by Sparling,Amy
Chapter 19
Mom is still pissed at me in the morning. She stomps around the house, being weird as shit. I’ve never seen her like this, but then again, I’ve never been caught sneaking out to meet a guy before.
Dana goes home at seven in the morning, claiming she has a lot of homework to do, but I’m pretty sure she just wants to get away from my mother who is partially mad at Dana too, for agreeing to be my lookout.
By nine in the morning, I can’t take it anymore. I lie and say I also have a ton of homework and that I left it at Dad’s house. Mom seems all too happy to get rid of me as she drives me over there.
When she pulls in the driveway, I go to get out but she parks and turns off the engine.
“Are you coming in too?” I ask.
“I need to talk to Jerry,” she says, not even looking at me.
Usually I just let myself in at Dad’s house, but since I’m here a day early and with my mother expectantly, I decide to ring the doorbell.
Dad answers in his pajamas, a big smile on his face. “Girls! So wonderful to see you both.”
“I need to come over a day early,” I say, hefting my backpack as evidence. “I have a school project and left some stuff here.”
“No problem,” Dad says, patting me on the shoulder as I walk past him and into his huge house.
“We need to have a talk,” I hear Mom tell him.
“Sure thing, I’m making coffee if you’d like to have a cup.”
I stop at the base of the stairs and crane my neck to hear their conversation.
“No thanks. Let’s talk outside.”
The door closes, with both of my parents on the outside of it, and I trudge up to my bedroom. Great. Now both of my parents will be pissed at me.
My bed is made, the sheets tucked in tightly from my dad’s housekeeper who comes twice a week to tidy things up. I plop down on top of it and bury my face in the pillow. This freaking sucks.
A few minutes later, I hear Dad’s heavy footsteps going up the stairs. He taps lightly on my door. I want to tell him to go away but I guess I should face the trouble I’m in now and get it over with.
“Come in,” I say, rolling over and sitting up in my bed.
Dad is tall and it makes him look like a giant when he walks into my room, even with the high ceilings. “Hey Zo,” he says, smiling as he sits on the edge of my bed. “So your mother was kind of freaking out.”
I roll my eyes. “Just yell at me, or whatever, so it can be over with, because I came here to get away from her.”
Dad seems to brighten at this confession. He draws in a deep breath and gives me this fatherly smile. “I think she’s over reacting. You’re a good kid, Zo. What exactly happened?”
I seize my opportunity and take it. “I was bored and couldn’t sleep and I felt like taking a walk around the pool at night. So yeah, I snuck out, or whatever, but I wasn’t doing anything bad.”
Dad nods thoughtfully. “You’re almost eighteen, that means you’re almost an adult and I trust you to make the right decisions.”
I mirror his smile and I’m only feeling a little bit guilty for lying to him. “Thanks, Dad.”
He rubs his hands together. “You hungry? I’m thinking a late breakfast at the Sterling Diner?”
“Sounds delicious,” I say with a grin. Breakfast at that small diner in town was always a tradition with dad on Sundays when my week with him started. We haven’t been in a while, and now their French toast sounds like the best thing ever.
“Great.” Dad stands. “Get dressed, and we’ll leave in fifteen. Cool?”
“Perfect.”
Well that couldn’t have gone better. A lifetime of being a good daughter has paid off with my dad. Still, I’ve already pissed off one parent so I need to be fairly good over here so I don’t piss off the other one.
I get dressed for the café, choosing a pair of jeans and a purple tank top. It’s not like I’m going to be impressing hot guys while I’m eating breakfast with my dad. I laugh at the idea. I pull my hair into a messy bun on top of my head and dab on some mascara because although I’m dressing like a bum, I don’t want to look like a total loser.
Once again, I dig through my backpack looking for my list of things to do to stop being a prude, but I can’t find it. Oh well. I make a mental list of everything I can think of.
So far I’ve flirted, kissed, done sexual things (but not sex), drank beer, attended a party, snuck out of my house, sent a sexy picture to a guy, was tardy to class because of a guy, got detention, and got in trouble with my mom.
I could probably stop now. Just go back to being normal Zoey Caplan who follows the rules.
But even as I consider the idea, I know it probably won’t work. If I just start ignoring Kris’s texts, it might make him mad. He might tell Alex and all the other guys at school that I’m still just as much of a prude as I used to be. I’d be stuck on the list forever. No, I need to follow this through to the end.
However long that takes.
***
Dad’s in a great mood on the whole drive to the diner. I think he’s secretly excited that I came to him instead of staying with Mom. Sterling Diner seems small, but it has several red plush booths once you walk inside. The place is from the sixties and still has all of the same old fashioned soda shop décor. There’s a black and white checkerboard tile floor, pin up girls next to Coke bottles on the walls, and a jukebox and everything.
Dad and I always choose to sit at the bar on the tall stools that used to seem a lot taller when I was a little girl.
Our waitress wears a pale blue and white waitress dress just like they did in the old days. Her hair is pinned into a perfect bun, and she even keeps a pen behind her ear for taking orders.
She’s pretty, probably in her forties like my dad. Her nametag says Carmella.
“What can I get you?” she says with a wide smile and slightly crooked teeth.
We order coffee and breakfast and she heads off to deal with other customers. Dad takes one of the newspapers next to him and opens it up to the sports section. I glance around, seeing if all the old fashioned décor is still the same as I remember.
There’s a really great vibe to this place. It’s not all modern and full of Wi-Fi and hipsters—instead it reminds me of a simpler time.
Our breakfast is just as good as it always has been. Their French toast is literally to die for. “We should do this more often,” I say with my mouth full of hash browns.
Dad nods. “Totally. Let’s make it our Sunday tradition again.”
We clink our coffee cups together in a toast to delicious breakfast food. In the corner of the diner, our waitress bursts out in a laugh. The kind of belly laugh that means she’s having an amazing time. Dad and I look over there.
She’s got her hand on her heart and she’s laughing at whatever the customer is showing her on his laptop screen. She takes a small step backward and rubs her hand over his hair.
That’s not exactly professional…
When she turns to walk back toward the kitchen, I get a perfect view of the guy in a black hoodie who is drinking coffee and playing on a computer. It’s Jonah.
And he sees me, too.
Slowly, he closes his laptop then shoves it into a backpack as he slides out of the booth. He’s wearing those dark jeans that hug his thighs in this way that makes him look ridiculously hot. His hoodie is unzipped, showing a plain gray shirt underneath.
My breath catches as he walks up to me, slinging a backpack over his shoulder. I want to mentally tell him to go away because my dad is here, but he probably wouldn’t listen.
His lips are pink, and twisting into a grin, and I remember what it felt like to kiss him and how much it hurt when he pulled away.
“Good morning,” he says, all pleasant and charming. Dad looks up from his paper. “I’m Jonah,” he says, reaching out a hand which my dad shakes. “I go to school with Zoey.”
“Wonderful,” Dad says. He fluffs the pape
r and then folds it up and motions to the empty stool to my right. “Why don’t you join us?”
“I’d love to,” Jonah says, eyeing me with a look of triumph as he slides into the seat next to me. He smells so amazing, like coffee and fresh laundry.
I hate him.
“Would you like something to eat?” Dad says.
Jonah shakes his head. “No, thanks. I’ve already eaten. Just hanging out here for the free Wi-Fi.”
So maybe they do have Wi-Fi in this simple place. I try not to roll my eyes.
Our waitress comes up on the other side of the counter, coffee pot in hand as she refills our mugs. She narrows her eyes on Jonah. “You better not be bothering the customers,” she says with a playful yet stern tone in her voice.
Jonah shakes his head and nudges me with his elbow. “Nah. We’re friends.”
Friends. Right.
Our waitress gives me a wink. “Just holler if my son pisses you off and I’ll have him kicked out.”
“Yes ma’am,” I say and she grins. When she leaves, I turn to Jonah. “Your mom gave me permission to tell on you.”
He rolls his eyes and picks up his coffee cup, putting it to his lips. “I’m not scared of you.”
I scoff, and he grins. “I am scared of my mom, though so…maybe I should be extra nice to you.”
A little zap goes through my stomach. It’s so easy to feel myself longing for this boy. This boy who is definitely bad news. And, oh yeah, he told me he didn’t want me.
Why can’t I stop picturing the way it felt to kiss him? How insanely hot it was to have his body pressed against mine under that stairwell?
Dad shifts on his seat and reaches for his wallet to pay the bill, reminding me that he’s totally still here and I’ve been lusting over Jonah while sitting two feet away from my dad. GROSS.
“I need to head to the hardware store,” Dad says, placing some bills on the table. “I know you hate that kind of thing, so if you’d like to stay a while and hang out with your friend, I can come pick you up when I’m done.”
“I could take her home,” Jonah says, leaning on his elbows to look at my dad. “I’m a safe driver, I swear.”
Dad nods, not even taking any time at all to consider it. “Sounds good.” He claps a hand on my back and kisses the top of my head, which is ridiculously embarrassing, though it’s probably on level with Jonah’s mom ruffling his hair a few minutes ago.
“See you later,” Dad says. “Nice meeting you, Jonah.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Jonah says, waving goodbye to my father.
We both watch him leave, and as soon as the door closes behind Dad, I turn to Jonah and narrow my eyes. “Excuse you. I didn’t say I wanted to hang out, you know.”
He shrugs one shoulder and takes another sip of coffee. “You could have said no.”
I roll my eyes. The truth is that I totally want to be here, right now, with this boy. I want it so bad. But I hate him. I hate Jonah.
So why do I want him?
Jonah’s mom gives us a sweet smile as she walks by, heading to serve other customers.
“Your mom seems really nice,” I say.
“She is.” Jonah pokes me in the arm with a rolled up napkin. I turn to look at him and he’s so freaking gorgeous I could just scream.
I didn’t mean me.
His words echo in my mind, burning a hole of anger even deeper in my subconscious. Why can’t he just like me? Why can’t it be him texting me asking for sexy photos and blow jobs?
The very thought makes me blush and I realize Jonah is still staring at me with those dark eyes. “So,” he says. “You want to get out of here?”
Chapter 20
“I did not expect you to drive a Honda Accord,” I say as Jonah leads me to the silver car in the parking lot.
He stops in front of the passenger door and pulls it open, leaning on it while he gives me a once over. “What did you expect me to drive?”
“A motorcycle, maybe? Some kind of stolen biker Harley?”
He flinches when I say the word stolen and then leaves the door open while he walks to the driver’s side. “It’s my mom’s car,” he says, climbing into the seat. “Get in.”
I hesitate, asking myself if I’m really going to get in a car with Jonah Thedford. He’s been in juvie more times than I can remember, if the rumors are correct.
But my dad is gone and I can’t help this ridiculous crush I have on a guy who doesn’t even like me, so I add getting in a car with Jonah to the mental list of stupid shit I’ve done lately.
“Not everyone is rich like some of the idiots at school,” Jonah says, starting the car. “Mom lets me take the car when she’s at work, so long as I replace the gas I use.”
“Don’t feel bad around me,” I say, taking notice of the little pewter angel that hangs from the rear view mirror. “I don’t have a car.”
He nods once and then pulls onto the main road. “So how’d you enjoy detention, Miss I Can’t Take Jonah’s Advice?”
“How was I supposed to know the number would be four?” I say, balking.
He grins, his eyes on the road. Even his profile is sexy as hell and I hate it. “There’s a trick to guessing the number, and I know it and you don’t. You could have hung out with me for half an hour but instead you insisted on sitting in detention,” he says with a little tsk and a shake of his head.
“What’s the trick?”
He snorts. “Like I’d tell you.”
I groan and look out the window. “Forget it.”
“You just watch his hand,” he says after a moment. “He writes the number big on the clipboard, so you just watch it and figure out what motion he did. Most numbers are pretty easy to figure out.”
“That’s clever,” I say, hating that I’m complimenting him. I decide to balance it out by saying something snotty. “Of course, you’ve been in detention so many times it only makes sense that you’d have tricks like that.”
He nods, his bottom lip poking out in agreement. “Yes ma’am.”
Something in the way he says that makes my stomach tighten in that way it does around him.
I slide my finger down the center console. “So where are we going?”
We’re stopped at a red light, so he swings his gaze over to me, those dark eyes penetrating into my soul. “Where do you want to go?”
I shrug. “I’m still not sure why you’re hanging out with me.”
“I’m not sure why you’re hanging out with me,” he says, his voice devoid of any emotion.
“Oh, I thought that was obvious.” I fold my arms across my chest. As nervous as I am to be with him, I’m still harnessing my newfound ability to flirt. Besides, if it makes him feel awkward, that’ll just be a bonus.
“Is it?” he says, pulling forward when the light is green. “What’s so obvious about why you’re hanging out with me?”
“I have a thing for bad boys,” I say with a casual shrug even though I’m feeling anything but casual.
He sighs. “Zoey, I told you—”
“I know, I know. We made out and you rejected me. I remember, trust me, I remember.”
“It’s not like that,” he says, but I reach over and press my finger to his lips, silencing him.
“Look, I don’t care, okay? You’re hot and I get it. There’s better fish in the ocean than Zoey Caplan. Just drive. I’m bored and don’t feel like going home, so drive.”
He looks like he’s about to object and I press my finger down harder on his lips. He licks it.
“Gross!” I squeal, pulling my hand away and wiping it on my jeans.
He laughs. “One day I’ll tell you everything that’s wrong about what you just said.” Chills prickle over my arms as he looks at me. His lips slide to the side of his mouth and then he says, “But not today. We’re busy today.”
He turns into a parking lot and I realize we’re at the art museum on the other side of town. As long as I’ve lived here, I’ve never even been. In ele
mentary school we went to the science museum and the children’s museum which are on the same street, but never the art museum. I don’t know why, but I can’t think of a single better place he could have taken us.
“This is perfect,” I say, gazing up at the large building with a silver curved roof.
“I’m glad you think so.” Jonah flashes me a grin that seems more excited than snarky like most of his facial expressions.
There’s hardly any people in line, and the parking lot is nearly empty. I guess art museums on Saturday mornings aren’t considered cool anymore.
“Two please,” Jonah tells the woman behind the ticket counter.
I step forward, lightly pushing him out of the way. “He means one for him and then one for me,” I say, sliding my debit card on the counter.
Jonah huffs but doesn’t say anything as he slides his card across the counter, too. They woman charges us separately for our tickets and we walk through a turnstile and right into a Roman art exhibit.
Jonah shoves his hands in his jeans pockets as he approaches a stone bust of some ancient Roman king. “Can you believe these things are so old?” he says, gazing at it.
“I can’t even write my name neatly in the sand,” I say with a little snort. “I certainly can’t carve a freaking head.”
“I think it had a body at some point,” he says, pointing to the jagged edge. I lean forward to read the little card that identifies the sculpture, but I lean too far too fast and stumble. Jonah catches me and pulls me back up, keeping his hands on my arms. “Whoa,” he says, giving my arms a squeeze. “I can’t have you knocking over statues within five minutes of being here.”
I turn to him and scowl. “I would have been fine; you didn’t have to save me.” I turn on my heel and freaking trip over an extension cord that’s taped across the floor, but the tape is ripped up in this one spot. Fuck.
He grabs me again, steadies me and says, “Aw, but I’m so good at it!”
I punch him in the arm. An elderly couple who are standing a few feet away give us one of those glares that mean something like kids suck these days. My cheeks are burning both from embarrassment and the fact that Jonah touched me twice just now.