Page 2 of I Would Stay Forever
Dean leaned in toward me and as my eyes looked up, I realized that we were almost nose to nose. My breath hitched. His grin was even more prominent now as he whispered conspiratorially to me, “No need to call me sir, Lavender.”
My heart pounded as I stared right back at him. Ogling through the window aside, he wasn’t really my type—what with the whole jock thing and him being one of Sebastian’s friends, who I largely tried to keep my distance from—but him standing so close to me and talking in that low voice would have an effect on any girl.
I gaped at him, my mouth silently opening and closing a couple of times before I finally managed to say again, “What would you like to drink?” This time, I didn’t add thesiron to the end and he smirked as if he had won an argument.
He stood up straight and rocked back on his heels, looking at the board above my head.
“So many great options,” he mused. “What do you think would be best for a car wash?”
Zoey choked on her drink when I turned to glare at her, fully out of the trance that Dean had unknowingly put me into. Zoey smiled apologetically but I doubted she was actually all that sorry. I turned back to Dean.
“The car wash isn’t for two more days.”
“Ah, so you’ve been keeping track of it?”
“No,” I responded immediately, probably sounding a little petulant. But there was no way for me to get around town right now without hearing something or other about how the footballteam was fundraising. Dean smirked at me, which only made my frown deepen. Why was he always so arrogant?
“Order a drink,” I said, looking for some way to regain my footing against him. “Or I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
He raised his eyebrows and then looked dramatically at Zoey and back at me.“She doesn’t have a drink.”
I gripped the side of the counter in annoyance. “She already finished it.”
“Ah, so this is some sort of protest against people not ordering the second they walk in?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Seating—and loitering—is for customers only. Or is that too much for your poor, concussed brain to understand?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Concussed brain?”
“Isn’t that the issue with all football players? You get brain damage by the time you’re twenty?”
He used a fist to knock against his skull. “Nah. Never gotten a concussion in my life.”
I pretended to widen my eyes in surprise. “Oh, so that stupidity is god-given?”
He gaped at me for a long moment, and I wasn’t sure if he was offended or impressed. Finally, he shoved the crumpled five-dollar bill across the counter and said, “I’ll take a large coffee and a banana muffin.”
He barely waited for me to say “coming right up” before he wandered over to a table and made a dramatic show of sitting down, kicking his feet up on the nearby chair, and holding his hands behind his head like he was lounging. I rolled my eyes and shoved his change in the tip jar since he walked away before I could give it to him.
“Oh. My. Gosh,” Zoey hissed as I started making his drink. “Dean Graham basically just invited you to the car wash.”
I snorted. “He did not.”
“He totally did! How could you not see that?”
“How can you not see that there’s nothing going on?” I retorted. This had been an argument between us for a while—between me and all my friends, actually. They were all convinced that something must be going on between me and Dean, because they couldn’t comprehend the idea that we might live next door to a football god and not even try to make a move.
I chose not to tell them about the whole I-sometimes-watch-through-his-window thing because I thought it might give them the wrong impression.
“He totally invited you,” Zoey repeated, and then she fanned herself with her hand. “You have to say yes.”
“Can’t say yes to something I wasn’t invited to.”
“It’s so unfair that you have an accent,” she said, completely ignoring me. “Guys totally dig a British accent.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. This was another argument that I’d been having with my friends for years. That, apparently, the accent made me irresistible to boys. They couldn’t stay away. I have my doubts about that theory.
“He didn’t invite me and I’m not going. End of story.” I turned away from her as I called, “Coffee for Dean!”
