The Best Laid Plans(58)

He looks at the waitress. “Can we get some wine?”

She flushes pink and fiddles with her hair. “Oh, um. Are you old enough?”

“C’mon,” he says, cocking his head to the side.

Her voice wavers. “I’ll need to see some ID.”

“Sure.” He pulls out his wallet and fishes through it, handing her his license. She looks at it for a second and then hands it back. Then she turns to me.

“And you?”

I freeze. What does he expect me to do?

“She lost hers on the ride here.” He motions to his helmet on the seat. “We took the bike over and had a little spill. Her purse went everywhere. A bunch of her cards are missing. Gonna have to go back and look for them in the morning when it’s not so dark.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes flicking over to me and then back to Dean.

“I promise she’s old enough,” he continues. “Just turned twenty-one a few weeks ago.”

“April second?” I say, making up a date. The words come out as a question. I don’t know how Dean is so good at lying.

“Okay, I guess that’s all right,” she says, finally relenting. “Just don’t tell my manager. Which bottle do you want?”

“Red or white?” he asks me.

“Um,” I say back, brilliantly. I don’t know enough about wine to have a preference. I’ve had a few sips here and there, on holidays, but I’ve never had to order it. Dean seems so experienced, confident about so many things that are new and scary to me. It’s confusing to feel so intimidated by him and so attracted to him at the same time.

I tell him to order red wine, because for some reason it feels more grown up.

“Great.” He turns back to the waitress. “Your cheapest red.”

I guess I can’t fault him—we don’t make very much at the video store and I have no idea how much wine actually costs.

“You got it,” she says. “I’ll be back with some menus.”

“That was impressive,” I say, once she’s gone. “How did you come up with that? Do you have a fake ID?”

“My brother’s old one,” he says. “He’s twenty-three. He reported it missing so I could have it.”

He says it so casually, like it’s no big deal. I look enough like my cousin Beth I could probably get away with using her ID, but the idea is terrifying.

The waitress comes back over with the bottle and two wineglasses, pouring a bit into one of the glasses and handing it to Dean.

“You like it?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” he says, not bothering to try a sip. She keeps pouring, filling up both of our glasses halfway, and then leaves the bottle on the table. He picks up his glass and I pick up my own. We clink them together.

“Cheers, Prom Date,” he says, and I smile. I take a sip of the wine. It’s bitter, but sweet, like juice that’s gone bad. I don’t hate it, but I don’t particularly like it either. Still, it’s way better than the whiskey.

Dean puts down his glass and leans back in the booth, folding his hands casually on the table. “So, I don’t think your friend Andrew likes me very much.”

I blush, taking another sip of wine. “He’s just protective of me. We’ve known each other our whole lives. I think he doesn’t like seeing me with a guy because he thinks I’m still a little kid.” I feel my cheeks heat the second I’ve said it and take a sip to cover my embarrassment. I cannot believe I just referred to myself as a little kid.

“I think he has a crush on you,” Dean says, and I choke on my wine.

“It’s not like that at all. We’re just friends. He’s like my brother.” Those words have always come naturally to me, but now they don’t sit right. I think back to what happened between us last night. Brother isn’t the right word at all.

Dean sighs. “I don’t think you have a crush on him. I just think he has a crush on you. He might be your brother, but you’re not his sister.” He takes a sip of wine. “I mean, I can’t blame the guy. Look at you.”

I reach up to smooth my hair behind my ears, feeling self-conscious. I still don’t really understand what makes Dean say things like that, why he’s asked me out at all. I can’t figure out if we’re on a date, or if this is just a part of the game—a big, expensive, complicated version of foreplay. I can’t get my friends’ advice out of my head. A guy like James Dean doesn’t want to date anyone. They would knock any romantic notions out of my head so fast it would spin. We’re probably only here because Dean still hasn’t managed to sleep with me.

But I want them to be wrong. Maybe the Keely who drinks whiskey is a little bit real after all, and that’s the girl who Dean is drawn to. I like that he brings her out of me. I just hope the little bit of her he sees is enough.

The waitress sets menus in front of us. Dean hands them back to her without even looking. “Actually, we’re all set. We’ll get a large pizza. Pepperoni and mushroom. And can I get a side of barbecue sauce?”

“Sure,” she says, taking the unopened menus from him. “Should be out soon.” She smiles and then walks away before I have a chance to say anything. I’m annoyed Dean didn’t ask me what I liked, didn’t even let me look at the menu. He doesn’t know I hate mushrooms—their squishy texture always reminds me of slugs.