To hide my impending giggle, I dug my nails into my palm. “I like how big your hands are.”
He held one up. “You know what they say about big hands, right?”
I gave him an unimpressed glare. “Big gloves?”
His eyes twinkled. “No, Mel. Sweatier palms.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” I returned his grin. “Doy.”
“Keep ‘em coming.”
“How many of these do I have left?” I whined.
“Five,” he supplied levelly.
Maybe if I made him uncomfortable, he’d put an end to this entire thing. “I like the sound of your deep voice saying my name.” Crap. That only made me uncomfortable. I groaned when he chuckled warmly.
“I’ll be sure to say it more often then, Tom.”
“No, not Tom. Oh, never mind.” I listed the rest one right after the other. “Your style, the way you don’t mind fighting with me to get me to calm down, and the way you smile when you’re talking about your brother.”
He stilled for a fraction, and then narrowed his eyes at me. “The last two aren’t about the outside. But,” he continued, as though he were being gracious. “I like them, so I’ll take them.”
“Does Maisy have to put up with this?” I griped.
His expression had gone from soft to hard. “No,” was all he said.
I felt bad for bringing her up. Things had been somewhat pleasant. Now he had gone from my Dare to her Dare. “What did you like about her?” May as well pour salt on our wounds.
“Melanie.”
I was taken aback by the ice in his tone. “Okay, Dare, forget I said it. Let’s work on our introduction, yeah?”
“Whatever,” he mumbled, pressing his pen to his paper to write introduction in blocky letters.
I found the way he wrote strangely cute. He was such a hard boy, and his letters were too. I took out my own notebook and did the same thing.
“Introduction to love,” I started. “An emotion all human beings fight for.”
“Suffer through,” he inserted.
“Desire,” I continued.
We continued throughout the rest of class writing a rough draft for our introduction. I was shocked by how serious he took this project. And wondered if it wasn’t the project he took seriously, or the photography aspect.
“We should practice saying this out loud,” he suggested.
“Are you still coming over to my place after school?”
“Yeah. We’re probably going to be spending a lot of time together during this project. For love,” he said, as though it were ridiculous.
I agreed. “Would you mind giving me a ride?”
He glanced over at me, a strange look in his eyes. “Sure, Mel.” He started putting his things away a few seconds before the bell rang. “I’ve got to hit up my locker. And like any good girlfriend, you have to come too.”
“We don’t have to hold hands, do we?” I asked worriedly, rising with my bag.
He simply laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I demanded, saddling up beside him.
“Do I look like a guy who holds hands?” He gave me a look like I was seriously moronic.
I glared. “Well, what if I want to? I’m in this thrown together, fake, lame relationship too.” I snagged his hand and wrapped my fingers around his with a triumphant huff of breath.
Oh, boy, was that a bad idea.
People gawked at us. And when I regretted it, and tried to free my hand, Dare only held it tighter.
“Are they dating?” I heard someone ask.
“No way. Maybe she’s lost or something.”
Darren smirked.
“You know, why am I the one who’s out of place. Why can’t you be the freak?”
He wasn’t paying attention anymore. He was on his phone with his other hand, bored and bored. Sighing, I let him lead me down the packed hall, over to the row of lockers on the opposite side of the building. No one blocked his. A few girls passed by with a “Hey, Dare,” but other than that, he wasn’t accosted or anything.
“Hey,” he mumbled, as I tried to get a peek into his locker.
It was messy—shocking—but also organized in a weird way. He had no pictures up—I didn’t either—but he did have an incredible Nikon D500 resting precariously on top of his geometry and environmental science textbook. My mouth went dry, and my legs tingled. My Nikon D3000 was used and badly worn. I still loved it, of course I did, but I wouldn’t mind touching his.
He reached for it, and I saw the way he held it. Cradling it before softly placing it in his bag. It was so sexy. I bit my lip and wondered how “fake” this relationship truly was. Like, could I jump him, or would he rather not have the tomboy hitting on him?
“Yo, Dare!” a male voice said joyously, followed by two more.
Dare clasped hands with them and went from a man who’d made me giggle to a man who had earned his name. Interacting with them, he fit right in. Tall, handsome, king of his self. I hid behind him, waiting for the conversation to be over already. I felt like I’d been at school for a week instead of a day.
“I’m having a hang out tonight at my place. Dad’s got work and mom flew out to visit my sister at university. Come hang out,” his friend said.
“What time?” Dare asked.
“Eight.”
“Cool. I will. You mind if I bring my girlfriend?”
“Nah, Miranda loves Maisy.”
Dare chuckled.
I hid even further behind him. I wasn’t even sure they knew I was there. “Don’t,” I whispered.
He didn’t listen. “No, not Maisy. We broke up. I mean Melanie. The one hiding behind me like a nerd.”
I poked him in his ribs. Hard. And then I leaned around him. All three boys gaped at me. “Hi,” I whispered.
One of them smiled at me.
One of them didn’t move.
The one who seemed to be dating Miranda looked like I was a strange species he hadn’t yet encountered. They were wearing lettermen jackets. Jocks. Great.
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” He shrugged. “What’s up, Melanie?” He held out his hand. “I’m Rudy.”
I took it, sticking close to Dare’s side. “Hi, Rudy.”
“This is Cason and Wes.”
I nodded at them both. They did the same. It was so awkward I could run away.
“So, yeah.” Rudy grinned at Darren. “It’s going to be fun. Not remember it tomorrow fun.” He winked.
Dare looked bored again. “We’ll be there.”
“Why?” I asked, when they’d left.
“Why not? It’s a party. Don’t you want to go out? Unwind?” He put his arm over my shoulder, pulling me close. “Don’t be a dweeb, Tom.”
I let my arm hang around his waist. But only because walking with his arm around my shoulder was awkward. As we were passing through the main doors, I spotted Gen getting into her mother’s car. She paused, half-in-half out of the car door, and then gawked at me.
I blushed deep and hot.
Her mother said something, and she hurried to get in.
“Who’s that?” he asked, amused.
“Genna. She’s my other best friend. She’s going to flip when I tell her what’s going on.”
“Don’t tell her.”
“Why not?”
“Because the less people who know, the better. We’re trying to get an A. Which means we can’t have outside interference in our experiment. We’re dating. We’ll figure out all the rest of the shit as we go.”
“The shit? You mean the fundamental aspects of a relationship?”
“Yeah. That shit.” He took his car keys out of his pocket and pressed down on the keyless remote and I heard the locks slide up. “Get in, Tom.”
I waited until we’d pulled into the traffic line to bring my question up. “Darren?”
“Hmm?” he muttered absentmindedly, still on his phone.
“Are you really doing this for the project, or so you have an excuse for Mai
sy when she tries to guilt you back into a relationship?”
He took a moment to answer. “Both, Mel.”
I spied the scratch on his neck and his new handprint. “What happened after I left at lunch?”
He sighed this heavy sigh and put his phone in his cup holder.
He didn’t answer.
I felt this urge to comfort him. To take his guilt away. Maisy’s life wasn’t his responsibility. He was already putting up with more than he should. Being with someone out of guilt sounded hard for both parties.
But we were an “experiment,” and a way out for him. I could do that, I guessed. Be the wall between he and Maisy. It wasn’t like I was going to fall into another relationship any time soon.
“I’ll play along,” I said quietly.
He stared at the road, forearm tensed. “Thanks.”
We didn’t talk the rest of the way to my place. I didn’t want him in my house. I didn’t want anyone in my house. But he had a bad habit of getting what he wanted, or at least convincing me to want it too. If I denied this study session, he’d figure out a way to make it happen.
Why did that work on me, and not on Maisy?
“Where’s your folks?” he asked, putting his truck in park in my driveway.
“Divorce camp.” I tried to sound teasing, but it came out bitter instead.
He didn’t comment, thankfully, didn’t speak again until he was in my house. “Got anything to eat?”
“No. Let’s go upstairs.” I pulled on his arm.
He went into the kitchen anyway, wrenching open the fridge, and frowning. “There’s nothing in here but almond milk and condiments.”
I couldn’t breathe watching him move on to the cupboards. He looked in every single one, and then he turned to look at me, concern in his gunmetal eyes. “There’s no food in this house. Why not?”
“Divorce camp.” I crossed my arms over my chest, hating that I was hungry, too. I’d have to deal though. And so would he. “Can we go upstairs now?”
“What does divorce camp mean?” He followed me up the stairs.
“Nothing!” I snapped. “Stop asking so many questions.” I flung my bedroom door open and dropped my bag on my floor. I tore off my shoes, kicking them at the wall. They fell into a heap near my window. I turned around and glared at him. He looked way too concerned and it irritated me.
He took a seat in the same chair he sat in earlier. “Where’s your mom and dad, Mel?”
I ignored his stupid question. What did he care? I was just a barrier between him and his ex. An ex who I hated by the way. I sank onto my bed and grabbed my remote, turning on my streaming service. I picked my most favorite movie.
Mean Girls. Insert ironic chuckle here.
Dare was there suddenly. He slid into bed beside me, his long body taking up most of the room. His sock-clad feet caught my attention as he crossed them.
“Breathe,” he whispered.
I refused, letting myself hyperventilate. I breathed too heavy, and not heavy enough. My chest ached.
My heart did too.
“Stop,” I begged desperately, when he tried to pull me against his chest. “Stop.”
He wrapped his arms around me and then his legs, holding me in place against him.
“Let me go,” I cried, but I didn’t move.
He held me tighter. “Where are they?”
“I don’t know!” I sobbed, reaching up to wrap my arm around his neck.
He pressed his lips to my neck, his own breathing slightly less calm. “You need to freak out?” he guessed. “Freak out then. Just don’t do it alone.”
I tried not to, but in the end, I did worse than freak out. I drenched his shirt in tears. Stupid hot tears I didn’t want. And then I sniffed them back and sat up, scrubbing at my face with my shirt. His hand settled on my back. He rubbed me in slow circles. Following the path of my spine.
“They ditch you?”
“No. They’re just really engrossed in their own lives, that’s all.”
“That’s all? The only room in this house that doesn’t look neglected is yours. The living room looks like a war zone. The kitchen’s empty. They ditched you.”
“No, they didn’t!” I shouted, defiance dripping from my heart.
“Mel, you’re talking to someone who hasn’t had a family in four years. I know what it looks like when a parent checks out. Your house would look like mine if I didn’t have to take care of Patrick.”
That brought me up short. “Where’s your parents?”
“I don’t have a relationship with mine. Patrick’s dad dated Mom until he found out she was pregnant. When he took off, leaving her pregnant, she checked out, and she hasn’t been back since. She’s around, but she’s not here.” He patted his heart. “I barely got her a job at the grocery store, so I could make up the hours I’m missing being at school.”
“And I got you fired,” I mumbled miserably.
“No, I got myself fired being an asshole.” He sat up and brought his legs around me. “Look at me, Tom.” I let my eyes drift over to his unwillingly. He brushed my hair back from my face and softly grasped my cheek with his thumb and index finger. “You got to let that go. I let it go. You need to, too. Don’t feel bad.”
I looked down, freeing myself from his hold. “I feel bad anyway.”
“Yeah, well, I feel bad for never noticing the girl Maisy messed with every day. We’re even.”
Put that way, we kind of were even. I peered up at him. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.” He kissed my temple. “Breathe.”
I focused on his eyes until my breathing calmed.
Until my storm was as angry as his.
“I’m hungry,” he announced.
I unwound from his body and got on my feet. I resented how unstable I felt. How I didn’t know how to be anything but what I was right now. Messed up. Unsure. Hurt. Angry.
Too many things.
I stared helplessly at him.
“I’ll order something. What’re you in the mood for?” He dug his phone from his pocket, stretching out on my bed like he belonged there. “Pizza? Chinese? Burgers? Sushi?”
My ears perked up. “Sushi, you say?”
He laughed at me. “Mhm. You like Sushi?”
“Kind of.”
“That’s the most normal girly thing about you.”
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, Tom.” He started tapping away on his phone. He patted the space next to him. “Come pick what you want.”
“Sushi’s expensive.”
He gave me a dark look. “Get your ass over here, Tom.”
Being on the bed with him, making this experimental deal with him, and everything else today, had left me in some weird emotional place where I no longer wanted to think. I just wanted to do.
I’d think tomorrow.
I got into bed with him and scrolled through the sushi options. I was starving for a real meal with a real person. My stomach growled, and Dare paused, turning his head to gape at me.
“Was that your stomach, or are you hiding a monster in your pants?”
I blushed hot as fire and then swatted at his chest. “Don’t worry about what’s in my pants.”
He smiled privately and then returned to the phone.
I studied that private smile.
Why was it on his face? Was he worried about what was in my pants? If so, I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Having no real relationships to fall back on, sex hadn’t been an issue. The few times Sean and I kissed, it was purely experimental. Oh no, I thought in dismay. That’s all my love life was. A list of failed experiments. As Dare put the order in, I studied his profile. I didn’t want this experiment to fail, and that scared me. Because I wasn’t sure which parts of it I liked.
Dare and I were barely friends.
I needed to remember that.
CHAPTER NINE
When the sushi got there, Dare ran down to get it, r
eturning a moment later with a bag full of sushi from a place called Crazy Soy Sushi. The logo was two chopsticks tangled together, both fighting to pick up a piece of sushi and a scrap of thinly sliced pickled ginger.
I reached over and grabbed my bag, pulling it close to get my camera out. “Don’t move,” I ordered him.
He stopped mid-step in my room. “Why not?”
I leaned over to get the perfect angle, and snapped a picture of just his legs, hand holding the bag, and the logo. “That shot would make a cool shirt.”
He looked at me funny. “Are you going to put it on the wall?”
“You want to be on my wall?” I asked, eyes floating to snag his.
He shrugged. “Can I move now?” I nodded, and he came to resume his seat on my bed; legs stretched out, food between us, chopsticks in both of our hands. “This would make a good shot for the project.” He took his phone out and turned it sideways to get us both sitting there.
Other than the fact that I looked swollen and puffy from crying, and he looked gorgeous and put-together, I supposed it did make a nice picture. If you overlooked the bruises on our faces. My eyes were wide, a soy sauce packet clutched in my hands. Dare studied it on his phone, giving it that same private smile from earlier.
To distract myself from it, I picked up a carton and peeled it back, finding real food. I ate it with a real person. Who talked to me and laughed and didn’t leave me with my dust motes. By the time we were done, my stomach was nearly about to explode.
“Let’s go over our introduction,” he suggested.
We reworked our paper until the sun set, erasing and rewording, adding paragraphs and then taking them out, only to put them back. By the time we were done, our introduction was solid; I knew in my bones this project would get us an A, something we both needed. Going over my grades with Mr. Darwin had pointed out how much those C’s were affecting my GPA.
“I’ll type it up at home and email it to you,” he said.
“Thanks.” Now that I’d broken down—a million times today—and we’d eaten, awkwardness moved in. I wrung my fingers together. The study session was over, but he made no move to leave.
He lay on my bed, one arm behind his head, the other hand aimed at the TV, remote in hand. His torso stretched out and his black shirt rode up, revealing the bottom of the hard plain of his abs. There was a faint line of hair trailing between the V’s digging into his pelvic bones, the same color as his hair. A dark chocolate happy trail. Someone help me. I looked up at the ceiling and promised myself I’d stop.
The Tomboy & the Rebel Page 7