The Way to Game the Walk of Shame(31)

“Who was that?”

“I don’t know. Some waitress he got pregnant a few years after I was born. After Kimmy was born, she came back and told him about their kid. And he decided he’d rather play house with her than stay with us.” The bed moved again when Taylor rolled over to face me. “So when it comes to our daddy issues, we’re completely different.”

I turned on my side, too, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “He’s an idiot. I would have chosen you in a heartbeat. And it’s not surprising that we’re different. I mean, I’m handsome, smart, funny, and heart-stoppingly charming, while you’re—”

“You forgot delusional.”

“For you? I’m getting to that.”

She snorted. “Is this the charm you were bragging about? Because I think it could use some work.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to make you regret that.”

“How?”

In a blink of an eye, I rolled over and had her pinned beneath me. She squeaked and pushed me away, but my leg had her firmly secured while I planned my attack. My fingers slid down to her waist, and her squeals melted away to laughter as I tickled her. Tears quickly came to her eyes and streamed down her cheeks.

After a few minutes, I finally stopped, and we panted to catch our breath. It only took a few seconds for me to realize that we had never been this close before. Practically plastered against each other. Not that we could remember anyway.

And even more surprising, it felt good. Damn good. Taylor must have realized it, too, because she froze beneath me. Her eyes slid from my face to my chest. I could practically feel the heat in her eyes.

My stomach clenched at the feel of her body pressed against mine, her arms wrapped around my neck. Her heart thudded hard against me. Or was that mine? I wiped away the lingering tears on her cheeks. “So what should we do now?” I murmured, already lowering my head toward hers.

She let out a shuddering breath that made her body move up and down. “We—we should go downstairs and see if your mom needs help making the cookies.” With that said, she scooted out from beneath me and hurried toward the door.

I froze for a moment. My elbows held up my weight as though Taylor were still there. For a second, I had forgotten about Brandon and my dad and her dad and basically everybody in the world but us. I even forgot about the fact that we were just pretending to be dating. All I wanted right now was for her to be back in my arms. Wide, brown eyes staring up at me.

With a groan, I collapsed on the bed.





10

{Taylor}


Today would have been another Dear Diary moment if I still had one. I did when I was younger. A navy hardcover spiral notebook with pastel-blue pages. The kind with a little metal lock on it and a key necklace. I wrote in it every day until I realized how easy it was to break the flimsy lock that was the only barrier to my innermost thoughts and desires. Then bam! Into the trash it went.

Did anyone even keep diaries anymore? Everyone I knew had a blog now—although in my opinion, that’s even worse. Anyone could read it. Even the ones that are “locked” and marked private. You could even Google how to hack into it on the same web page. And if anyone could read it, there was really no use in making it private. Might as well put it in skywriting.

But that’s beside the point. My point is that today was a Dear Diary day.

Carly was the one who brought up the problem first. She had overheard Lauren telling some other girls that Evan and I didn’t look like a real couple. That there was no way he could keep his hands to himself at school if we had any real chemistry. And she gave us two weeks before we broke up.

Before I could even start panicking, Carly had an idea. “Why don’t you guys have a big makeout performance at school and prove everyone wrong?”

Judging by her big smile, I’m pretty sure she’d been waiting ages to make this suggestion.

I was reluctant at first. Especially when Evan hesitated. Then I was a little offended. It didn’t take long for him to get on board, though.

As we waited for the bell to ring and our audience to arrive, he stretched his arms overhead as though limbering up for a marathon rather than just a kiss. “Ready, Taylor?”

“Are you kidding me? I was up all night anticipating this,” I said flatly, shuffling through the history flash cards I had made the night before.

“You don’t know how much the thought of you in bed thinking about me warms my heart.” Evan wiggled his brows at me. “And other parts of me, too, of course.”

I rolled my eyes and smacked the cards against his shoulder. “Gross.” I wasn’t as offended as I would have been last week. Jeez, I’d even gotten used to his warped, dirty sense of humor. The best way to counter him was with sarcastic comments. Something I had plenty of.

My nonchalance was a front. Inside, I was a wreck. A big ol’ fat mess. Every time I thought of kissing Evan, the image of that afternoon we almost kissed in his room flashed in my head.

I don’t know what happened. Maybe my emotions had already been wired up because of my dad, and I had let down my guard. But I’d almost lost control. And strangely enough, the fear of losing control was what had snapped me out of it. Even though I had wanted to kiss him—really, really wanted to—I hadn’t. I couldn’t. Because I wasn’t ready for it.