It’s why I’ll never be enough.
Chapter Eighty-Three
RYAN
Eleven years old . . .
“What did he say? What did he say?” My friend Aleesha jumps up and down.
I try to be as calm as possible, to not freak out in front of everyone in the hallway, but I can’t contain myself. Grabbing on to Aleesha’s hands, I give her my biggest smile and say, “He said yes.”
“Ahhh!” she screams at the top of her lungs while running in place, drawing the attention of everyone around us. And guess what? I don’t care, because he said yes.
Eric Woodside said yes.
He’s taking me to the dance this Friday. Me, Ryan Collier.
I still can’t believe it.
When I was telling my dad about the dance last night, he asked if I was going with anyone. I told him no one had asked, but it was all right because I was going with Aleesha and we’d have fun without needing dates.
It was my first dance, and I wasn’t going to miss out because I wasn’t asked.
Dad didn’t accept my answer. He asked me if I could take anyone, who would it be? Of course, I blushed enough for five girls before answering. I’ve never really talked to Dad about boys before, but he was so easy to talk to, so I answered on a whim, telling him I would ask Eric Woodside.
His next words were, ask him. He told me if I asked Eric to the dance, he would take me shopping to get a new dress and some special makeup for the occasion.
I’ve been eyeing a dress at Charlotte Russe for weeks that I knew I could fit in. I’ve lost five pounds, so I knew that dress was going to be mine.
The dress and the fantasy of Eric Woodside taking me to the dance propelled me forward to ask and I’m so glad I did, because I’m going to the dance with one of the hottest boys in sixth grade.
I could die and go to heaven.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re going to the dance with him. Umm, are you going to get that blue dress from Charlotte Russe?”
“Yup, and I’m going to get matching blue eyeshadow to go with it.”
“What about your hair?”
“Ringlets. I’ll ask my mom if I can borrow her curling iron.”
“I’m so jealous. Do you think I can come to your place to get ready? Could I use your blue eyeshadow and curling iron too?”
“Of course!” I link my arm with Aleesha’s and walk toward our next class. I would pretty much let Aleesha do anything, because she’s really my one and only true friend.
* * *
“Oh boo bear, you look beautiful,” my dad says as I walk down the stairs to the entryway. His camera flashes and I just about die, because he’s making this too much of a big deal. “And, Aleesha, you look beautiful as well.” She trails behind me, both of us choosing navy-blue dresses and matching eyeshadow.
“Dad, the pictures aren’t necessary. It’s just a little dance.”
“As a parent, I reserve the right to take as many pictures as I want.”
My mom comes up beside him, assessing both Aleesha and me, her gaze judgmental, her eyes narrowing in at my waist. I suck in just enough to earn a curt nod from her.
“Very nice, ladies,” my mom finally says, never pulling out the insults around company. “Where’s this Eric boy you told us about?”
“Oh, I’m meeting him at the dance. I told him I’m wearing navy-blue, so I hope he matches.”
“He will.” Aleesha squeezes my arm.
“Well, let’s get in the car so I can take you lovely ladies to the school. You don’t want to be late.”
We pile into my dad’s Mustang convertible, both sitting in the small back seat, joking the whole time that Dad is the chauffer, which he laughs about and then threatens to throw the top down. But that would only mess up our hair.
The minute we pull up at school, Aleesha and I bounce out of the car, thanking my dad quickly, and take off toward the gym.
“I’m so excited. Do you think anyone will want to dance with me?” Aleesha asks.
“Oh, for sure. There will be so many guys who want to dance with you. They will be lining up out the door.”
“Stop it,” Aleesha teases as we make our way through the doors.
The gym isn’t as magical as I thought it might be, with the bleachers out for seats and only a few decorations hanging from the basketball hoops, but the lighting surrounding the perimeter is blue, our school colors, which adds a fun feel to the room.
There is a DJ to the right, students nowhere to be found on the dance floor, but instead, segregated by boys and girls.
“Why isn’t anyone dancing?”
“Maybe it’s still early,” Aleesha answers. “Let’s find Eric for you. He’s going to die when he sees you in this dress.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
We walk around the gym, looking for Eric, saying hi to a few people we know, and stopping at the table with cupcakes and juice. We each take a cupcake and slowly eat it as we stand to the side.
“Where do you think he is?” I take a bite of the chocolate cake, savoring the flavor. So freaking good.
“No idea. Oh wait, isn’t that Chris, his best friend?”
My eyes scan to where Aleesha is pointing, and she’s right. “Let’s go ask him.”
We make our way across the dance floor where a few kids are dancing now and tap Chris on the back. When he turns around he groans.
Not the kind of greeting I was expecting. “Hey Chris. Do you know where Eric is? We’re going to the dance together.”
“No, you’re not,” Chris answers, his voice irritated.
My brow pulls together. “Yes, we are. I asked him this week. He said yes.”
Chris sighs and shakes his head. “He said yes because he felt bad saying no to your face. He’s here with Becky, see?” Chris points to the corner where I see two figures, one looking a lot like Eric, with his lips all over another girl.
The room fades as my eyes narrow in on the two figures. They’re kissing and holding hands, doing all the things I wanted to do with Eric, that I thought I’d be doing with Eric tonight.
“I don’t understand,” I say, deflated, unable to suck my stomach in any longer.
“He doesn’t like you, Ryan. You’re not his type.” His type?
“What’s his type?”
Chris walks by me, muttering something under his breath.
“What did you say?”
Turning one last time, he looks me up and down and says, “His type isn’t you. You’re no one’s type, Collier.”
Oh God.
I’m going to be sick.
And with that, he walks away. A Pink song plays in the background, and an empty hole forms in my heart.
His type isn’t you.
You’re no one’s type.
I can vaguely hear Aleesha telling Chris off, and trying to console me, but my mind is in a fog. I was so very wrong. Eric never would have said yes to me. Did he tell everyone I asked him? Will the whole school find out? There is no way I want to stay and look around the room. But, because I'm stupid—ugly and stupid it seems—I glance to the corner of the gym where Eric is with his actual date. His actual type.
I take in the way Eric is pressing against Becky, the way he holds her hand, and pushes her hair behind her ear. His type isn't you.
Pretty and absolutely perfect Becky is.
Chapter Eighty-Four
COLBY
“What took you so long?”
I open the door and let Ryan in, taking the bag of steaming food from her, my mouth watering.
“You know, a thank you would be sufficient.”
“You said you were going to be here at twelve hundred hours. You’re half an hour late.”
She sheds her shoes, shuts the door behind her, and follows me to the kitchen. “I did not say twelve hundred hours. I don’t speak like that. I said noon, which encompasses the time between twelve and one.”
I pause, lifting
an eyebrow in her direction. “Where the hell did you get that from?”
“It’s general knowledge. People say noon to avoid making a commitment to an exact time.”
“No.” I set the bag on the table and pull out to-go boxes. “Noon means twelve hundred hours.”
“Can you speak like a human, please?”
I roll my eyes and pop my box open while taking a seat. I couldn’t care less about a drink right now; I need food. I had one hell of a workout this morning and breakfast barely held me over. We have a nighttime mission tonight, and since Ryan works at nights, I figured it would be cool to hangout. I told her to bring burritos, but had I known she’d be late, I never would have suggested it.
“That is speaking like a human. Twelve hundred hours is the same as twelve o’clock, which is the same as noon.”
Making herself at home, she goes to the fridge, grabs water for the both of us, and then takes a seat, digging into her burrito. She points to my hand while the other scoops up a giant bite of burrito. “Go ahead, look it up. I bet you anything I’m right.”
“You bet me anything?” I challenge her.
“Well . . . not anything. Name your price.”
“All right.” I take a giant bite out of my burrito and chew, thinking about what I could possibly bet her. And then it hits me, a smile spreading across my face. “Okay, if I’m right, you have to get a tattoo with me.”
Her consistent chewing ceases and her eyes widen. Blinking a few times, she swallows, and says, “A tattoo?”
“Yeah, a tattoo. What, are you scared?”
“No,” she scoffs. “But, why the hell do I have to get a tattoo about how to say the time? That’s a huge commitment, Brooks.”
I shrug, my demeanor casual. “Well, if you think you’re wrong, then don’t make the bet.”
“I’m not wrong.” She points her fork at me. “I know I’m right.”
“Then shake on it.”
“Hold on a second there, chappy.”
“Chappy?” My brow lifts in question.
Ignoring me, she says, “What do I get when I’m right?”
“Up to you. I chose a tattoo.”
“Oh, I like this. I can choose anything?”
I slide my jaw back and forth, speaking between my teeth. “Within reason.”
“Hmm . . .” With an evil glint in her eye, she stares at the ceiling giving her answer some thought.
“It’s not rocket science, Ryan.”
“I’m aware, Colby, but it’s not very often I get to have the upper hand over you, so I need to make this good.”
“Christ.” Instead of waiting for her to answer, I focus on my burrito. So freaking good. There is this place outside of Nellis that looks like a shanty, but it should be on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives because it’s so good. I took Sage there a few weeks ago and she was skeptical, but I convinced her it would be the best burrito she’d ever eat. She admitted I was right, which was satisfying, so was the fooling around we did after.
“I got it,” Ryan finally says, slapping her hand on the table.
“What is it?”
Sitting up tall, she tilts her chin up in pride and says, “If you are right, I get a tattoo. But if I win, which I know I will, I get to ask you any question I want about your relationship with Sage and you have to answer truthfully.” She’s been on my ass wanting to know everything, and I know it’s because she’s a girl who loves love. We’ve talked about it before, how she wants a solid, loving relationship, so I’m not offended by the prodding, because I can see why she’s desperate to know. I hold back a lot, I always have, but she wants in. She wants to know all about her friend, and she’s choosing this moment to cash in. Well played. Too bad she’s going to lose.
I let out a long breath. “What is your obsession with knowing the details of my relationship with Sage?” I ask, just to confirm.
“You’ve made me obsessed by not sharing anything with me. How long have you guys been dating now?”
“Three months,” I answer, knowing exactly how long it’s been and how great it’s been having Sage at my side. She’s funny, and sweet, and gets my job and me. When I talk to her about my day, she understands . . . for the most part.
“Three months and I know nothing. That is unacceptable as your friend. I need details, Colby.”
“Fine, whatever. If you win, I tell you everything.”
Bouncing in her chair, she claps her hands together in excitement. “Oh, I have so many questions to ask you. I can’t wait to invade your privacy.” The humor in her eyes makes me smile. I love the teasing side of Ryan.
“You have to win first in order for that to happen.”
“Oh, I’m winning.” She winks at me, as if she knows something I don’t and for a minute, I’m nervous I might be wrong, that her asinine reasoning might actually be true. But, no. Noon means twelve o’clock.
Taking my phone from my pocket, I say, “Okay, I’m going to look it up.” When I unlock my phone, I notice a few missed texts from Sage. “Hold that thought for a second.”
I scroll through the texts.
Sage: Have fun eating the best burrito ever with Ryan. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you for going there without me. I’m addicted.
Sage: A kid came into the office today with the thickest glasses I’ve ever seen, the poor guy, and I wish there was more we could do for him.
Sage: I wish you didn’t have to work tonight. I’m really wishing I could stay the night.
Sage: Tomorrow night, can we keep that night for us? Do something at your place . . .
Sage: And when I say do something at your place, I mean, you know . . . fun things.
I inwardly groan and shift in my seat. Fun things means she wants to get handsy, and I want nothing more than for her to lay her hands all over my body.
“Why are you licking your lips like that? It’s weird,” Ryan says, a disgusted look on her face.
Ignoring Ryan, I send a quick text back.
Colby: Tomorrow night, you and me. Can’t wait.
Now to prove Ryan wrong. It’s about time that smirk is wiped off her face. Noon as a timeframe—ridiculous. I open up my browser on my phone and type noon into the search engine.
Right away, noon is defined as twelve o’clock, and I smile to myself.
“Are you still sexting?” She points to the grin on my face. “It’s weird to me that you’re getting all excited in front of me. Could you save it for later?”
“I’m not sexting. I’m trying to figure out what kind of tattoo I want you to get. Maybe one of my face, right on the middle of your chest.”
“What?” She snags my phone from my hand and looks over the right answer. “No, noon is a timeframe.” She’s shaking her hand, searching for anything to prove me wrong.
“Face it, Ryan, I won.”
“No, what kind of life have I been living? Noon is a timeframe. Like morning and night.”
“Noon is twelve hundred hours. You’re wrong, I’m right, and now I get to decide your tattoo.”
With a grumpy look on her face, she slides my phone across the table and crosses her arms over her chest, indignant at losing. And then it hits her. Her head snaps up, mouth wide in shock. “Wait a hot second. I never agreed to you choosing the tattoo. I only said I would get one.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods. “One hundred percent positive. There is no way in hell I would ever let you choose my tattoo. Knowing you, it would be some really awful tattoo I’d have to cover up with an intense amount of makeup on my wedding day.”
“That’s not true. I’m considerate.”
“Yeah, right.” She shakes her head. “Not going to happen.”
“What if . . .” I pause and gnaw on the side of my mouth. I have an idea for her. It’s one of the reasons I suggested getting a tattoo, because I think she needs this as a reminder. But I want to surprise her, so I offer a way to get her to trust me. “What if I let you ask me questions about Sage, if
you in return let me pick out your tattoo?”
“I’m not that desperate.” She leans back in her chair and crosses one leg over the other.
“Okay.” I pick up my phone and smile to myself, pretending to text Sage.
“Whatcha doing over there?” She leans her head to the side, trying to take a look at my phone screen.
“Talking to Sage about tomorrow night.”
“Is that right?” She scoots over a little bit more, and when I shield my phone away, she groans with irritation. “Ugh, why do you torture me?”
“Just trust me.”
“Trust you? Do you really think I’m going to let you choose my one and only tattoo?”
I nod. “I really do.”
She mulls that over, working the idea back and forth in her brain. I can see that she’s leaning toward yes, only because she is a romantic at heart and loves to talk about relationships and offer advice. I know she did a lot with Rory and now she’s turning it on me.
Letting out a long exhale, she says, “You’re not going to be mean and do something stupid, right?”
“Never.”
She runs her teeth over her bottom lip and tilts her head back, giving in. “Fine. You can choose my tattoo.”
“Smart choice, Ryan. Smart choice.”
* * *
“You’ve avoided me enough. Get on with it; it’s time to answer my questions.”
Ryan is curled up on my couch, one arm balanced over the back, the other in her lap. I have the TV on low, not really watching anything important, just filling the silence when we’re not talking.
“Okay, hit me with them.”
Excitedly, she sits up and rubs her hands together, her smile contagious. Oh shit, I should have negotiated a limit of questions by the way she’s looking at me, devil horns peeking out the top of her blonde head.
The Duets Page 68