How (Not) to Fall in Love(52)

“There was puking in my weekend, too. But it was just Toby. He got into some moldy garbage.”

“Is he okay?”

At last my eyes were free to roll. “Your dog is fine.”

His smile returned. “Good. I’d hate to have to call the authorities. Or the vet.”

“Ha. No need for that. Most of the time Toby has a cast iron stomach.”

Lucas glanced at me. “So do I.”

“So you’re like Iron Man?”

He shook his head in disgust. “Iron Man had iron in his chest, not his stomach. I know you don’t read comics, but didn’t you see the movie? C’mon Shaker Girl, keep up.”

“You think you can out-geek me?” I challenged.

He pointed to his retro Ninja Turtles T-shirt. “No contest. I win.”

I pointed to his pocket knife as he cut into another box. “Speaking of geeks, is that Boy Scout issued?”

He grinned. “Salvation Army store. Way cooler than Scouts.” As he leaned over to grab more boxes, I snuck a glance at his butt. I couldn’t help myself. “My weekend wasn’t a total loss,” Lucas said, tossing me another box, which I caught one-handed. “Nice catch.”

“What was the good part?”

“Yesterday I took Pickles to see some weird movie about punk fairies packing pink swords.”

I gasped. “You saw the Fierce Firestorm movie?”

He laughed. “You are a geek. So you’re a Firestorm fan?”

“Duh.”

“Wish I’d known.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So I could’ve taken her and spared you the agony?”

“No,” he said. “So we could’ve gone together and shared the pain.”

What was happening here? This wasn’t flirting, was it? No, it couldn’t possibly be. Just because Heather wasn’t his girl didn’t change anything. This was what we always did. Witty repartee was our thing, like Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, speaking of Iron Man. Minus the kissing.

Lucas put his hands on hips and cocked his head. “I think I’d like that coffee now.”

I searched his face for signs of any new feelings toward me. What the heck did I think I’d see? Cartoon hearts instead of eyeballs? I was being idiotic. If he’d wanted to ask me out, he could have done it any time since he and Heather broke up. I tossed my box on the pile. “One extra dry, triple-shot coming right up.” I wiped my hands on my jeans as I left the storeroom.

Liz’s shop was quiet and peaceful. I made our drinks quickly but took a moment to calm my nerves before I went back. I spotted a few beads on the floor. I still found them sometimes when I swept, even though it had been ages since the Pickles incident.

I bent to pick them up. One was small, perfectly smooth and dark green. The other was a mosaic, a riot of colors. They rested in my palm. I was the green one, understated and easily overlooked. Lucas was the blast of colors, drawing admirers like moths to a flame.

I shoved the beads in my pocket, reminding myself I needed to keep my feelings for Lucas tucked safely away. I had to focus on reality. There were boxes to pack. Dogs to feed. Moms to sober up.



Lucas and I spent the next hour breaking down boxes and joking around. Coffee perked him up, and by the time the last box was on the pile, all traces of his earlier irritability had vanished. As he tossed the boxes into the back of my truck, he caught me eyeing his tattoo. I’d never been able to get a full view of it, since only part of it peeked out from under the sleeves of his T-shirts. With the change in weather, he normally wore long sleeves these days or covered up with a fleece jacket. The T-shirt showed off those biceps and his ink.

He leaned against my truck, looking very bad-boy cool. “You’re wondering what it is, right?” he asked, as he pushed up his sleeve.

So much for me trying to be subtle. “It’s…uh…it’s none of my business…”

“It’s okay, Darcy. It’s not a gang symbol.” He hesitated. “Or a naked girl.” I heard the smirk in his voice and laughed nervously, leaning in to study the tattoo, careful not to look at his face.

The characters looked like Japanese calligraphy. “What does it mean?” I asked quietly. I had a desperate need to reach out and trace the ink. I raised my eyes to his, hoping they didn’t betray my desire.

“It’s the Kanji symbols for ‘live for today.’” He paused, smiling. “At least, I hope that’s what it is. I hope Eddie at Inkheart didn’t mess with me.”

I nodded, willing myself to relax, be witty. “Right,” I agreed. “Maybe it says ‘I love Hello Kitty.’”

He grinned. “But I do love Hello Kitty. Pickles can vouch for me.”

We laughed together. I swallowed and glanced down the alley, needing to break eye contact.

“Anyway,” he said, his voice low. “I got it after my mom had been gone for a year, to remind myself I couldn’t live in the past anymore, hoping for what was. To remind me that all I’ve got is today.” He pulled his sleeve down and shrugged, almost embarrassed. “Some people think it’s lame.”

I frowned at him. “I don’t think so. I think it’s…meaningful.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled. He tossed the last of the boxes into the back of the truck.