Boys Like You(35)

“I can’t.” Mom pushed back her long, blond hair and walked over to me, nudging my knee with hers as she rolled back on her feet. “She knows you’re here. If you want to blow her off, you’re going to have to do that yourself.”

“Awesome,” I said, jumping up to my feet.

My mom was on the small side, about Monroe’s height, and she had to stretch to reach me. She kissed my cheeks and whispered, “You’re welcome.”

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Juliana Ston e

I watched her leave through the patio doors that led to the back garden. My dad was out there, and I guessed she was trying to give me some space to deal with the “pretty girl” who’d come to see me.

Did I want to see Monroe? Did I have a choice?

“Screw it,” I muttered and headed toward the front door.

I smelled that summer scent that was all Monroe before I hit the foyer, and for a second, I let it wash over me.

“*,” I said under my breath.

So she smelled good. She was still the prickliest, most compli-cated girl I’d ever met, and just because kissing her had pretty much been the highlight of my pathetic summer, it wasn’t like it had meant anything to her. She’d blown me off.

But I was curious as to why she had come to see me, and I guess it was that curiosity that pushed me forward. Or maybe I just wanted to see her.

She leaned against the wall beside the front door, her hair long and free— the way I liked it. Her shoulders were bare and so were her legs, and I took a good long look before meeting her eyes.

For a few seconds, there were no words. Hell, I barely breathed. That’s the kind of power that sat in the depths of those clear eyes.

“Out for a drive?” I said slowly, as if I didn’t give a shit.

Monroe took a step forward but paused, her hands swinging at her side. The dress was on the short side, and man, she looked 142

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hot in it. I tried to ignore the pull I felt toward her, but it was damn hard. Especially when she moved a piece of hair behind her shoulders and sighed.

“You could say that.”

“You look like you’re dressed for a party or something.”

“Oh,” she tripped over her words, “I…this was all I had and…”

I didn’t want to do this. Not with her. I just wanted the truth.

“What’s going on, Monroe?”

She took another step and I shoved my hands into my front pockets, shoulders hunched, a ferocious scowl in place.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“For what?” Something cracked loose inside me, something heavy. It broke away like a chunk of rock falling from a cliff, and suddenly I felt lighter than I had all week.

Was it the sound of her voice? Did she have that kind of power? Or was it the fact that being near her for less than five minutes had me wanting to crush her to my chest and just breathe in that summery, gentle smell.

The crap week I’d had melted away, and though I felt my resolve failing, I didn’t want her to get off easy. I wanted her to squirm a bit.

“I’m sorry for the silent treatment this week. I…” She licked her lips and my focus shifted slightly. How could it not? She had on this light gloss that looked wet and soft. All I could think about was the kiss we’d shared and how amazing it had felt.

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“When things get intense, I pull away.” She shrugged. “It’s what I do. It’s how I cope.”

Okay. I got that. I mean, it didn’t make me feel better or anything, but at least I understood.

“So why are you here?”

A soft blush swept across her cheeks, and she twirled a strand of hair between her fingers. “Well, I guess I’m hoping that you might want to hang out…” Her voice trailed away as our eyes connected. “Or something,” she whispered.

The grandfather clock at the end of the hall decided to chime eight bells, and she flinched at each one. When the echo died, I spoke quietly.

“Is this a date?” I asked, watching her closely. I loved how easy it was for me to make her blush.

She shook her head. “Not really. I mean, I don’t know.”

“So what is it then?”

“Does it have to be something? Can’t it just be a couple of friends hanging out?”

“So we’re friends now?”

The air thickened. Or maybe my lungs stopped working, because I had trouble breathing, and I thought that just maybe the look in her eyes wasn’t a look you’d give a friend. It was way too hot for that.

It made me wonder what she saw reflected in my eyes, because I sure as heck felt hot and tight, and there was the whole trying to breathe normally thing.

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“We’re friends,” she said softly. “Friends who don’t date.”

Her eyes slid from mine, and she twirled a piece of hair nervously.

“Give me five minutes and I can be ready for our second ‘non date.’ I gotta grab a quick shower.”