Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK

by Betsy St. Amant

  Dad wasn’t helping the entire awkward factor. He alternated frowning at Wes and smiling at Ms. Hawthorne, and the whole thing gave me a headache. I sipped at my mocha, but my mouth was so dry I could barely even taste it. No one had spoken in six minutes. Trust me, I’d timed it.

  The soft background music Bert typically played seemed louder than usual, but that was probably because of the quiethovering like a storm cloud ready to burst. The tension was so thick I’m surprised it didn’t become a tangible object dangling over our heads. Like an anvil.

  Ms. Hawthorne’s coffee cup suddenly toppled over, and a stream of liquid spilled out on the table. “Oh, goodness. David, would you get me a napkin?”

  Dad rushed to the counter, and Ms. Hawthorne leaned toward me, voice low. “Addison, I know this is a little weird for you.” She nodded at Wes. “And you. But I have some advice.”

  Wes’s eyes flickered in her direction, but his body didn’t move. I was going to owe him big for this one. A new tattoo? Free bike wash?

  “What’s that?” It was only polite to ask, though I had little confidence she could remedy this situation. Come on, I was drinking my favorite mocha with extra sprinkles, and that wasn’t even touching my problems.

  Ms. Hawthorne glanced over her shoulder at Dad, who was still fumbling to retrieve the napkins from the jammed canister at the front counter. “Just go with it tonight, and the odds of this evening ever being a repeat will significantly diminish.”

  Wes frowned in confusion, and I even had to think her sentence over twice before catching her meaning. You’d have thought she was a math teacher instead of English. “So you think if we play along, he’ll let us go out alone next time?”

  “Or at least go out with your friends.” She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “It’s worth a try. Fuming and pouting isn’t working, though I do understand the motivation behind it.”

  She was right. Wes and I sitting here silently wouldn’t hurry the night along or win any brownie points with my dad. I nudged Wes’s leg with my foot, and he slowly straightened in his chair. “What do you think?”

  He lifted both hands in surrender. “I’m in—anything to avoid this version of family fun again.” He tipped his head at Ms. Hawthorne. “No offense.”

  She laughed. “None taken. I wouldn’t have wanted to go out with my dad and teacher when I was a teenager either. Of course, he was married, so that would have been even more awkward.” She grinned at me.

  “Thanks.” I flashed her a quick smile, grateful I had at least one ally during this mixed-up night. I leaned forward, lowering my voice to a whisper as Dad approached with a handful of napkins. “Did you spill your coffee on purpose?” I was torn between admiring her ambition and wanting to scold her for wasting even a drop of mocha heaven.

  She only winked as Dad slid back into the chair beside her.

  I shook my head, thinking I had severely underestimated my English teacher. I should have known she was different if only by her footwear. Any teacher who valued fashion over comfort in the classroom had to be at least a little cool.

  “What’d I miss?” Dad looked at each of us with expectation.

  I took a long sip of mocha. No one jumped in, so it was up to me. “Wes here was just getting ready to tell Ms. Hawthorne about his favorite novel.” Hey, I already owed him, so why not enjoy the show?

  I expected him to cough, perhaps even spew coffee, but he just let loose a lazy smile. “That’s right. To Kill a Mockingbird.”

  It was my turn to cough. What? Surely he was just joking or trying to show off by pulling a familiar title out of thin air. Time for a trap. I smiled sweetly. “I haven’t read that one in years. Why don’t you refresh my memory of the plotline?”

  Wes shrugged and then went into an animated, lengthy description of Scout and Jem, Atticus Finch, and Boo Radley. My mouth opened wider and wider until I finally clenched it shut. Wes read classics—and enjoyed them. What other secrets lurked behind that stupid leather jacket? (Okay, not stupid, because man, it smelled really good, but you know what I mean.)

  When he finished his summary, Wes found my hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. I met his gaze for a moment, Ms. Hawthorne’s questions a mere drone in the back of my mind as Got Beans faded into a blur. I forgot about how embarrassing it was to be out with my English teacher on a Friday night, forgot about Luke and Marta sitting awkwardly in a movie theater without me, forgot about Dad’s long list of rules. Nothing existed but Wes and his dark-brown gaze, the likes of which held a subtle spark that made my stomach flip-flop.

  He’d never seemed more dangerous to me than he did in that moment.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I still can’t believe you convinced your father to let you come.”

  Marta tested the weight of a hot-pink bowling ball then put it back on the shelf. “Especially after all the overprotective horror stories I’ve heard. I thought my host mom was bad.” Marta let loose an exaggerated shudder.

  “Wes made a decent impression at Got Bea ns last night, so maybe Ms. Hawthorne was right in her theory.” I picked up a silver ball. Too heavy. I’d throw my shoulder out. “Or maybe Dad was just eager to have an evening with Ms. Hawthorne alone, too, and figured this was the lesser of two evils.”

  “Or a combination of both.”

  “You’re probably right.” Last night couldn’t have ended soon enough, even though the entire evening only lasted two hours. We’d all made small talk and downed our coffee then sat around trying to pretend we all wanted to be there while stealing glances at the clock. Thankfully Wes had come around and put in some effort, even drawing Ms. Hawthorne into more conversation about another classic. Who’d have thought Wes read novels? Then again, I’d never have pegged him for a pianist either, and he obviously had great talent there. Not for the first time, I wondered why he felt he had to hide behind the bad-boy vibe when he had so much going for him.

  Maybe he’d just never had anyone around to tell him.

  Marta gestured to where Luke was typing our names into the computer system on lane 22. Wes stood beside him, hands shoved into his pockets as he surveyed the room. “Is Wes all right? He seemed quiet when we got here.”

  “That’s Wes. He’s not exactly a big talker.” I nudged her with my hip. “So you never told me—how did things go with Luke at the movie theater?”

  Marta rolled her eyes. “Before or after he talked about you all night?”

  “After?” I winced.

  “Let’s just say it was a good thing I already knew he liked you, or I’d have been insulted.” She finally chose a purple ball with green lightning bolts and fell into step beside me as we made our way toward the lane.

  “I’m really sorry how everything turned out.” I lowered my voice as we drew nearer to the boys, even though the nearly deafening slam of balls ricocheting off pins would surely cover my words. “I’d hoped maybe Luke would change his mind about brunettes and go for a blond.”

  Marta patted her flaxen hair and grinned. “We could always stop at a salon on the way home.”

  “Don’t you dare! Your hair is gorgeous.” And natural. Mine was, too, but her butter-colored hair looked like a famous stylist had groomed it, while mine hung plain and brown around my shoulders.

  “And yours isn’t? Both of those guys over there like you, Addison. I’m pretty sure your hair isn’t an issue for them.” Marta elbowed me in the ribs. “I was kidding anyway. I’m not interested in Luke that way. Not really. He’s a good friend.”

  “Then I think that’s his curse because that’s exactly how I feel about him.”

  “He’s got a golden heart to do this for you as a favor.” Marta shot me a glance that clearly warned I’d better not forget that, and I couldn’t help but smile at her protectiveness of her new “friend.” Maybe there was hope for the two of them yet.

  “What’d you say?” Luke looked up from the computer screen with a smile as we dropped our balls onto the return conveyor. His gaze lingered
slightly longer on me than it did on Marta, and I quickly looked away.

  Marta brushed her hands on her jeans. “Girl stuff. You wouldn’t be interested.”

  “That’s for sure.” Luke wrinkled his nose. “Hey, Wes, you’re up first.”

  Wes headed for the ball return, and I caught his arm. “Please tell me you’re not bowling in that jacket.”

  “Why not? I’m going to suck regardless.” But he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over one of the seats.

  “Have you never bowled before?” Marta asked. “I haven’t.”

  “I have.” Wes picked up his ball and spun it around in an attempt to find the finger holes. “But it’s not exactly my thing.”

  “Not much of a sports guy?” Luke came to stand beside me, and I tried to tell myself it was just so he could see Wes better as he bowled.

  Wes’s eyes darted from Luke to me and back again. “Let’s just say I’m not into competition.” Then he turned and thrust the ball down the lane, where it slammed immediately into the gutter.

  “Less force, more strategy.” Luke clapped Wes’s shoulder. “You’re up again.”

  I winced as Wes’s expression darkened, but to his credit he didn’t say anything, just waited for his ball to be returned. This time he hesitated at the foul line, lining up his shot before releasing the ball with slightly less strength behind it. The ball arced to the left and made it halfway down the lane before slipping into the gutter.

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be worse.” Marta slipped past Wes to get her ball. But she made a spare, and Luke a strike. As I picked up my ball from the conveyor, I couldn’t help but wonder why Luke had put our names in the order he had, as if Marta and Wes were a team and he and I were a team after them. An accident? Or a subtle hint of his feelings for me? But Luke didn’t seem the crafty sort. I was probably just projecting Wes’s bad mood and blowing things out of proportion.

  I shook off the uneasy feeling looming over me and tried to smile for Wes’s sake as he prepared his next shot. Luke was doing us a favor, as Marta had pointed out. He deserved some grace. Hopefully Wes would see that, too.

  “That guy is a jerk.” Wes slammed the door of his dad’s Jeep and shoved the key into the ignition.

  I buckled my seat belt, my heart pounding beneath the wide strap. “What do you mean?” I knew, though. I knew exactly.

  Wes reached for a pack of gum under the console and ripped open a piece before shoving it in his mouth. His words were muffled as he chewed, but his meaning clear. “Luke. Is. A. Jerk.”

  My thoughts raced, replaying Luke’s instructional yet borderline condescending advice to Wes—and every friendly gesture or touch toward me. I swallowed hard. “But what about ice cream?”

  Wes turned to face me, head cocked to the side as if he couldn’t believe that was my chief concern.

  “I’m not saying I need it.” Although I sort of did. “I meant we’re supposed to meet them at Screamin’ Cones. That’s the plan.”

  “Then just text Marta and tell her you’re not hungry.”

  I leveled my gaze at Wes. “And you expect her to believe that?”

  Wes turned the keys, and the Jeep sprang to life. “I don’t care. If you want ice cream, I’ll drive into the next town and get it. I just don’t want to be near him again. He’s annoying.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Are you that naive? He’s into you.” Wes shook his head at me, as if he couldn’t believe my ignorance—which really wasn’t ignorance so much as it was denial. Luke having feelings for me beyond friendship complicated this delicate quartet we’d all created, and without him and Marta, my chances of seeing Wes in a dating atmosphere again plummeted to nonexistent. Then he’d go running back to Lemon Drop for a good time while this particular Gummi Bear was once again left in her room with nothing but homework assignments and classic novels for company. I’d come so far, I wasn’t backing up now. I was on a date with Wes Keegan. Me.

  As much as I loved my books, they weren’t going to make up for losing what I’d finally obtained.

  I let out a huff. “Okay, so I might have noticed a little.”

  “Good job, Sherlock.” Wes reached for another piece of gum.

  “You do realize you’re not supposed to chew a whole pack at a time?” I gestured to the second empty wrapper in his lap.

  “Very funny. I chew gum when I want to smoke.”

  “You smoke?” Funny, I’d never noticed the scent on him before.

  “I did. Past tense.”

  He must have seen my nose wrinkle because he rolled his eyes. “What, PK? Judging another dirty habit of sinners?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Although the whole concept of smoking totally sickened me—and not just the smell, but the whole blackened-lungs thing. Ew. What was the point?

  “You thought it. Come on, don’t tell me smoking hasn’t been condemned from your dad’s pulpit before.”

  I bit my tongue, unable to deny it.

  Wes smirked. “Smoking, drinking, sex. Let me guess. Rock ‘n’ roll, too?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. My dad loves Heart.”

  “Oh brother.” Wes closed his eyes. “PK, what do you think? Not your dad. And not what you think God thinks. You.”

  I lifted my chin, unwilling to back down, even though I knew that was his goal. “I think smoking’s gross.”

  “Fair enough.” His lips twisted to one side. “What about the rest of the list?”

  My mouth opened on instinct, but all potential words froze on my tongue, refusing to slip out. I knew the right answers. I knew what I should say, what my Sunday school teacher had drilled into us since we were kids—how to say no to peer pressure, how to share our faith while politely turning down offers we’d better refuse.

  But why?

  Wes never dropped my gaze, and by the slight curve of his lips, I knew he’d seen the truth, seen my reluctant yet inevitable answer to his question.

  I didn’t have a clue.

  A car horn honked behind us, and Luke waved from the driver’s seat of his car as he gestured for us to pull out of the parking space and lead the way.

  “Did I mention I don’t like that guy?” Eyes narrowed, Wes jerked the gearshift into REVERSE, his jaw locked. “Where to? And if you say Screamin’ Cones, even as a joke, I swear I’ll drive this Jeep through that window into the bowling alley.”

  Grateful the past topic was over, I leaned in his direction, as far as my seat belt would allow, and grinned. “Screamin’ Cones?” The words came out in a half whisper, and I honestly had no idea what I’d do if he actually shoved the car into DRIVE and gassed it.

  Wes held my gaze, the muscle in his jaw twitching, the storm in his eyes slowly clearing to reveal a spark of humor. He let out a short laugh, and when he met my eyes again, his had all but softened. “Leave it to you to call my bluffs.” He trailed a finger down my cheek, and my lips parted automatically, our previous disagreement forgotten. Would he kiss me again, right here in the parking lot?

  But he just returned both hands to the steering wheel, and I eased back into my seat, glad I’d cheered him up if nothing else. “You can take me home. I’ll text Marta and tell her you’re not feeling well.”

  “So now you’re lying, PK? How else am I going to corrupt you?” He backed out of the parking space.

  “It’s not a lie.” My heart raced like it did every time he called me PK, and I quickly reached down and pulled my phone from my purse to hide my reaction. “I think grumpy qualifies as not feeling well.”

  “Come on, word-girl. You can do better than grumpy. That makes me sound like a cartoon bear.” Wes drove onto the street. “Or a dwarf.”

  “Well you’re not Happy, Sleepy, or Bashful, and I doubt you’d want to be Dopey, so …” My voice trailed off as I typed out a quick message to Marta. Definitely not Bashful, not with the smoldering glances he kept sending my way. My stomach flip-flopped, and I shut my phone as soon as I received Marta’s
simple “okay” response. If she had caught even half of Luke’s subliminal messages tonight, then she probably could fill in the blanks pretty quickly.

  “You forgot Sneezy.”

  “That’s impressive. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer, too?” I twisted in my seat to face him, drawing one leg up underneath me.

  Wes stopped at a red light. “Very funny. I happened to watch Snow White growing up.”

  “Happened?” I snorted.

  “More like was forced to by my mother. It was her favorite movie, and she always had it playing.” Wes’s smile dimmed. “She said it reminded her that even when life wasn’t fair, there was always a silver lining. Always someone to help us, like the dwarfs.”

  I smiled. Nice concept. “Always a prince on the way?”

  Wes swallowed as he stared straight ahead, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “She never lacked for those. Even when she was still with my dad.”

  Oh.

  I sat quietly, unsure what to say. Apparently Wes had more baggage in his past than I’d realized, but with each tiny revelation, it was like a piece of his leather-coated puzzle slid into place. I wanted to tell him I was sorry, but it sounded so flippant. Sorry for what? It wasn’t my fault he’d had a rotten home life, and it wasn’t his, either. I wondered how many people knew about his childhood. And how did Mr. Keegan fit into the picture? Wes made him out to be an uncaring monster, but the man at church seemed genuinely concerned about his son. It didn’t add up.

  I reached over the middle console and laid my hand on Wes’s, wishing I had some deep and profound words to offer. Something to heal his past. Something to bring light to his future.

  “At least she didn’t make you watch Cinderella. Because I can guarantee you I wouldn’t know how to walk in glass slippers.”

  Wes shot me a look, and I held my breath, unsure if joking my way out of this conversation was genius or three-strikes-in-one. Then he smiled and shook his head as the light turned green. He accelerated through the intersection, his smile morphing into a snort and a chuckle. “I’m many things, Addison, but Prince Charming is not one of them.”