Secrets & Lies: Two Short Stories(6)

“What happened? If I’m allowed to ask.”

“Nothing, like, dramatic or anything,” I said. “Honestly, a lot of guys are just insecure because I’m taller than they are. I actually went on two dates with this guy Braden. Then one night he called and said, ‘Next time we go out, don’t wear heels.’ He didn’t ask me not to. He told me not to. When I asked why, he said, ‘Because I want to be the man.’ Like… WTF?”

“What did you say?” Toby asked.

“I told him if he was so desperate to be taller than me, he could wear heels. My shoes didn’t make me feel any less like a woman, and it wasn’t my fault if he thought towering over me was the only way to feel manly.”

“He sounds a little like… well, a tool.”

“Oh, he was.”

“I have to admit, I’m surprised,” he said. “I mean, you’re interesting and fun to be around. And you’re beautiful. A guy would be crazy to screw things up with you.”

I felt myself blush. “Thanks, Toby. You’re not so bad yourself.”

Somewhere between that moment and when the waitress came by with the bill, it dawned on me. I’d said no to going on a date with Toby, but here I was, in a nice little restaurant, after seeing a romantic French film, being told I was beautiful by a guy who—I’ll admit it—I really liked. If this wasn’t a date, I didn’t know what was.

So when he pulled up in front of my house an hour later, I knew I should get out of the car. He was my best friend’s ex, and in less than twenty-four hours, I’d made out with him and gone on an accidental date with him. I couldn’t keep seeing Toby, and I didn’t want to lead him on, but at the same time…

“I had a really great time today,” I said. “I’m glad I ran into you.”

“Me too,” Toby said.

We were staring at each other, the streetlights glinting off his glasses. My head was telling me to get out of the damn car. It was buzzing with thoughts like, B will kill you and Don’t do it, don’t do it! But every other part of me wanted my head to shut the f*ck up.

Then he smiled at me.

And I knew I was screwed.

I leaned forward and put my hand on his cheek. Toby looked surprised and maybe even a little nervous. But he didn’t stop me when I kissed him. He leaned into me, his lips soft but strong against mine. His hands were on my neck and in my hair, fingers running through the newly cut strands.

I pushed at the collar of his blazer, shoving it off his shoulders. He wiggled his arms free, then went back to touching me again. It was like his hands couldn’t get enough. And I knew how he felt. My hands were all over him, too, sliding along his back and arms. I even popped a few buttons of his shirt.

“But, Casey,” he muttered, his lips still brushing mine. And for a second I thought he was about to be the moral compass here, telling me to stop because of B and the Girl Code and all that. Instead, he grinned against my mouth. “You’re at least three inches taller than me, and if you wear heels… I don’t know how I’ll ever feel like a man.”

I laughed. “Shut up.”

We kissed in the front seat of his car until my mom started flashing the porch lights, a signal that she knew I was outside, knew I was making out, and thought it was time for the party to end. I sighed and pulled myself away from Toby. His face was red and his lips were swollen. Mine must have been, too.

“I have to go.”

“Okay,” he said.

“I’ll call you.”

“I hope so.”

“Good night, Toby,” I said, smiling.

I climbed out of the car, knowing I was a terrible human being but deciding, just for the night, not to care.





Chapter Three


I’d told Toby I’d call him, but when I woke up the next morning with a guilty conscience, I decided that had been a lie. I couldn’t call him. I wouldn’t call him. We’d made out twice, and that was two times too many. Whatever was going on between Toby and me was over. Dead. Kaput.

Except that it kind of wasn’t.

Fate had a sick, twisted sense of humor. Somehow, I ran into Toby everywhere I went over the next few days. He was in the grocery store when Mom and I came in. He was eating at the tiny diner down the street from my house when I popped in to get some hot chocolate and a scone. Then he walked into the library while I was dropping off some overdue books for Mom. If he didn’t seem so surprised to see me every time, I might have thought he’d tracked me down on purpose. But then, that just wasn’t Toby Tucker.

I’d like to say that nothing happened. That we just said hello and went our separate ways. But that would be a lie. Because somehow, every time Toby and I ran into each other, the same thing happened. And it usually ended with us making out somewhere: in his car, in the back of the library, or, in this case, in his bedroom.

“Where are your parents?” I asked, sitting on the edge of his bed while he hung his blazer over the back of his desk chair.

“At work.”

“When will they be back?”

“Not for a few hours.”

“Good.” I grabbed him by the front of his button-down shirt and pulled him toward me. I was trying to channel my inner Angelina Jolie, all take-charge and sexy.