The Best Laid Plans(37)

“When are you getting your own car?” he asks on our way over.

“Soon,” I say, even though we both know I’m lying.

“I’m keeping a tally, you know. You owe me so many rides now, you better drive back and forth from California to Maryland every single weekend next year.”

“Hmm,” I say, trying to listen to him but still thinking about the probability of the ear-in-the-mouth situation. I’m wringing my hands so tightly my knuckles have turned white.

“You’re nervous,” he says; not a question but a statement, because he can likely see it on my face. “That guy from this weekend.”

“Dean,” I say.

“James Dean,” he corrects, with an exaggerated eye roll that shows how silly he thinks it is. He motions to my outfit—a pair of black leggings and a gray Prescott hoodie. “At least you look like you again.”

“That’s probably not a good thing.” I reach up to pull down the visor and look at myself in the little mirror. I turn to him. “Do I look okay?”

“You always look okay,” he says, flicking on his blinker and turning the truck into the parking lot of the video store. The compliment takes me by surprise.

“Really?”

“Come on, Collins. You know you’re beautiful.”

Beautiful. The word catches me off guard. It’s not a casual word, something easy like hot or cute, words I’ve heard Andrew use a million times.

“Oh.” My face is so warm you could probably bake cookies on it. I don’t really believe him. I know he’s just trying to be nice.

“Thanks,” I say, not looking at him.

“It’s whatever,” he says. I glance over at him quickly and he’s not looking at me either. I wonder if he’s embarrassed he said anything. He parks the truck and reaches over to unlock my door, leaving the gas running.

“Be careful, okay?”

“It’s just work,” I say. “Not a big deal.”

He narrows his eyes at me and doesn’t need to say anything back, because I can hear him telepathically: I can see through all of your bullshit, Collins.

I turn toward the store, smiling when I see the chalkboard out front, recognizing Dean’s handwriting.


VIDEOS: GET ’EM WHILE THEY’RE HOT!



But the smile is bittersweet, because this means he hasn’t called out sick or mysteriously died, but is in fact right on the other side of the glass door in front of me. Andrew honks and I turn back around, raising an arm up to wave goodbye. He waves back and then drives away. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Then I push the door open and walk in.

And there is he, behind the register, resting his adorable head on his adorable hand. I only get a flash of him before I whip my head down to stare at the ground, because suddenly my eyes don’t know how to work properly. I barely notice Tim is behind the counter too—Star Trek Tim, who’s smiling and waving at me like he has no idea I’m in complete anxiety hell. It’s actually good that Tim is here, really. No alone time with James Dean means I won’t have to deal with the whole trying-to-go-in-for-a-kiss-but-ending-up-with-his-ear-in-my-mouth problem.

“Hey, Keely,” Tim calls out as I take off my jacket and walk over to the register.

“Hey, Tim,” I say, making eye contact with the floor. I can’t look up on the chance Dean might walk into my eyeline. I know I’m being awkward and probably ruining everything, but this is the first time I’ve ever dealt with seeing a cute guy after a hookup and it’s excruciating. I’m even more impressed now with how calm Danielle was when she saw Chase in school after the whole condom incident.

It’s getting weird now, so I force myself to look up at Dean. Our eyes lock. I feel a shot of electricity at the contact, almost as if it were a physical touch. He smiles and raises his hand to his forehead in a quick army salute. His hair is rumpled and I can’t help but flash back to when I was running my hands through it. All I want is to run my hands through it again and again.

“Hey,” I say, raising an arm up to army salute him back. My voice comes out scratchy and I have to clear my throat. Somehow I don’t sound like me.

“Long time no see.” He breaks out into a full smile, and his dimples melt me into a puddle on the floor. I wonder if Tim can see me down there, if he can tell I’m no longer solid but pure liquid.

“Store is closed today,” Dean says. “Roth wanted us all in to do some spring cleaning. Heavy overhaul. We’re supposed to have it all cleaned and ready to open back up tomorrow.”

I groan, heading back to the break room to dump my bag. The room is in disarray. The guys have pulled the couch away from the wall for better cleaning access, and the linoleum floor is covered in dust. There’s a mop and a broom leaning against the cutout of Legolas, placed in such a way that it looks like he’s holding them both.

“Is Legolas helping us?” I call out to the front of the store.

“Yeah. He’s got the break room covered,” Dean calls back.

“I hope he knows what he’s doing,” I say, placing my stuff down on the lumpy old couch. “This place is a disaster.”

“He’s thousands of years old.” Dean’s voice is suddenly right behind me and I jump. “I’m sure he’s cleaned the elf kingdom a time or two.”