Not So Nice Guy(24)
What. The. Hell.
“Why?”
Maybe I didn’t take his supposed bear fetish seriously enough. How certain am I that he donated those bags to the children’s hospital? They could be tucked away in his closet, a tiny plush pleasure shrine.
“Why not?” He shrugs, unbothered by my anger. “Maybe I didn’t think you should be subjected to Logan’s terrible penmanship.”
“Real answer.”
“That is the real answer. His poem was shit and his handwriting was even worse—scribbles, really.”
“Don’t try to be cute now.” I’m angry—pissed. “I can’t believe you did that. I’ve spent the last two weeks feeling like shit because you were getting piles of gifts and I was getting diddly squat. I felt like a lonely loser.”
“Sam—”
He tries to step closer and I hold up my hands to block him. I know it’s a useless endeavor. If he wanted to reach me, my arms would bend like spaghetti noodles.
“Sam…Samwich…Sam and cheese.” Each of my nicknames feels like he’s plucking my heartstrings. He bends so we’re face to face. “I did it because it’s time you and I stop dancing around the obvious, this thing we have between us.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“You’re right. I’ll make myself clear.”
His blue eyes are smoldering and a jolt of fear sparks down my spine.
“Err…or you could just shake my hand, turn, and call it a day?”
He frowns. “What are you scared of?”
I wave off his question. “Oh, lots of things, really. The usual: spiders, roaches, ghosts. Also, losing my best friend because he thinks we should rock the boat.”
“It’s not like that.”
His calm demeanor has me incensed. “What would you call our phone call last night?! Idle chitchat?”
“The exact opposite, in fact. Listen, we’re not going to do the friends-with-benefits thing. We aren’t going to just have sex and keep things casual.”
“Of course. Why would we? That sounds much too easy.”
“When you’re ready, I’m going to ask you out on a date.”
“A date?! I don’t even want to hang out with you as a friend right now! You stole my bears, and my flowers!”
“No. Remember?” He finally sounds exasperated. “I gave you the flowers.”
True, but they burned me up with jealousy so much I tossed them. Now I’m even more angry with him.
I poke his chest and his hard muscle sends a fissure down my finger bone. Great, I’ve probably broken something.
“Don’t try to slip out of this through a technicality, you jerk.”
His hand wraps around mine so I can’t pull it away, and we might as well be in the 1800s because him touching my hand feels inappropriate and intimate and are there nerves in your hand that connect to your groin?
“I’ll buy you a million bears if that’s what you want.”
Good, let’s focus on the real issue. He lied to me and betrayed me, but it’s the conspicuous lack of dime-store bears I’m truly angry about.
“No! Nothing you do can make up for this…this deceit!”
The very edge of his mouth tips up. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Unhand me.”
He steps back and pinches the brim of his nose like he’s trying not to laugh—or scream.
“Clearly you need some time. Do you want to bike together to the carnival in the morning?”
“Absolutely not.”
He steps back and heads for the door. “Then I guess I’ll just see you there.”
Yes! YES YOU WILL!
8
I A N
For the record, I didn’t volunteer to sit in the dunking booth at the Valentine’s Day Carnival. Someone (take a guess) wrote my name in bold on the sign-up form. Conveniently enough, she opted to operate said dunking booth, meaning she’ll get to watch me get drenched dozens of times in between taking tickets and resetting the dunk mechanism.
The carnival officially starts at 10:00 AM. I was hoping the storm from yesterday would preclude the outdoor activities, but probably due to Sam’s voodoo magic, the sky cleared up and the rain gave way to a warm front from the south. It’s sunny and there’s not a cloud in the sky. I’m up on the platform, waiting to be dunked, and Sam is down on the ground chatting with Logan. He brought her coffee this morning. How charming. Oh, and there’s a small teddy bear too. Sam hugs that bear against her chest like she’s never wanted anything more in her entire life. The show is for me.
“Let’s get this party started!” someone shouts near the back of the line.
Yes, there’s a line.
There are so many people lined up to dunk me I’m sure the astronauts can see the queue formation from the space station.
“Kyle, come dunk Coach!”
“Steven! Mr. Fletcher is in the dunking booth!”
Bianca is first up. She’s wearing a teasing little grin, and every time I accidentally look her way, she waves excitedly.
Sam cuts in front of her and holds out a palm impatiently. “Tickets.”
Her bear is forgotten somewhere and Logan is gone.