Always Never Yours(34)

I follow him into the kitchen. It’s a slow-moving hubbub of white-aproned employees placing pizza pans in the ovens and dishes into the dishwasher. “I think it’s because of the Eric thing,” I tell him over the noise.

He pales, a horrified expression crossing his face, and I know exactly why. Eric’s washing dishes at the sink, potentially within earshot. Anthony fixes me with a glare and grabs me by the arm, pulling me to the other end of the kitchen and into the ingredients locker. Only once I’m inside, leaning against a wire shelf stocked with bags of flour, does he let go of my arm.

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Not with him, not with you,” he says urgently. But what catches me is the tremor in his expression. He doesn’t look angry—he looks nervous.

“Have you even asked him where you guys stand since the party?” I lower my voice.

“Why bother?” he fires back. “I saw enough.”

His shoulders sag. He sounds like he’s given up. It’s nothing new—Anthony’s always burying his feelings at the first sign of something falling apart. But I know he really likes Eric. He’s just too insecure to fight for what he wants, which means he needs me to do it for him.

“Stay here,” I tell him. Leaving the ingredients locker, I walk directly to the sink.

“Eric,” I say over the running water. He turns, plate in hand, but he doesn’t exactly look surprised that I’m in the kitchen, where I’m definitely not supposed to be. It’s like he watched Anthony and me walk into the kitchen. Like he’s aware of Anthony’s whereabouts, like he keeps track of him. It’s what I do when someone I like is nearby.

“What’s the deal with you and that girl from the party?” I ask abruptly.

His eyes widen for a split second, then he resumes scrubbing the plate, and his voice is casual when he replies. “You mean Melissa? She’s . . . a friend. I go to Saint Margaret’s, and she goes to our sister school. I know her from school dances and stuff. I don’t know—we hooked up.” He’s playing it cool. If I weren’t a director, I wouldn’t know he’s acting.

“Are you guys, like, a thing now?”

For a brief moment, I think I see his eyes flit to somewhere behind me—to the ingredients locker. “It was nothing serious,” he says slowly, his eyes returning to mine.

“Do you want it to be a thing?” I press him.

Now I know he glances to where Anthony’s waiting. But then he shrugs. “She’s not really my type, but who knows?” he says coolly. “I wasn’t expecting to hook up with her that night. I only knew about the party because I overheard a couple of Stillmont guys who came in here talking about it. I didn’t figure people from my school would be there.”

He fixes me with an indicative glance, and what he’s really saying fits into place in my head.

I remember how he danced with Melissa every time the Saint Margaret’s guys were nearby, and how he danced with Anthony only when they weren’t. He’s not out to his school. He did invite Anthony with a purpose, but it was ruined when people he knew showed up.

I nod, hoping my expression tells him I understand. Wordlessly, Eric peels off his gloves and takes a water pitcher out into the restaurant.

I return to Anthony, who’s exactly where I left him, hanging out with the flour and canned tomatoes. “It’s safe to come out now,” I tell him. Expressionless, he walks out into the kitchen and picks up an order of breadsticks off the counter. “But you should know,” I continue, “Eric’s not dating Melissa, he said she’s not his type, and he looked at you twice. I think he got cold feet at the party because he’s in the closet. If I were you, I’d ask him out on a more private date.”

But Anthony doesn’t meet my eyes. “Thanks, Megan. I have work.”

He goes into the dining room, and I’m left in the kitchen, confused and a little hurt. I just served up the guy Anthony likes for him with a side of breadsticks. Instead of going for it, Anthony chose to walk away. Brusquely, I shove open the door in the back of the kitchen and kick the gravel as I walk to my car.

I’m getting out my keys when I hear Anthony call my name. He’s still wearing his frilly hat, which only makes me laugh a little inside because whatever fear was in his eyes earlier has disappeared. Now he’s angry.

“This is why I was avoiding you.” He strides toward me but halts suddenly in the middle of the parking lot, like he doesn’t want to come too close. “I knew you’d do something like this. You cannot keep interfering with my relationships. I know you come into any hint of a romantic situation guns blazing, but I’m not like you. I can’t just rush into things.”

I’m in no mood to be lectured. “Why not? You like him. I think he likes you, but you’ll never know until you try.”

“He’s had every opportunity to talk to me,” Anthony replies darkly, “to explain what you’re only guessing. If he wants this, he would’ve come to me.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” I almost yell. “It’d be nice if it did, but getting the boyfriend you want is hard work. You can’t expect anything to happen if you don’t make a move. If you want him, do something about it.” I know I struck a nerve because his expression clouds over. “Don’t be afraid of this,” I go on, gentler. “The only way this definitely doesn’t work is if you do nothing.”