Four Doors Down(9)

“Oh, so what? And anyway who cares if I hooked up at a party? God, you’re a hypocrite. How many times have you done that?”

He doesn’t answer and instead shakes his head. “You should have gone home when I told you to. You’ve drunk way too much.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re so stubborn. You can’t admit I might actually have been right when I told you to leave.”

“I’m not stubborn,” I mutter.

He actually snorts with laughter. “Oh yeah, right. We’re best friends, and then we have one disagreement and you haven’t spoken to me in years. Tonight may be the longest conversation we’ve had since we were twelve.”

I glance over at him surprised. This is the first time either of us has acknowledged the fact that we used to be friends in a long time. Not that we could have since I avoid him at all costs. Besides, he knows what he did. Ditched me because I wasn’t cool enough, then let Billy Jameson bet on taking my virginity. If I think about it, it still annoys me to this day.

“What were you even doing there, anyway?” I ask him, eager to change the subject. “Get through all the girls at our school so now you’re working on the ones from Madison?”

He rolls his eyes at me. “God you’re annoying.”

“Oh no, wait. They don’t even have to be students, do they?”

The muscle in his jaw tenses. “Gee, don’t hold back, Becca. Say what you really think.” That is a low blow and I know it. Back when we were sophomores a rumor went around that Ryan hooked up with one of the newly qualified teachers that had just started at school. I have no idea if it’s actually true, but I know she left after just one semester and I overheard my parents talking about a pretty sizeable donation Mr. Jackson had made to the school. I’m well aware that it’s a no-go subject, but I don’t care. I wanted to piss him off. He deserves it for referring to a past I’d rather forget.

“Stop the car,” I say suddenly.

He ignores me.

“Seriously, stop the car.”

He sighs loudly. “Becca, would you shut up? I’m taking you home. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

“No, it’s not that,” he glances over at me. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

He screeches the car to a halt at the side of the road, and I only just manage to stumble out of the car before I throw up.

Everywhere.





I’m standing outside the Jackson’s front door on Sunday morning and praying that no one is home. Or at least if someone is here, let it be Mr. or Mrs. Jackson. Basically, I don’t want Ryan to answer the door. I’m carrying a huge casserole dish—yes that’s right, a casserole dish—which my mother has insisted has to be returned to them at this very minute and cannot possibly wait until she sees Ryan’s mom tomorrow.

I’m sure she’s just punishing me; she’d never make me come over here otherwise. She knows Ryan and I don’t get along. In fact, I’m certain that’s what she’s doing. I know I made a racket coming in Friday night and I don’t think she bought for a second that the reason for me throwing up all day yesterday was food poisoning. Basically, she knows I was wasted but can’t prove it so this is her way of punishing me. I really can’t handle this today. Who knew it was possible to have a two-day hangover?

I try the doorbell one last time and start to turn to walk away when it swings open. Ryan is standing there. Shirtless. It looks like he just got out of the pool ‘cause he’s wearing board shorts that are hanging dangerously low and there’s little drops of water dripping down his chest.

Because I’m still feeling lousy, my reactions aren’t the same as normal, and it takes me a good few seconds to tear my eyes away from his torso. He has serious abs going on and the V! He has the V! Wow. Ryan got ripped!

I look up and he’s smirking at me, clearly not missing the fact I’ve just been ogling him.

“Hi,” I mumble.

“Hey,” he replies, raising an eyebrow at me. We’re both aware how rare an occurrence this is. I haven’t been to his house in at least five years.

“So my mom wanted me to bring this over,” I tell him, holding up the dish in my hand. “Apparently it’s absolutely essential your mom gets it back today and she couldn’t bring it herself.”

He nods. “Sure.” Then he turns and walks into the house, leaving the door open behind him. What? Wait! Now I have to actually enter the house? Why can’t he just take it from me?

I sulkily make my way inside and follow him to the kitchen. I place the casserole dish on the counter and turn to see him watching me cockily. Thankfully he’s thrown a t-shirt on. Oh God, this is the real reason I didn’t want to see him; I owe him an apology. He knows it, and I know it.

“So, um, thanks for driving me home on Friday night. I’d have been pretty screwed without you.”

He nods his head, not speaking. Right, he’s really going to milk this.

“And um, look, I don’t remember everything I said to you in the car, or at the party, but I’m sure it wasn’t all nice, so I’m sorry. It was really rude of me, especially since you were doing me a favor.” I glance over at him and he’s still not speaking, just watching me, a small smile playing on his lips. He’s enjoying this!