Leah on the Offbeat (Creekwood #2)(65)

I may be feeling slightly hysterical. Slightly.

Wells is already holding a Target bag when I find him at the self-checkout. He smiles and rubs the back of his neck. “Okay, I know you didn’t want me to, but I got the cat purse.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s just, I thought you’d probably try to push back, and then I’d insist, and we’d go back and forth, and I know we don’t have a lot of time. So.” He bites his lip. “If you don’t want to use it, that’s totally fine.”

“Oh. Um.” I stare at the bag.

“I would have grabbed some shoes, too, but I didn’t know what size.”

“That’s . . . fine. That’s really cool of you, Wells.”

It’s weird. I’m used to saying his name with a sarcastic kind of emphasis, a tiny vocal eye roll. Saying Wells without that little bite feels strange and incomplete.

I pay for the bra with Mom’s card, and we head back to the car. But when we get there, Mom’s still on the phone, so Wells and I lean against the trunk, side by side.

“So, are you excited?” he asks.

“For prom?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I never went to mine.”

“I never thought I would.”

“Just don’t forget to bring a camera. Your mom’s going to want pictures.”

“My camera?” I mean, of course Wells would suggest that. As if I’m going to roll into prom with a giant old-timey camera and a tripod. Maybe I should skip the camera altogether. I’ll just bring some oil paints and a fucking easel.

“I guess you’ll have your phone for that, huh?”

“Uh, yeah.” I smile.

He smiles back. And for a minute, we just stand there.

“Thanks for the purse, by the way,” I say finally. I scuff my shoe on the asphalt. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I was happy to.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” I say, blushing faintly. Because apparently I’m not capable of thanking people without making it awkward. Wells probably thinks I’m ridiculous, getting so flustered over a twenty-dollar purse. Twenty dollars is probably nothing to him. He probably uses twenties as toilet paper.

But Wells just shakes his head. “I know this kind of thing can be really uncomfortable. I used to hate receiving gifts.”

“Me too.”

“Even if I knew the person could afford it. I just didn’t like feeling like I was getting a handout.” He looks at me, and it’s as if he’s reading my mind. “I didn’t have a lot of money growing up.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Yeah. I was kind of the poor kid in the rich neighborhood. My friends all had houses, and we were in this tiny little apartment. I don’t think some people even realize there are apartments in the suburbs.”

“Wow.”

“Wow?”

“I just. I don’t know. I totally figured you were kind of a country club kid.”

“Well, I was, in a way.” He smiles. “I was a caddy.”

“That is . . . a golf thing, isn’t it?”

“Nailed it,” he says. And it’s strange. I feel lighter. Like maybe this nerdy dude can stick around if he wants. Maybe Mom could use a bootleg Prince William to distract her. I guess it’s either that or haunting the aisles of Publix, warning the baby moms how fast it all flies by.

Here’s the thing, though: no one ever warns the babies.





30


GARRETT’S EXACTLY ON TIME, AND I step out onto the front stoop to meet him. He looks at me, opens his mouth, and shuts it. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him speechless.

“Holy shit, Burke,” he says finally.

“Holy shit, Laughlin.” I tug the end of my hair.

I guess I do feel kind of pretty. Now that I’m dressed, the hair totally works, and I’ve got the rosy cheeks thing and the smoky eye thing and the freckled shoulder thing all happening at once. And as it turns out, my boots are the exact same shade of gold as my cat purse. So, that’s a thing that’s happening. I’m wearing combat boots to prom.

Garrett just stares at my mouth. I guess I’m glad he’s not staring at my boobs.

He gives me a bone-white corsage for my wrist, and Mom helps me pin a boutonniere to the lapel of his tux. Then she herds us outside the house for the photo shoot from hell. It doesn’t help that Garrett has no clue where his hands go. First he hooks his arm around my waist—then my shoulders—then back around my waist. I half expect him to whip out his phone to consult Google on the issue.

When it’s finally time to go, he opens the car door for me—and it’s honestly super weird to be wearing a prom dress in Garrett’s mom’s minivan. Garrett’s as quiet tonight as I’ve ever seen him. I can’t help but steal a few glances at his profile.

“You clean up nicely, Garrett,” I say finally. And it’s true. Garrett’s so annoying half the time that it’s hard to remember he’s handsome. But he is. He’s got a nice jawline and thick hair, and those bright blue eyes.

“So do you,” he says. “Really.” For a moment, he’s quiet. “Are you excited for prom?”