by Jessica Roe
“Are you kidding? He's the lucky one. I wish you were my grandmom.”
She flicks my nose. “Hush. Your real grandparents would be heartbroken if they heard you talking that way.”
I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “Don't have any grandparents.”
Instead of acting sympathetic like most people would, Yolanda just eyes me curiously. “Why ever not?” I like that she doesn't react to things like other people. I like that she's different.
“My grandparents on my mom's side died before I was born. Not that it mattered. From what my mom told me they disowned her way before I came along because of her...lifestyle. And Oliver's parents don't want to know me. Never have, never will, not even now I live here with the other kids. I don't care,” I rush to add when she reaches over to pat my hand, and it's almost not a lie.
She shakes her head. “That's a darned shame. Rest assured I'll be having sharp words with those old codgers next time they visit with your family. But never mind, from now on I'll be your grandmother.”
“That's mad.”
“Who says you can't pick your own family?”
It's a crazy idea but I like it. It's the kind of crazy idea I'd usually come up with. “I'm gonna call you Granny Yo.”
She rolls her eyes, but I can see her pursed lips turn up at the corners and I think she might secretly like it. “If you must.”
“So, you gonna teach me grandma stuff?”
She snorts. “Like what, exactly? Knitting?”
“Please,” I retort, cocking an eyebrow. “Like I don't already know how to knit.”
Granny Yo looks like she isn't sure whether or not she believes me, but she lets it go. “Fine,” she concedes. “You want me to teach you grandma stuff, you cheeky rotter? I'll teach you how to make this fruit tea you pretend not to like, and I'll teach you how to bake and how to dance like a real lady. None of that twerking nonsense.”
“Aw man, you're too classy a lady to be even saying that word, let alone knowing what it means.”
“Twerk twerk twerk,” she answers defiantly, and I think I might have met my stubborn match.
“Okay, the first two things I could get down with, but I don't need to know how to dance like a lady. It's not the fifties.”
“Don't make me flick you again. Every woman should know how to dance like a lady.”
“Why?”
“Don't question me. They just should.” And that's that. I like that she doesn't feel the need to explain herself.
I RUN TO Granny Yo's even earlier the next morning. She's sitting in a rocking chair on the porch looking happy to see me—and that's definitely not an expression I'm used to...from a woman, anyway.
“I'm so glad you're here,” she announces, smiling from ear to ear. “My grandson arrived home late last night and I want you to meet him. He's just inside making iced tea.” This woman has a serious tea addiction.
Her front door opens and a guy steps out. “Grams, what did you do with the glass pitcher? I can't find...” He trails off as his eyes, sea green and blue, meet mine, and the surprise in them probably matches my own perfectly. The hair curling around his ears is just how I remember, and those adorable freckles are even more prominent, like he's been spending time out in the sun.
For a moment we just stare at each other, our mouths open as we stand not a foot apart. And then, at exactly the same time, we chorus, “You!”
MAYBE IF I'D been paying attention as I'd run across the road to Granny Yo's I might have noticed the white Jeep parked in the driveway. As it was I'd been so eager to get over here and away from Oliver's that I'd been blinded to everything.
It's the guy I made out with outside the diner. The guy who was nerdy yet ridiculously hot and didn't take my crap and kissed like a sexy, pornographic dream.
Granny Yo glances from me to him and back again, understandably confused. She's not the only one. “Silvester? Blair? Do you two already know one another?”
A bubble of laughter slips out before I can stop it and Granny Yo's question is forgotten. “Your name is Silvester? What are you, eighty?”
He blushes that adorable, freckle darkening blush and says, “I know, I know. I hate it. Most people, Grams aside, just call me by my last name.”
“That is?”
“Keegan. Silvester Keegan.”
I ponder for a moment, one arm across my chest and my other elbow resting in my palm. I tap my chin thoughtfully. “Hmm...nope. I like Silvester. That's what I'm calling you.”
“No,” he protests. “You're really not.”
“You can't stop me,” I say churlishly.
“I can ignore you.”
“Okay, compromise. I'll call you...Silver.”
“Why can't you call me Keegan like everyone else?” He sounds exasperated.
“Because I'm not like everyone else.”
He makes a strangled noise at the back of his throat. “Now I remember why I thought you were such an annoying jerk. What are you doing here, anyway? Stalking me?”
“I just moved here, dumb ass.”
Granny Yo clears her throat pointedly to get our attention. “How on earth do you two know each other?”
Silver's eyes widen just a fraction and I know he's remembering every moment of our time; the way our bodies pressed together, the pressure of our mouths colliding, the heat as we moved against each other... “We, uh...we...met at a diner.”
“I stole his parking space,” I add helpfully.
“And then Blair,” he continues, saying my name slowly like he's testing the sound of it out on his tongue. “bought me apology pie.”
“It was just pie!”
“Yeah, apology pie. For being a parking space stealing jerk.”
“You should've taken it quicker.”
“You do drive awfully slow,” Granny Yo chimes in, a mischievous smile stretching out her lips. “Rather like an old codger.”
“Grams!” He sounds like he's torn between being pissed at the pair of us and trying to hold in a laugh. “You're taking her side now?”
She shrugs. “Well, I like her.”
He gives a frustrated little huff and shakes his head, turning back to me. Looking me up and down, his eyes linger for a moment on my plain white vest and denim cut offs. “Why aren't you wearing shoes?”
I follow his gaze down to my exposed toes and wriggle them—the toenails painted multi-coloured to match my hair, of course. “Too hot out for my boots,” I explain. “My feet would melt like the creepy green witch from The Wizard of Oz.”
“So wear different shoes.”
“I don't have different shoes.”
He looks at me like I'm crazy. “You're crazy.” I'm surprisingly good at reading him. “And that's ridiculous. You need more than one pair of shoes.”
“Hey!” I object, offended, and not at all pleased with his tone. “My boots are frikkin' awesome and they work for all occasions.”
“Except when it's hot,” the smart ass points out, grinning smugly.
“Maybe I should just slip on a pair of swanky shoes like yours,” I drawl, eyeing his spotless white tennis shoes. “I bet they work for any occasion. Like the country club, or golfing, or-”
“I was planning on going to the mall after making Grams her tea,” he interrupts. “I'll take you with me and you can buy more shoes. Ones more summer appropriate.”
Normally a high handed, bossy attitude like that would make me want to cut a bitch, but Silver makes me feel riled up and mellow yet seriously horny, and like a sad little girl with a crush, I think I'd agree to do anything if it meant spending more time with him. So instead of breaking his nose, I roll my eyes and grumble, “Fine, whatever,” and I hop up onto the porch railing to wait for him as he helps Granny Yo get comfortable inside.
When he comes back out he glances down at my swinging feet. “Why are you still not wearing shoes?”
“I was just gonna go without them.”
He shakes his head. “Go put your boots on,
Blair.”
I hop off the railing and put my hands on my hips defiantly. “You have got to be the bossiest guy I've ever met. Why should I?”
“Because your feet are insanely cute,” he confesses with a hard done to sigh, staring up at the roof like he can't meet my eye. “Put on your boots or I won't be able to stop staring. They're...distracting.”
My hands fall to my sides and I blow out a little puff of air, feeling my cheeks warm up. I don't even know why I blush. I've never even met a guy who could make me blush before, and I've had all kinds of guys—muscled, tattooed, punk rockers, stoners—whisper all manner of dirty things in my ears. Yet it's this guy, this guy, this grumpy, suburban, argumentative guy that makes me blush by complementing my feet.
I'm so weird. Or maybe he's so weird. One of us is definitely weird.
I run back to Oliver's and grab my boots, stopping off by Nancy to grab a couple of CD's. Silver is already waiting for me in the Jeep.
“What are they for?” he asks, nodding at the discs.
“Playing music,” I say slowly.
“What is this, the nineties? Get an iPod or something.”
“No way, iPods confuse the heck outta me. I've used a computer like, twice in my whole life. Technology is not my forte. I can only just manage to function my cell, know what I mean?”
He stares at me, aghast. “Man, that's criminal! It's the twenty first century. You're lucky my car even has a CD player; it's not an oldie like yours.”
“Insult Nancy and I'll end you.”
“Who the heck is Nancy?”
“My car, loser.”
“You're...” He trails off as he looks over at me, deciding to let it go. “Never mind.”
I grin, gloating silently at my win, and slide in one of the CD's. Country twang drifts out the speakers.
“Last time I saw you, you were blasting hard rock so loud I practically felt the earth vibrate,” he says, smiling over at me. “I like how random your music taste is.”
As he drives I lift my foot up to slide on my boot. He watches out of the corner of his eye as I lace up. “Like what you see?” I tease when I've finished them both. I prop up a boot on the dash, bending my leg at the knee.
Silver looks like he can't decide whether he wants to scold me and tell me to put my boot down or check out my legs. His eyes flicker between the road and me, and he surprises me when he sends a devilish smirk my way. “You're just drawing attention to them 'cause you want me to touch you.”
I laugh delightedly and shrug all innocent like. I expect him to blush and change the subject so it comes as a surprise when, without looking away from the road, he slides his hand over to my leg. His fingers brush lightly over my knee before he ghosts his palm up my thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. He stops before his hand gets too high—obviously remembering that he's supposed to be a gentleman—and leaves it in place. “Your skin is so soft.”
I want to make a throwaway comment, something glib like, 'It's called lotion, jerk face,' but his touch, though pretty innocent, is setting my skin afire in ways I've never felt before. I swallow, hard. “So we didn't tell Granny Yo about our kiss,” I say when I can speak with a steady voice again.
“Granny Yo? Wait, never mind. Giving people names is clearly your thing.” He pauses. “I just didn't think my elderly old grandma would want to hear about how we practically ravaged each other after we'd only just met.”
Ravaged, I like that. “Chicken.”
He pinches my thigh lightly. “Bitch.”
“Nerd.”
“Why do you always have to have the last word?”
“Why do you always have to argue with me?”
“How can you say that? We barely know each other.”
“Ditto!”
“You have got to be the most irritating girl I've ever met.”
“So take your hand off my thigh!”
In response his grip tightens and we smirk at one another, our childish argument already forgotten.
“I'M NOT BUYING that!” Silver announces, thrusting the black t-shirt with dancing skeletons back in my direction. “It's ugly.”
“It's not ugly!” I argue, holding it up as I contemplate. “But yeah, totally not you. Too bad ass.”
“Hey! I can be bad ass.”
I snort and make a show of looking him up and down. He's wearing a white polo shirt and khaki shorts, and even though I'm oddly attracted to him like this, like he's off for a casual lunch at the country club, he's most definitely not bad ass. He never could be. “Sure.”
“I played lacrosse in high school. That's bad ass.”
“No it's not.”
“Not even a little? You know, it can get pretty violent.”
“Only in Teen Wolf.”
“Rawr?”
“Silver, stop talking.” He pouts, but it's a playful gesture. I hand him a navy button up shirt. “Here, get this one. It'll bring out the green in your eyes.” I falter as I realize I may have just given away too much, so I add, “Dork,” so that he doesn't think I'm too keen. But I think I might have only proved the opposite.
“How did I let you talk me into clothes shopping anyway?” he asks, accepting the shirt. He's let it go, but I can tell the comment about his eyes registered with him by the tiny smile he's trying to hide.
I shrug one shoulder up and turn away, but I know exactly how—I was persistent as hell. He'd said he was only visiting the mall to pick up stationary and like a clingy little kitten digging in her claws, I just wanted more time with him so I found excuse after excuse to drag him from store to store. And though he's protesting, I don't think he really minds all that much.
So instead of answering, I pluck a pair of sunglasses off a nearby display and reach up on my tiptoes to slide them over his eyes. He poses his fists on his hips and grins, his lips parted to show off his white teeth. I don't think I've ever wanted to kiss someone so bad in my entire life.
He goes to pay for the things I made him pick out and I wander off to a music store while he's gone. Almost everything is on sale and I take advantage and grab a couple of things up. With a worried jolt I realize my savings from the various jobs I had in Chicago are running dangerously low and I remind myself to find a part time job. I can hardly see Oliver giving me an allowance.
“You know why all those CD's are on sale? Because everyone downloads their music these days,” Silver says pointedly when we meet again.
I stick out my tongue and accept the bag he hands me. “What's this?”
He smiles widely. “It's a gift. Take a look.”
I laugh when I open it up to find a pair of white tennis shoes. “You're such a dork,” I say, pretending not to like them when it's obvious I do. Right in the middle of the mall I flop down to the ground to pull off my boots and slip the tennis shoes on. “How did you even get the right size?”
“Saw your boot size in the car. I have good eyesight.”
Standing up, I nudge his toes with mine. “Look, we match.”
He watches me with an affectionate smile, and I have the craziest urge to run my tongue over his one ever so slightly crooked tooth. “They look good on you.”
By the time we finally make it to the stationary store we're already arguing again. This time about something so incredibly dumb, which I of course started, but I can't seem to help myself; I adore the way he gets so red faced and frustrated.
“I'm just saying you should think about getting your navel pierced,” I tell him, even though I know it's ridiculous. “It's sexy on guys.”
“You're absolutely insane if you think I'm ever gonna do that. Wait, who am I talking to? You're absolutely insane. Period.”
We reach the checkout counter and I poke him in the ribs. “You're mean.”
He bats my hand away so obviously I do it again, and we scuffle for a moment until he grabs a hold of my finger and holds it up above my head.
“Ha!” he cheers, proud of his win, and I let him have it because
it's brought our bodies so near we're almost touching. He realizes this and sucks in his breath, tugging my hand to bring me even closer.
The checkout girl clears her throat and Silver drops my finger, our moment broken.
I. Hate. Her.
She's a pretty young thing; blonde and bouncy and flirty. She flutters her eyelashes at Silver and he eats it up, which pisses me off in a very unreasonable way. “Baby, stop flirting with other girls,” I snap. “We're supposed to be getting married next week.”
He rolls his eyes but I see the corners of his lips turn up and I think he's caught on to my jealousy...and likes it.
Checkout Girl raises a perfectly arched eyebrow at me. “If you're getting married where's your ring?”
“He was too cheap to buy me one.”
“Blair!” Silver hisses, and...ah, there's that blush.
“You wanna find a guy that treats you like a princess,” Checkout Girl tells me sympathetically, all interest in Silver gone. “Especially if you're gonna make it forever, girlfriend.”
I give a hard done to sigh. “I know. Unfortunately, this nerd right here is the only one that does it for me.”
Silver looks like he wants to die.
BACK AT GRANNY Yo's, the two of us are bickering again, obviously, because all we seem to be able to do is flirt and argue and the switch flips every five minutes. This fight is over the fact that he really does drive like an old man.
I'm once again perched on the porch railing while he stands across from me, leaning against the wall of his house with his arms and legs crossed.
“When a kid on a bicycle overtakes you, you know you gotta up the speed,” I point out. “That's all I'm saying.”
“Okay, first of all, that totally didn't happen-”
“Protest all you want, Grandpa.”
He makes a low, frustrated sound in the back of his throat. I love how wild I'm making him; it means I'm under his skin just as much as he is mine. “You literally drive me crazier than anyone I've ever met,” he growls, and then he pushes off the wall, clasps my cheeks in his hands and kisses the hell out of me.