How (Not) to Fall in Love(54)

I giggled into the phone. “Check it out.” I snapped a quick photo of his bed and texted it to her.

“Oh my God, Darcy! What the hell are you doing?”

“Babysitting.”

She snorted. “I haven’t heard it called that before.”

“Honestly, that’s all I’m doing. Lucas and his dad are gone, so I’m here taking care of his little sister.” I paused. “Except she’s sleeping, so there’s nothing to do but snoop around.”

“That’s just wrong, Darcy. What if he catches you?”

“I know it’s wrong but I can’t resist. And he won’t. He said he’d be a couple of hours.”

She sighed in my ear. “So he’s out hooking up with some other girl and you’re being a pathetic stalker taking pictures of his room.”

I leaned back in his desk chair, looking around. His room wasn’t a total disaster. The bed was made, and there was just one small pile of clothes on the floor. So far I’d resisted the urge to bury my nose in it.

“He’s not hooking up. He told me he had something to do, but it wasn’t a date.”

“Wait a minute. He specifically told you he didn’t have a date?”

“Yeah.” I spun his chair around to examine his desk. Lots of fat textbooks. A pile of notebooks. A stick-figure drawing by Pickles. A stack of comic books.

“Interesting,” Sal said, her voice full of innuendo.

It was my turn to snort. “He only told me so I’d do this. At first I thought he had a date, and I freaked him out because I let my claws out.” I spun the chair again, surveying his walls. I propped my feet on his bed. A couple of muscle car posters and all the Denver sports teams, but no half-naked girls. Maybe Mr. College Boy had outgrown that phase.

I considered Pickles sleeping in the next room. Or maybe he was just a really good guy, who thought about what his sister would see when she busted into his room, which I assumed she did, probably every day.

“This has got to be the weirdest first date ever,” Sal said.

My feet slammed to the floor. “Wait, what?”

She laughed in my ear. “Okay, it’s not a date. But it’s something.”

“Yeah. It’s called babysitting.” I glanced at his bookcase, which held way more video games than books. A couple of framed photos claimed the prime spot: center shelf. I stood up to go inspect them.

“Anyway,” I said. “You always give me crap for not doing anything fun. I thought you’d think this was funny, me being in a guy’s bedroom minus the guy.” I leaned in to examine the photos. A much younger Lucas. A guy who must be his dad. And a pretty woman who had his eyes. His mom. Him and Pickles with Santa, looking ridiculously adorable together, especially because he was taller than the Santa.

“It is funny,” Sal said. “I’m glad you called.” She paused. “Where does your mom think you are?”

“With you, of course.” I’d texted Mom that I was with Sal, but she hadn’t replied. I knew she was already in her wine coma.

“I got your back, girl,” Sal said, then laughed suggestively. “I bet if you wanted to, you could end up in that bed later tonight. With him.”

“Sal!” I gasped and straightened, scurrying out of the bedroom as if that would somehow undo what she’d said. “You’re totally misreading the situation,” I insisted. I went back to the small living room and flopped onto the couch. I wondered where Lucas always sat. Was it in the corner I’d chosen? Or maybe the other one. God, I was insane.

“How ’bout you call me tomorrow?” she said. “Let me know how this bizzaro undate night ends up.”

I took a deep breath, looking around the cozy living room, so unlike our enormous one we never used. “Yeah, sure.”

After we hung up, I pulled out my novel. Reading a romance in Lucas’s house felt weird. Sort of risky. But also exciting. I kicked off my shoes and wrapped myself in a faded afghan, burrowing into it. I was tempted to sniff it to see if I could catch his scent, but decided I’d already gone Stalkers R Us by taking a picture of his bedroom.

I read for a long time, flinching occasionally as unfamiliar creaks sounded throughout his house. The wind howled outside, but I felt safe, like he was there with me. Ridiculous. I refocused on my book boyfriend, pushing away thoughts of Lucas and whatever non-dating activities he was up to.

My eyes grew heavy as I read the same paragraph over and over. I curled deeper into the blanket. Maybe I’d take a catnap…just for a little bit…



“Darcy.” A voice trickled into my dream. I danced in an elegant ballroom, the light from hundreds of crystal chandeliers glinting off the charming duke who spun me around. I danced like I’d been born to do it—graceful and light on my feet, no tripping or stumbling.

“You’re beautiful,” said my dance partner. Lord Martinez was regal in his evening clothes. I knew I was the luckiest girl in the room.

“Thank you,” said my dream self. Not, “Shut up!” Or “As if!” I smiled into his eyes and he leaned closer. “I want something, Darcy,” he whispered, his breath tickling my dream ear. “Something only you can give me.”

I felt something on my cheek. On my hair. Something warm. Solid. That didn’t make sense; we were dancing. He had one at my waist and held my hand with the other. Who was touching my face, my hair?