Boys Like You(11)

I don’t date boys like you.”

Okay, that got my attention, hard and fast. I glanced at her. I let my eyes roll over the mint-green halter top that did nothing to hide the curves this girl had. Her legs were smooth, trim, and athletic, and from where I was sitting, the white skirt she had on was on the short side. Hell yeah, was it ever. Her toes were painted green to match the halter top, her feet slipped into casual sandals.

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At least the girl was practical when it came to shoes. Good to know. The last time I had taken Rachel to a music festival in the neighboring county, she’d worn these four-inch platform things that (a) looked ugly as shit, and (b) hurt her feet so badly that I had to listen to her complain for freaking hours.

Shit. When Rachel and I had first started dating, it was all about being together— just hanging out at my place and getting to know each other. But the last year was more about how we looked when we were out together, and that got pretty old after a while. I wasn’t sure what had changed, but there had been a time when Rachel was a lot of fun.

Or maybe it was me who had changed.

I pushed all thoughts of Rachel away and snuck a peek at Monroe.

Her hair was down, a mess of inky-black waves, and those eyes were as interesting as I remembered— so light they appeared almost clear— and her mouth…

Bingo.

This might not be a date, but she sure as hell was dressed for one.

My gaze rested there, on that perfect, lush, and glossy mouth, for a heartbeat— maybe longer. No girl put on that glossy shit and let her hair down unless she wanted to look good. And smell good.

I smiled.

She scowled and arched an eyebrow.

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“A guy like me?” I settled back in my seat, indicating that she turn left. This would be good, I thought. “Should I be insulted?”

I continued, thinking that I kinda sorta was.

“Don’t take it personally, Romeo, but you’re not my type,”

she said, a hint of rasp in her voice, as if there was something caught in her throat. Words, maybe?

“You have a type?”

“Don’t you?” she shot back.

I shrugged but didn’t answer.

“I’ll bet your type is tall, blond, and tanned, but then, what do I know?”

That annoyed me. Mostly because she was right. But hey, in my defense, Rachel was a good time in addition to being real easy on the eyes, and she rocked a string bikini liked no one’s business. At least she used to. Hell, I’m sure she still did, it’s just not something I noticed anymore.

She still wanted to drink and smoke weed and party, and I didn’t. Not with her and not with anyone else.

“And you think this because…” I glared at her.

She made another weird sound, and I noticed that she gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, eyes straight ahead on the road.

Shit. This was going to make me look bad. I could lie but that really wasn’t my thing.

“Yeah, at the moment, I do.”

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“At the moment?” She laughed and muttered, “Unreal.”

“It’s not what it sounds like,” I retorted, pissed off that she’d managed to piss me off minutes into our non-date.

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“Look, I don’t know what your story is and I really don’t care.

In case you forgot, it was your grandmother who arranged this little whatever the hell it is, not me. So get over yourself.”

“Whatever,” she muttered.

“Besides,” I continued, feeling a wave of heat rush through me, one that was full of anger. “You’re right about one thing.”

She slowed down as we approached the city limits. “Oh yeah, Romeo, what’s that?”

“I do have a type, and you’re not it.”

“Ouch,” she replied sarcastically, eyes on the road ahead.

“I can’t imagine with that attitude you’d be anyone’s type.”

She had no comeback for that one, and I exhaled, sinking into my seat as I stared out the window. I thought that maybe it was going to be the longest afternoon of my life.

We reached the festival grounds about five minutes later.

After Monroe refused to take money off me for parking, we headed into the Peach Festival, one that I hadn’t attended since I was, like, twelve.

As we headed into the main area, I remembered why. It was for kids. I looked around and sighed. Old people and kids. Lots of old people and kids.

There was a midway near the back. I could see the Ferris 45

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wheel from where we stood, and game alley was set up just in front. Between us and the midway was a huge number of arts and craft booths, and beyond that were food stands.

“You want something to eat?” I grumbled, wanting nothing more than to end this thing as quickly as I could. I figured if I shoved some food into her and toured the grounds quickly, we could call it a night and be done with it.