“Silver is still a medal, so yes, I deserve praise. Especially when I’m competing against a titan over there. Are you going to congratulate me or not?”
“Decidedly not.”
“Have it your way.”
He turns and walks away. But I’m watching her, and her eyes dip for a second, tracing down his back, settling on the two dimples above his ass, then darting to the bleachers. Then I realize I’m staring at him, so I turn away.
Oh crap, I think. She just had her chance to look at us both shirtless.
And she chose him.
* * *
After the swimming carnival, I have a shift at Starbucks. It’s pretty much the same as every other shift, with me taking orders while Iris makes coffees and Levi chirps cheerily along. Even though it’s a nice day, the store is still pretty quiet, and I can tell that both depresses and confuses Levi. He told me his boss blames him for the store’s underperformance, and if it continues this way he’ll be fired. So he spends most of his time staring at the door, as if wanting it bad enough will make people rush into his store.
I join him, and spend most of my shift staring anxiously at the door, waiting for Juliet.
She doesn’t show.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
It’s the night before the party, and I can’t sleep. My costume is under my bed, still in the box it arrived in. I haven’t tried it on, because the prospect of not looking good in it freaked me out so much I postponed trying it on, and kept postponing, and now it’s the day before the party and I don’t even know if my freaking costume fits. I’m a moron. Such a moron.
A knock sounds.
I grab my pillow and put it over my head. It’s probably just the wind or something rattling the window, like it always is. I’d prefer not to deal with the disappointment I get when I realize that, once again, the roof is empty. It’s been a week since Dyl last visited, and there’s no reason for him to ever come back. It’s for the best. The contest is heating up, and that part of my life is over. It hurts, but deep down I know it’s for the best. I can’t help but be myself when I’m around him, and that’s dangerous.
The knock sounds again.
“Dude, get up!”
Grinning, I roll over and look out the window. Dyl’s there, dressed in a black button-down. He raises his hand and jingles his keys.
I sit up. Do I want to go with him? I shouldn’t. I should close my eyes and wait until he leaves. It’s what a smart Nice would do. But I really want to go. Like, more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Maybe even more than I want to win the contest. I never thought I’d want anything more, but I thought these visits had stopped for good and now I’ve got the chance to do it again. It might be a dumb decision, but I need to see where this night will take me. I’ll always regret it if I don’t.
I get dressed, then make my way over to the window.
“It’s been a while,” I say as I duck through the window onto the roof. I try to keep my voice flat, but my enthusiasm breaks through, lighting it up. “I was starting to think you were bored with me.”
“No way, man. I’ve just been busy plotting nefarious plots. Secret nefarious plots, so don’t try to get me to tell you about them. Judy would rip my balls off. But I’m sorry about vanishing on you like that. I actually missed our drives together, even if I was too stressed to organize one.”
I jump down and land on the ground with an oomph. Dyl lands beside me. As he straightens up I cross the front yard and clamber into the passenger seat. Once inside, I lean back and watch him make his way around to the driver’s seat.
“I have a question,” he asks as he sits down. “Are you hairless everywhere? At the carnival you looked like a waxing salon ad.” He slams the door shut and turns on the engine. “It must’ve hurt.”
“No more than having your eye color changed.”
“But doesn’t it grow back?”
“I think they removed the follicles, so no, it doesn’t. Juliet likes it, and that’s the important thing.”
“That’s a shame. You’d look good with chest hair.”
He’s staring at me, and I look away to keep my attention away from his lips, which are curved into a smirk.
“Are we going somewhere?” I ask. My mouth is dry, so it comes out kind of raspy. “Or are we driving for the heck of it?”
He chuckles as we pull into the street. “Heck? Jesus, Caden, I think you’re becoming Nicer every time we speak. What happened to the boy I should be afraid of?”
“You think my manners make me less scary?”
“I never thought you were scary.” But he’s grinning, so it sounds more like a compliment than an insult. “Not even once.”
I lean my head back and look up at the stars.
He winked at me. At the pool, he winked at me, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I want to ask him why he did it, but he’s not bringing it up and I’m never going to. Not now, not ever. That would be like admitting that that second mattered to me, and for some reason the thought of him knowing that makes me feel all shaky.
“And to answer your first question,” he says, “I’m here for two reasons. The first is beside you.”
I look down at the seat beside me. On it, sliding around, is an iPod. It’s attached to the car by a black cable.
“Press Play.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not the Smiths or Sufjan Stevens, is it?”
He laughs. “No way, man, they’re Nice bands. If I was being a Bad right now, we’d listen to Black Sabbath. Or Metallica. So just shut up and press Play.”
I tap the screen. It displays a black-and-white photo, the cover art for a song called “Midnight Show” by the Killers. The song starts with synths, then the guitars kick in.
“I found the only way to make driving better. It’s angsty rock music. Judy loaded it all onto my computer for Love Interest reasons, but it turns out I genuinely love some of it. I bet you’ll like it too, so I’ll shut up now and let you listen.”
I keep looking up at the stars as they zoom by, becoming lines of silver against the navy sky. The song is beautiful, a slightly aggressive voice singing catchy poetry backed by electric guitars. The singer sounds as frustrated as I feel sometimes.
The song ends and I open my eyes.
Dyl glances at me. “Did you like it?”
I loved it, but I can’t help but think that it’s not as good as Nicki Minaj. Nothing is. There are lots of reasons why I can’t ever say that to him, so I stay silent.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Do you have a favorite band, Caden?”
I desperately search my brain for a band he’ll think is cool.
“Oh no,” says Dyl. “You’re good, but I can always tell when you know an answer but change it. Your forehead goes all crinkly for a second. Tell me the truth, man. I won’t judge.”
“Fine,” I say. “Nicki Minaj is my favorite. She’s not a band, but she’s my favorite musician, and I figure that’s what you were asking. I know she wears silly costumes and stuff sometimes, but she’s a fantastic wordsmith, maybe the best one ever, and listening to her makes me feel like I can do anything.”
Here it comes, he’s going to judge me because she’s too girly, or because she’s a rapper, or because …
“Huh,” he says. “Good choice. I love her ‘Monster’ verse. Do you know that one? The one with Kanye?”
“I do!” I say. “It’s a great song. One of my favorites, actually.”
“Well, we’ll have to go for another drive and listen to it. You might think she’s the best wordsmith ever, but my vote for that award would go to Brandon Flowers. So do you want to finish his album? I bet you’ll like it.”
I nod, and we listen to the entire album. During the closing notes of the final song, Dyl pulls the car off the road. Up ahead is a dark, creepy forest and a small wooden shed.
I cross my arms. “Are you serious? You brought me to a murder shed?”
“It’s not a murder shed, Nice guy, it’
s a cool shed in the middle of nowhere that I found when I was driving and I thought it was awesome. And, like every awesome thing I find, I wanted to show it to you. Because we are both living with limited time, and life should be lived while we have the chance.” He tosses me something. It’s a silver flashlight. He’s holding one exactly like it. He flicks it on, and a long beam of golden light erupts from the end. “We’re exploring.”
I turn back and look at the shed. “There’s either a murderer or a dead body in that thing.”
He grins. “Possibly both.”
I grip the flashlight tight as we leave the safety of the car and head toward the shed. As we walk, my thoughts drift to Kaylee. Surely she would’ve said something by now if she was listening in? She’s usually only connected when she knows a big conversation with Juliet is coming up, but then again she has popped in randomly a few times, so I probably should check.
Hey, Kaylee, are you there?
Nothing.
“What are you doing?” asks Dyl. “You spaced for a second.”
“I was just checking if Kaylee is listening.”
“And?”
“We’re alone. If we aren’t, she’s not saying anything.”
“Oh, cool.”
The ground is soft and squishy, and every step sends a small wave of grayish mud up the edges of my Chucks. In front of the shed is a small overgrown veggie garden and a chopping block. Embedded deep in the block is a rusty ax.
Dyl steps up the first step. The wood creaks under his weight. He freezes, his entire body tense. The only sound is the rustle of the wind through the trees and the occasional high-pitched chirp of crickets. He places his palm flat on the dark wood and pushes. The door swings open, letting out a low screech. The light of the moon illuminates only a small stretch of the shack, and I can see half of a wooden dining table.
Dyl enters first, his body hunched, ready to spring back should the expected ax murderer leap forth. But the shed is still, and his body relaxes, his posture reverting back to its usual confident semi-slouch. His hand fumbles around on the doorframe and then he grins, his white teeth glowing in the shadowy murk.
He flicks his finger upward and orange light floods the shed.
“Quick, get in before anyone sees you.”
I step inside and he swings the door closed behind me. Inside, it’s a small square room, with a dining table, two chairs, and an empty kitchen counter with a dirty sink loaded with dishes. A moth-eaten mattress and a balled-up blanket are pressed against one corner. The counter is moldy, and the taps are covered in flaky brown rust.
Dyl flicks the lights off.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He grins. “It’s sexier this way.”
I step toward the door and yank it open. His eyebrows furrow and he blocks my path with one hand.
“Get out of my way,” I say.
“What?”
“I said get out of my way.”
His arm remains on the door. “Dude, calm down. I meant it was sexier in the way, like, scary is sexy. That sort of thing. What did you think I was saying?”
I let go of the door handle and face him. For the first time, I realize I’m taller than him, and I stare right at the tip of his nose, just under his neatly trimmed eyebrows. “I don’t know why you brought me here, that’s what. And why you treat me the way you do. Because, Dyl, you’re treating me like I’m an idiot and I’m just not. I know the game we’re playing. I do. And you act like we aren’t competitors and you show me cool things but when does it stop? And why did you even start it? Why did you bring me here? And why did you say you wanted to make it sexier for us alone in a small room?”
He’s staring at the floor.
I step toward him. “Why did you bring me here, huh? You’re such a big fan of the truth, so why don’t you tell me? What are you afraid of?”
He looks to his left. “I brought you here to kiss you.”
“Are you joking?”
He sucks on his bottom lip and faces me. He looks like he’s in pain.
“It’s not like that, it’s …” He runs a hand through his hair and spins away. Once he completes his little circle he steps toward me. “I’m going to kiss Juliet tomorrow. And I need practice. I thought you’d understand because you need practice too. I brought you here because no one in town will see us and it seemed like a good idea. I thought we could kiss each other like teenage girls do in sitcoms to prepare for the real thing. I’m sorry if that’s weird.”
I clench my hands and keep looking him in the eye. Prepare for the real thing? Oh God, he doesn’t even know how much of a real thing this is for me. The enormous reality of this is why kissing him isn’t an option at all. I want to do it, sure, but I never can. It’d be like willingly putting myself at the top of a very slippery slope, with massive spikes covered in razor wire at the bottom.
“Why would I want you to be good at kissing her?” I say, more to myself than to him. If I say rational words, maybe I can force myself to act rationally. “Did you even think for a second that you not being good at kissing Juliet would be a good thing for me? We’re competitors, Dyl. Above everything.” I gesture at the space between us. “Above all of this, that’s our relationship. Man, I shouldn’t have to say these things to you. I really shouldn’t. But you and I, we’re not anything close to friends.”
“You’re my only friend.”
“Don’t lie. Not now. What makes you think I’d want to help you do this, Dyl? Do I look suicidal to you?”
He grabs my shoulders. I shake them off, so he tucks his hands into his pockets.
“I was dumb, okay, and I was lying. I brought you here to kiss you because I want to kiss you, all right? I want to kiss you because I want to kiss someone, just once, because I want to do it. And as soon as one of us starts dating Juliet it’ll be cheating and I know neither of us will do that. But we’re not hers yet. We’re free men. And I, well, I feel something when I’m around you. I don’t understand it and I don’t want to, but there’s something about you that creates this urge within me. Like, whenever I’m around you I can’t help but focus on your mouth, and I find myself imagining what your lips would feel like against mine. So I want to kiss you, all right? It’s embarrassing and weird, but I want to kiss you.”
I stare at him. He’s just like me, I think. He wants to kiss me as much as I want to kiss him. His back is bent slightly, and his thin body is shaking. He’s looking at me with wide eyes, like whatever I decide to do next is going to be the most important thing that has ever happened on earth.
Then again, it could be a trick. It could be. It probably is.
“I know this is a trick,” I say. “But I don’t care. I want what you want too. One real kiss. So let’s do it.”
“Thank God.”
I step forward and force him backward so that his back is against the wall. Surprise is in his eyes, so I grin, then lean forward and press my lips to his. His stubble is prickly but his lips are soft, oh eff are they soft. He pauses, and I step even closer so that our foreheads and chests touch. We’re both gulping down air. Damn, his skin is warm even through the shirt. His hands move up and fumble with the hem of my shirt. What’s he doing? I feel his hands slide under my shirt, where they move across my stomach to my hips. Every part of me that he’s touching feels unbelievably amazing. Like, who knew palm-to-hip contact would be this frigging hot? But it totally is.
“Sorry,” he says, and his hands slide out from under my shirt. “I got a bit carried away.”
“I’m not complaining, man.”
“So I can keep going?”
I look into his eyes and nod vigorously.
He grins. “Sweet.”
He leans forward and kisses me again, stronger this time, forcing me back a step. He’s no longer leaning against the wall, but now his entire body is pressed against mine. His hands go under my shirt again, higher than they did before, up to my ribs. I raise my hands and he pulls my shirt over my head. I get
only a second to breathe before he’s kissing me again.
I should stop. No, I need to stop.
I ignore my thoughts and start unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his chest. Once all the buttons are undone he grins, which melts me, then he shrugs the shirt off his shoulders and throws it away.
I look at him for a second, and he just looks at me.
“Sweet,” he says again, then he grabs me by the back of my neck and brings my lips to his.
It feels freaking incredible. He tastes sugary, and he smells like cologne, and his body keeps brushing against mine, which makes me want more of him. More contact. More of everything, really.
Oh my God. This is Dyl! My Dyl. And I’m kissing him!
He starts kissing my neck and I chuckle.
He pulls his head back and his eyebrows pinch together. “Am I doing something wrong?”
“No, it’s just, you definitely don’t need practice.”
“Neither do you.”
“So should we stop?”
“Do you want to?”
I shake my head.
“So why should we?”
There are a million reasons to stop.
I ignore them all and kiss him.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Regret. Oh, bloody regret, I’ve seen you on TV but never had the chance to feel you in real life. And man, you freaking suck. I roll over in bed, rubbing my eyes as I move. They feel dry, like my eyelids are abrasive. But the post-hookup regret most people on those shows feel is after a character had sex with either a friend or an unattractive stranger. This was just kissing. We literally kept our pants on, yet my head feels like it’s collapsing in on itself. What if Kaylee saw us doing what we were doing? What would the punishment be?
The image of the Stalker holding my head flashes in my mind. Only this time, there are two blood-drenched bodies on the ground, one in white, one in black. Its free hand rises, revealing another head: Dyl’s. The Stalker presses the two heads together so that the lips touch.
I slide out of bed and realize I’m fully clothed. After what happened in the shed, taking my clothes off felt dirty. So I climbed into bed with all my clothes on and, after hours of replaying the events that took place, I fell asleep.
The Love Interest Page 13