Just Friends

by Melody Summers

  “Hey,” I said, sliding the roll in front of him.

  Dylan looked at me as though I had sprouted two more heads. I sat down across from him and nodded at the cinnamon roll.

  “Caroline’s famous cinnamon rolls. They make everything better.” He was still staring at me like I was some kind of crazy person. “Okay, maybe not, but they at least make you remember that life is still worth living. Or something like that.”

  That earned me a tiny snort of laughter, and I relaxed a little.

  “I’m sorry about what happened.”

  He twitched one shoulder in a shrug as he tore off a piece of dough. “You tried to warn me.” When he popped it into his mouth his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “This is pretty good.”

  “I told you. That’s twice tonight. You should start listening to me when I tell you something.”

  His lips quirked up despite his mood. “Noted. So what are you doing here all by yourself?”

  “Hiding out. Scarfing cinnamon rolls to make myself feel better.”

  Dylan gave me a quizzical look which encouraged me to continue. I hesitated for a moment, but why not tell him?

  “I went to that party hoping this guy I like would be there. He was—just with another girl.” Who makes me look like dirt. I didn’t say that part out loud because I didn’t want to sound hopelessly pathetic.

  “Seth?” he asked.

  I hid my face with a groan. “How did you know?”

  “I did hang out with you guys for a while. It was pretty obvious.”

  “I guess so. Anyway, it’s no big deal. Certainly not compared to the evening you had.”

  He frowned. “Elora. Not one of my better decisions. Quinn warned me she wasn’t over her ex. Apparently that’s my thing, now.”

  I pointed at the plate in front of him. “Eat your cinnamon roll. We all do stupid things when we’re on the rebound. It’s just part of the process.”

  A little gleam sparked in his eyes, which were the light blue of a cloudless summer sky. “Really? And what kind of stupid things have you done?”

  “No way,” I replied, shaking my head. “That’s a pay to play question. If you want to hear about my sordid past then you have to buy the cinnamon rolls.”

  That got me another laugh. “Fair enough. So Seth was there with someone?”

  “A tall, thin blonde. Gorgeous, and wrapped around him like an octopus.”

  “Sorry,” he said.

  I sighed and took a bite of my cinnamon roll. “I have no right to complain. Delaney and Dannika have been telling me forever to do something about it, but I never did. I waited too long, and now it’s too late.”

  “You never know.”

  “Please. She looks like one of those Victoria’s Secret models. And I don’t.”

  Dylan tilted his head and looked at me—really looked at me. The appreciation in his eyes left me a little tingly. The guy was hot, after all. I mean, he wasn’t Seth, but he was definitely in the school’s top ten. Okay, top five.

  “You’re not exactly what I’d call plain, Allison.”

  I stared back at him over the rim of my coffee cup. “I brought you that cinnamon roll to make you feel better, not so you’d try to make me feel better. Which isn't working, by the way.”

  “Fine. So now what?”

  “So now nothing. He’s got a girlfriend. My little fantasy is over.”

  “I see.”

  I threw up my hands. “What can I do? It’s not like I can compete with her—even if I’m not plain.”

  He winced as I threw that word back at him. “Don’t give up so easily. I doubt it’s as hopeless as you think. It sounds like this is a new thing, and it may not work out.”

  “You didn’t see her.”

  “No, but I’ve seen you.”

  The way he said it left me flustered and tingling again. Those clear blue eyes of his were murder. No wonder he’d made out so well last year when he’d been hooking up with a new girl every week.

  “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

  His mouth twisted into a grin that moved him firmly into the school’s top three. “Can't blame a guy for trying.”

  The café door crashed open and eight people, all just a few years older than us, swarmed inside. They swaggered up to the counter, talking and laughing loudly like they were the only ones in the place. They’d obviously been drinking, and after a few seconds of waiting on someone to seat them they began yelling for service. Dylan and I shared a disgusted look.

  “I hope I behave better than that when I’m in college,” he murmured.

  “I’m not sure any of them are in college.”

  A waitress hurried up to the counter with a resigned expression on her face. Since the place stayed open all night the staff was used to dealing with this kind of crowd. She took them to an empty section over by where I’d been sitting earlier so they were less likely to bother anyone else.

  “I’m glad I moved.”

  “No kidding.”

  As the waitress left with their drink orders, the noise from their table grew louder. An elderly couple threw them a disgusted look and got up to leave, while hoots and jeers followed them all the way out the door. Dylan and I huddled in his booth and did our best to stay inconspicuous.

  “They’re going to be lucky if they don’t get thrown out,” I said.

  He shrugged. “As long as they pay I doubt that anyone cares.”

  “If they start scaring off the other customers someone will.”

  There weren’t many of those, though, and things quieted down a little until the waitress returned with their drinks and began to hand them out. One of the girls knocked her glass of tea over so that it sloshed across the table onto two of the guys, who jumped up and burst into a long string of curses and abuse. At this fresh outburst the manager ran over, and even though he spoke in a low voice it was obvious that he was warning them to tone it down. For a few minutes they complied, and Dylan and I went back to our conversation.

  “You going out of town for the holidays?” he asked.

  “Not this year. We trade off with the rest of the family. My aunts and uncles are coming to stay with us this time.”

  He snickered when I rolled my eyes. “That bad, huh?”

  “It’s great if you enjoy having a horde of screaming, hyper little kids rampaging through the house for days.”

  “No wonder you don’t want to go home.”

  “How about you?”

  “We did our traveling over Thanksgiving, so we’re staying home and it’s just the four of us this year. I was hoping to spend a lot of my time off with Elora, but…”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s my own fault. I should have listened to Quinn.”

  The noise across the room soared again, and he frowned. When I turned my head I noticed two of the guys looking our way.

  “They’re checking you out,” Dylan said.

  My skin crawled as I realized it was true. “Ewwww.”

  They might have been kind of cute if they hadn’t been so drunk and obnoxious, but now they were just disgusting. When they saw I’d noticed them they began making comments deliberately loud enough for us to overhear. I blushed as I realized what they were saying, and Dylan straightened in his seat, face taut with anger. I was saved from further embarrassment by the waitress bringing out their food.

  “That’s not what I ordered!” one of the boys complained.

  The waitress continued setting down plates. “Yes, it is. I wrote it down.”

  “I said it’s not what I ordered!” the boy insisted, his voice climbing.

  When she didn’t respond he flipped his plate onto the floor. The rest of the table dissolved into howls of laughter as eggs and sausage spattered across the dingy tile.

  “Yeah, stupid,” one of the others chimed in. “This wasn’t what I ordered, either.”

  As if on cue, the rest of them knocked their plates onto the floor as well. Hearing the commotion, the manager started b
ack towards them, but it was too late. Two of the boys upended their table and sent drinks and condiments flying.

  We ducked low in our booth as the manager confronted them and the altercation turned into a screaming match. The biggest guy in the group grabbed a chair and slung it into an empty table which tipped over with a loud crash. Others followed suit, flinging anything they could get their hands on into the air in random directions.

  “Get down!”

  Dylan yanked me down just as a ketchup bottle sailed towards my head. The plastic shattered against the window behind us, showering us with sticky tomato paste. I peeked out and saw one of the other waitresses talking excitedly into a phone—to the police, I hoped. We stayed hunkered down with Dylan hovering protectively over me in case of more flying objects, but the group apparently realized they’d gone too far and made a break for the door. They continued screaming invectives at the manager and their waitress, who had taken refuge behind the cash register.

  They’d waited too long to make their exit, though. As they reached the door, flashing red and blue lights flooded the windows and four police, grim in their navy blue uniforms, blocked their escape. Emboldened by booze, the jerks remained belligerent even in the face of real authority and continued yelling at the staff.

  “Okay, enough,” a husky policeman barked. “Cuff them. I’m charging you with assault, public intoxication, and anything else I can think of.”

  He looked the place over, taking in the mess, and shook his head. When his eyes lit on me and Dylan still hiding in our booth he started our way. Both of us slowly sat up, and I realized we were covered with blobs of ketchup.

  “We’re not with them!” I blurted out.

  “I can see that. Are you all right?”

  “Fine, other than the ketchup bath,” Dylan told him.

  “Did you see what happened?”

  “Yes,” we both said together.

  We went through it for him, and he set a notepad and pen on the table before us when we finished.

  “I don’t know if they’re going to press charges, but write down your names and contact information so I can reach you if we need you to come in and make a statement.” When we’d done that he nodded at us. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  We looked at each other, with droplets of ketchup clinging to our hair and clothes like we’d been in a bloodbath or something, and burst out laughing. Dylan waved to one of the waitresses.

  “Can we get the checks?”

  “Sure, hon.” Her eyes twinkled at our ketchup-spattered state and she struggled not to smile. “Sorry about that. It happens in here sometimes.”

  “It’s just the icing on the cake for the night we’ve had,” Dylan said.

  He walked me out to my car, which was sweet of him. After everything that had happened to him that night with me around, I’d figured he’d want to get far away from me as quickly as possible.

  “Thanks for the cinnamon roll.”

  “Sure. At least you had one bright spot in your evening.”

  He laughed. “Not the only one. You look awfully cute with ketchup in your hair.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Whatever.”

  “Nite, Allison. Drive safe.”

  He waited until I started my car up before he headed towards his own, and I sighed as I watched him go. He really was a good guy. He deserved better, deserved a girl who would treat him the way I’d seen him treating Dani. There was bound to be someone out there for him who was better than Elora.

  Get The Perfect Match and read the rest of Allison’s story.

  About the Author

  I’m a native Texan, and I live in south Texas where I spend as much time as I can at the beach. I’m a recent college grad (journalism with creative writing), and I live with my two rescue kitties in a little apartment just across the street from the beach. When I’m not working or at the beach, I’m usually staying up way too late drinking way too much coffee while scribbling away on my current masterpiece-in-progress.

  Did I mention that I like the beach? :-)

  I’m a firm believer in True Love. I grew up reading romance and fell in love with falling in love. That’s probably why I decided I wanted to write my own stories. I had filled up a big stack of those giant spiral notebooks before I graduated from high school, and worked my way through several more while I was in college. After I got my degree, I decided that if I was going to do all of this writing I really ought to try publishing some of it. Since I’ve got all of the patience of a fruit fly with ADHD, I decided to self publish instead of spending who knows how long trying to find an agent and mailing manuscripts back and forth. We’ll see how it works out.

  You can stalk me on my blog at http://melody-summers.com.