Not So Nice Guy(39)

“Not a single thing?” I snap before I can think better of it.

He wipes away a smile, busying himself with emptying his lunch onto the table. “Now that I think about it, it was just one of those nights that really sucked, y’know?”

I grunt out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry.

Ashley is confused and staring back and forth between us. “Well I’m sorry to hear that. You’re always welcome to come binge Bravo with me!”

“I don’t know what that means.” He turns to me. “Sam, I brought the leftovers from yesterday. It’s a lot. Want some?”

“Yeah. Here, I don’t want my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You can eat it for a snack before soccer practice.”

“Leftovers? So you guys were hanging out last night?” Ashley asks Ian. “What were you up to?”

“Does it have raspberry jelly?” he asks skeptically. “I thought you ran out.”

I roll my eyes and shove the sandwich toward him. “I picked some up on the way home last night because every time I use grape you groan about it for four days straight.”

“Guys,” Ashley says, tired of being ignored.

“What?” I ask impatiently.

“What were you doing?”

I shrug. “Watching West Wing.”

Ian is wearing a secretive smile and Ashley notices.

“Well that doesn’t sound too bad. What sucked about that?”

My eyes go wide with fear. Since when are we under her microscope? Oh right, since she decided to have a crush on Ian.

“Just wasn’t a good episode,” he backtracks into a lie. Any true fan knows there is no such thing. “And I stubbed my toe.”

He’s trying to help, but he’s only making it worse.

“Oh…okay. Well I hope Sam here gave you a foot rub or something…”

She knows. She knows!

I act fast.

“Do you like pretzels, Ashley?” I ask genially.

She perks up. “Love them.”

I toss the bag her way and she drops it into her purse.

Then I watch as she realizes the power she suddenly wields.

“Y’know, I like chocolate too,” she says with a smile that’s too polite. Her point is perfectly clear: give me the chocolate or I tell everyone you two were fooling around. I slap my dessert pudding cup in her hand and she gloats. “’Preciate it.” Then she turns to Ian. “Anyway, Ian, I was wondering what your plans are for this Saturday? I want to check out this new nature path near my house and you seem outdoorsy.” She wags her eyebrows. “Could be fun.”

Wait. What?

“As friends,” she clarifies, testing the waters. “I’m inspired by how friendly everyone is around here.”

Ian tells her he’s busy this weekend and then Ashley blabs about something else I don’t care about. I’m too busy watching her spoon my goddamn pudding into her mouth. She dribbles a little bit on her lip. I chew on my fingernails. She licks the spoon and I resist the urge to slap the container out of her hand. Then—THEN—she doesn’t even finish all of it.

“Ugh, I’m so full.”

My fingernails dig into my palm so hard, I draw blood.

Ian is smart enough to buy me a chocolate bar from the vending machine on the way back to our classrooms. He slaps it into my hand and tells me to eat it all.

“And calm down. No one cares about what we’re doing. You’re being paranoid.”

He’s right, I am being paranoid, but it doesn’t matter. Soon, my life implodes on itself anyway.





14





S A M



The INCIDENT is largely Ian’s fault. I will blame him because it feels better to deflect, and really, it is his fault. The day after our shower fight/love sesh, I think Ian’s going to kiss me. When he doesn’t, I grow restless. I try to get creative. After his soccer practice, I show up at his house in a trench coat. I’m wearing clothes underneath, but he doesn’t know that. I think he’s going to fall to his knees and beg for it, but he doesn’t. In fact, he completely turns the tables on me because when I arrive, he’s just out of the shower, shirtless and wet and tan and how does someone have such clearly defined muscles?

I reach for them like a toddler reaching for candy. Gimme. He shakes his head, drops his hands to my shoulders, and locks his arms, holding me at a distance like I’m contaminated waste. He deposits me carefully on the couch and then goes to put a shirt on. When he’s finished, he drags me out of there with the promise of pizza.

It’s intentional on his part.

“Did we leave your house so nothing could happen?” I ask in between bites of pepperoni. “Because I don’t have any qualms about doing it in the bathroom at a sleazy pizza joint.”

He swallows his bite and stares at me like I’m from Mars.

“You have sauce on your chin, and on your shirt, and there’s a little on your cheek too.”

Point taken—I’m not at my sexual peak while shoving stuffed crust down my throat. Next time, I’ll order a salad.

After pizza, Ian drives us back to his house and leads me straight to my bike. He hoists me onto the seat and leans down. I brace for it. THE KISS. I’m going to rock his world. I’m going to do things with my tongue he’s only ever read about on the dark web.