondered if I was still dreaming.
“What did you mean?” he said. I looked at him blankly and he added, “You asked me what I wanted.”
Of all the nights to talk in my sleep. Crap.
“Um, what?” I feigned confusion and rubbed my eyes. “I guess I was dreaming.”
How (Not) to Fall in Love Page 16