Every Girl Does It(46)

“Give me five minutes,” I call out as I run into my bedroom. One look in the mirror tells me it’ll take more than five minutes. “Or twenty,” I yell again before stepping into the shower.

Is it just me or do I hear him chuckling in the living room?

I smile and get in the shower, promising myself that today will be different. No more Angelina, no more pretending, no more reading other people’s texts. I feel great as I mentally decide on which outfit to wear for Preston. Who knew he would grow up to be such a fantastic guy? It's my fault for doubting the male species. I think women tend to beleive men stop maturing at the age of sixteen, which in some cases is painfully true.

I throw on some lip gloss and pull my hair into a tight pony tail. I’m not usually one for shorts, but today seems like a shorts and tank top day. I slide into my jean cut offs, which aren’t too short or too long, and take a glance at the mirror. I’m obviously tanner than when I arrived, which makes my eyes sparkle that much more. Or, I guess it could be love, too. I push the thought out of my mind the second I see my skin begin to turn an ugly red color.

“Ready!” I yell, pushing open my bedroom doors.

Preston is sitting on the couch with the dog, and Mrs. Butterworth in his lap as if he’s Dr. Doolittle. I smile and cross my arms. “You ready?”

He takes in my outfit and scowls.

“What?” I say backing into the room again.

“No, you look great.” He looks down. Is he embarrassed? “It’s just that–” He puts his fingers over his mouth giving the appearance that he is trying to keep from talking. “It’s not fair.”

“What's not fair?” I ask, totally lost; yet still doubting my outfit, because his look is sending me red flags.

“You look so cute and…well...” He pushes the dog and cat off and takes two long strides toward me.

“Well, what?” Seriously, I’m dying with anticipation.

“I’m going to ruin it.”

“What? Ruin what? What are you talking about?”

He smiles mischievously, then tightens his grip around my waist and pulls me into his arms. He brushes his lips against my mouth, and I feel like attacking him. Back down, girl, I tell myself as I struggle to keep my hands firmly placed by my sides.

“We're going to the sand dunes. You're going to get dirty,” he whispers into my ear. It tickles my senses, making me want to agree with whatever he says.

I laugh weakly. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll be fine. I mean, how dirty could a person get?”




Chapter Twenty



How dirty indeed, I say to myself and yet again taste sand in my mouth. Sand is in places I didn’t know sand could access, yet I am having the time of my life watching my soon-to-be husband (I know, I caved), drive like a madman down sandy dunes.

He looks like a little boy who just discovered a sandbox for the first time. I’ll admit this is fun, minus the sand in every crevice of my body. I get back in my dune buggy and drive as fast as I can in his direction. He laughs as he aims his buggy toward mine then veers off at the last second. Note to self, when you're hot and sweaty, don’t go to the sand dunes. Preston doesn’t even look of American descent anymore.

Luckily, we packed food and water and decided to lay down on a blanket for a short picnic. I yawned loudly before taking a long swig of the cool liquid. “We should head back,” I say, only my voice sounds slightly cracked from the dry air.

“Probably,” he says smiling, only he doesn’t seem present. Something must be bothering him.

“Are you okay?” I ask, trying to play the sweet, understanding girlfriend role. I even lean over and start caressing his hand.

He pulls it back instantly and looks down. “I have to tell you something.”

I’m frozen. I can’t breathe; I can’t move. Something’s wrong. My eyes widen as I wait for him to spill it all. Maybe this is a big joke. Maybe he is getting his revenge, maybe—

“—I’ve always wanted to kiss Princess Leah.”

Not what I was expecting. I stare at him and am sorely tempted to punch him in the face, but he’s acting serious, so I feel like I need to somehow tell him it’s okay to have weird fantasies.

“Um, okay, that’s, well, good for you,” I say, patting his hand and looking away. Everything in me screams Laugh. Laugh at him. But I can’t do it, not again. It would feel like the choir concert, only this time it would really hurt him.

“Sometimes...”

Oh no. He’s talking again.

“Sometimes I imagine what it would be like to be Luke Skywalker, to have a light saber that glows, you know?”

Oh my gosh, he has tears in his eyes. He’s getting teary-eyed over Star Wars. I knew this was too good to be true. He’s still a nerd. Only this time, I love him. God, if you’re listening, you're cruel. This is a mean joke. I may deserve it, but I don’t like it.

He’s now full on sobbing. Or at least it looks like it, because his head is moving and his hands are covering his face.

“There, there,” I whisper as I pat his back with the only ounce of sympathy I can muster. “It’ll be okay.”

“No, it won’t!” He yells through sobs. “I won’t ever get a chance to be Luke Skywalker, and I didn’t even know my father!” He’s full on yelling. “Curse you, George Lucas!” His fist to the sky.