Page 35 of Love and Loathing

Alex. Errrr. Just the thought of him filled her with anger and … a strange sense of loss. She couldn’t fathom why. It wasn’t like they’d ever really gotten along. But she missed him and wondered what he was doing. He’d probably left too. She couldn’t see any sense in him sticking around. The image of him standing across the street in front of Swiss Bliss Salon popped into her head. At the time, all she could think was how mad she was, but in reflection, she remembered how lost he’d looked. And then Jacob had put his arm around her shoulder, surprising her, and Alex had looked livid. And she’d found some perverse pleasure in that.

Seriously, what was wrong with her? She shoved a patty in her mouth, but good barely taste the deliciousness. It wasn’t the first time she’d used Jacob to tick off Alex, and she kind of hated herself for it. What kind of a mean person did that? And it wasn’t just cruel to Alex; it was also unfair to Jacob. His relationship with hickey girl hadn’t worked out, and he’d been coming around more and more. She knew he liked her, so shouldn’t be leading him on like that.

She dropped the book to the side, dropped her head to her hands, and groaned. From out front, she heard a car door slam. It was probably Mr. and Mrs. Gregson. They were a retired older couple. She doubted they’d be interested in the concert. She pulled the lace curtains in the nook window to the side to look.

Alex stood in front of his truck out by the curb, staring at the house. Her breath hitched. He ran a hand through his dark brown locks, then stood tall and walked toward her front door. The doorbell rang, and she froze. What was he doing here? She started to stand, stopped, looked down at herself, then got to her feet. She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to him, and if she was being honest, she was a little mangy. She hadn’t showered yet today. Her hair was up in a messy bun—emphasis on messy. She was in cutoff jean shorts and a baggy shirt she’d once worn to help paint the kitchen yellow—the yellow splotches on it didn’t hide that fact—and she was barefoot.

The doorbell rang once more, followed by a couple of knocks. She could easily pretend she wasn’t here. He’d never know. Everyone was at the concert. Who was she kidding? Her curiosity was getting the best of her. She had to see why he was here. Before she’d really decided, she was halfway down the stairs. She crossed the room to the door and tried to remember to breathe as she caught sight of his silhouette through the sheer curtains covering the glass window in the door.

She swung the door open and stared, forgetting what she’d just told herself not to forget—to breathe. He was in jeans and a white T-shirt and had a dark navy-blue blazer on that did nothing to hide just how toned he actually was. His blazer really brought out the baby blue of his eyes.

After a moment, she realized he hadn’t said anything either. That he was also staring. She frowned.

That seemed to galvanize him to action. He shook his head. “Caroline told me you were home.”

“You saw her at the concert?” She folded her arms in front of her chest.

He nodded.

Oh, Caroline was so in for it.

Clearing his throat, he took a small step forward. “Can I come in?”

Part of her wanted to slam the door in his face, thinking that would be so satisfying. But another, bigger side of her wanted to know why he was here, and she stepped back to let him in. She led him to the dining room table, not wanting him to sit on the plastic-covered sofas in the living room and make a judgment as she could only expect him to. He took the end seat, and she took the one next to that.

The saw in silence for a moment, until he squinted at her. “You have something stuck in your teeth.”

Her eyes went wide, and sucked on her teeth. Peppermint patty! Why couldn’t she have picked Red Vines or something. Ugh!

“What is … is that chocolate?” He pointed to where it was, and she scrubbed at it with her thumb.

“It’s a peppermint patty.”

He chuckled. “I swear, you have the biggest sweet tooth of anyone I’ve ever met.”

She wanted to die. “Did I get it?” She showed him her teeth.

“Yep, it’s gone.” He rested his hands on the table and looked around. “I like your home.”

Could this get any weirder? “Alex, did you come here to talk about my parents’ house?”

Turning his gaze on her, he said, “No. No, I didn’t.”

“So why, then? Is this about the video? Because I think we both know I’m doing it.”

He stared down. “I didn’t come about the video.”

“Then what?” She was losing patience.

He breathed deep. “You and your sisters … You’re all named after songs, aren’t you?”

She blinked, not having expected that. They were. Mama had named each of them after favorite songs.

“‘Sweet Caroline’ by Diamond, ‘Diana’ by Paul Anka, ‘Maggie May’ by Rod Stewart, ‘Cecilia’ by Simon and Garfunkel, and ‘Jessie’ by—”

“Not ‘Jessie’s Girl,’” she said. Everyone who ever figured out they were named after songs—and there weren’t many—always thought she was named after “Jessie’s Girl,” but that Jessie was a boy. It drove her nuts.

He grinned. “‘Jessie’ by Joshua Kadison, right?”

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