The Way You Make Me Feel(44)

COOL! Yes! For sure! And I just had practice in Chinatown, so I can be there like NOW.

I let out a bark of laughter at his enthusiasm and woke Patrick up.

“What’s up?” Patrick asked from his face-planted position as I typed away furiously on my phone, figuring out logistics with Rose and Hamlet.

I considered asking these guys if they wanted to come, but I couldn’t imagine all of us hanging out. Talk about motley.

“Gonna head home. Getting too much sun, I think.”

“Are you serious? We haven’t hung out in weeks.”

Stuffing my towel and book back into my tote, I frowned. “That’s not true. I hung out with you guys a few days ago, at Taco Bell.”

“Oh. Well, it’s just hard to see you lately, that’s all.”

He was right. Not only was I busy with the KoBra, but I didn’t feel like spending all my free time with them anymore. The fact that I was ditching them to hang out with Rose would be considered totally bizarre. Because what they knew about Rose was so limited and wrong. I should know, because that’s what I used to know about her, too. And now, well. I found myself wanting to hang out with her more and more each day. “I’ll see you guys soon, though. Text me this Thursday when it’s my day off, okay?”

He grunted in reply, his eyes already fluttering closed.

*

Hamlet picked me up at the pool, and we drove toward Rose’s house up in the hills, a historic neighborhood filled with old Craftsman houses.

“This place is so cool!” Hamlet exclaimed as we drove up the hilly streets. “I never knew it existed.”

“That happens to me all the time, and I was born here,” I said as we pulled up to Rose’s house, which had a huge porch, giant pine trees shading the property, and pretty bright green trim against the dark wood.

We were walking up the driveway when Hamlet stopped abruptly in his tracks.

“What’s up?” I asked.

His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, so I couldn’t read his expression right away. “So, I don’t want to be awkward, but the thing is, I’ve never had a girlfriend before.”

I stood there, feeling the heat rise off the concrete in warm waves onto my bare legs. How did we go from first date to girlfriend talk? I kind of felt like I was being cooked alive. “Girlfriend?” The question squeaked out of me.

He stuck his hands into his shorts pockets and then took them out. Then put them back in again. “Yeah. What I’m saying is, I’m not sure how this works?”

Hm. I fanned myself with my hand. “Well, uh, we don’t have to put a label on it or anything…”

“Oh. Okay. So you don’t want to date just me?” He was smiling, but I could hear the hurt.

“No, I didn’t say that,” I said in a rush. Wait, did I want to date other people? Did I want to be exclusive with Hamlet?

Maybe. I wasn’t sure. I just knew that the way he was looking at me right now was special, and I couldn’t really handle the idea of him looking at anyone else that way.

I walked up to him and poked his arm. “I like you.”

His smile transformed from forced to genuine, and I felt the wall of emotional defense so carefully constructed inside me start to chip away. “I like you, too,” he said before poking me back.

“Okay then,” I said, returning the smile. “Can we start from there?” Would he be all right with this? Something about Hamlet destabilized my usual assurance, which was built on my willingness to walk away. That willingness gave you power. With Hamlet, I wasn’t sure if I could walk away.

And to my relief, he said, “Sure.” Then he pulled me in quickly and kissed me on the tip of my nose. “Sorry, I’ve been distracted by your cute nose the entire car ride.”

Oof. My heart fluttered as we walked up to Rose’s front door.

She answered the door before we even knocked, wearing a long, gauzy, floral-pattern dress over a bathing suit. “Took you guys long enough to make it up the driveway.”

Hamlet’s telltale flush crept up his neck again, and I reached out for his hand instinctively. Rose glanced down at our clasped hands and smiled. “Well, well, well!”

I slipped past her, pulling Hamlet in behind me. “Calm down.”

She closed the door. “I am calm. I’m so calm that I’m a clam.”

Hamlet laughed, and I looked at him. “Are you going to encourage that kind of joke?”

“It’s funny,” he insisted.

I pointed at Rose and said, “Don’t get excited. He thinks everything I say is funny.”

We stood in her living room, which was bright and sunny—big windows; white walls; and soft, neutral-colored furniture set against gleaming hardwood floors. There was art everywhere, from oversize paintings with abstract shapes and bright color to little watercolors in delicate gold frames.

“Wow, your house looks like Pinterest,” said Hamlet.

Rose laughed as she handed us towels. “Thanks, I think? That’ll make my mom happy.”

She led us out of the living room into the kitchen, which had a big open floor plan and more windows. You could see the pool from in here, sparkling and surrounded by colorful chairs and lush native landscaping. “My dad works from home nowadays, so he’s upstairs. FYI, in case you guys were planning on doing it in the pool.”