“Milkshakes?”
I force myself to breathe normally. “Yeah. There’s a place in town, Our Place. It has the best malted triple-thick chocolate shakes on the planet. And they give you the silver cup with the extra that won’t fit in the glass and they have this marshmallow cream whipped topping…Okay, now I kind of want one.”
“Layla, we’ve known each other for two days. Don’t you think it’s a little soon to have aplace?”
I roll my eyes, surprised at how easily I’m able to joke around with him. Maybe all these years in social solitary haven’t left me completely lame after all “That’s cute. But no, it’s actually calledOur Place. An elderly couple owns it. They’ve been married for like fifty years and that’s what it’s always been called.”
For the first time since we met, Landen looks a bit unsure of himself. “Um, so do you want to hang around after school tomorrow and watch practice or you want me to pick you up when I’m done?”
The lunch bell rings and I stand, grateful for an interruption so I can contemplate his offer. Okay, so I realize it’s a simple question, and yet I don’t know how to answer. If I stay after then it’s casual, like we grabbed a bite to eat on the way home from school. But if he picks me up it’s a date, right? I have zero experience with this type of situation whatsoever. Now would be an excellent time to have some girlfriends.
“Someone’s overthinking things,” he whispers in my ear as we head back inside.
I release the lip I didn’t realize I was biting. “I think I’ll just stay and watch you practice. That way I can break down my thoughts on your skills during dinner,” I tell him as we round the corner into the crowded main hall.
His light chuckle warms me from the inside out. “Oh, I see. So I buy you food in exchange for criticism?”
“Precisely.” Landen’s smile is so wide it’s infectious. I’m still smiling when he slides into the seat next to me in English. It’s almost distracting enough that the negative thoughts I’ve lived with for so long don’t attack, but as I sit waiting for Mrs. Tatum to begin the lecture, they do.
He sat at the popular table his first few days here. Laughed and joked with them. Hangs with Cam and the DW guy. Plays football and soccer with the same people who’ve basically blacklisted me. And there will be cheerleaders flocking to him any day now. If they haven’t already. I’m fidgeting with my pen and chewing my lip off when Landen reaches over and stills my hand with his large warm one.
“There a pop quiz today or something?” he asks quietly. Mrs. Tatum begins speaking so I just shake my head.
Surely someone with a smile that genuine and an ability to calm me with his touch isn’t plotting with the cool kids to hurt me. He doesn’t seem like the type to ask me out on a fake date to humiliate me for the enjoyment of his peers. Though, the people he’s been hanging out with so far would probably find that kind of thing utterly hilarious.
For the next hour I pretend to take notes as diligently as possible, but I can’t stop thinking about the choice fate has seemingly thrown into my path.
Should I trust Landen O’Brien? Can I? Or will he just leave me behind, hurt and broken, like everyone else?
Sittingon the cold metal bleachers makes me wish I’d asked Landen to pick me up instead. I’m starting to regret my clothing choices. Last night when I told Aunt Kate I was staying after school and going to dinner with Landen, she made me try on ten different outfits, finally settling on a smoky gray lace-covered dress with my black knee-length riding boots. Fall is warm in Georgia, but once the sun begins to set, all bets are off.
After the impromptu fashion show, there was the Spanish Inquisition that left me wishing I were a guy. Surely Landen’s parents didn’t grill him about me like the torture I endured all through dinner.
Aunt Kate was excited and a bit wary. I could relate. Still can.
He comes off the field sweaty and winded. When his gleaming eyes meet mine, I smile, trying hard to ignore my lungs as they deflate.Pull in oxygen, dang it.
“Hey,” he huffs out, clomping up the bleachers to where I’m still sitting. “I’m gonna grab a shower and change. You want to go sit in the truck and warm up?”
“Um, yeah, that’d be good,” I say, and he reaches in his bag to retrieve his keys. Following him down the bleachers, I let myself admire his muscular frame. And his perfect backside. I can imagine how the muscles would ripple and shift if his shirt were off. How the sweat would bead and fall down those broad shoulders. My mouth goes dry just thinking about it. I’m actually pretty relieved to know that part of me exists.Congratulations, Layla Flaherty! You’re a normal teenage girl after all!
“I won’t be long,” he says, his voice startling me from my ogling.
“O-Okay,” I stammer, turning towards the parking lot as he jogs out of sight into the locker room. My back heats suddenly, and I know I’m the object of someone’s murderous glare. I can hear my name being mumbled by a group of nearby cheerleaders. I think I hear Landen’s too, but I keep walking.
As soon as I close the door and crank the truck, music fills the cab. It’s the Red song that was playing this morning when we pulled into the school parking lot.The Best is Yet to Come. Seems like it actually might be. The intense scent of Landen’s sharp, clean cologne surrounds me, seeps into me, and I can’t get enough. The heat just intensifies it and I’m kind of hoping it’ll linger on me so I can breathe him in even after he drops me off. This boy is making me weird. Or something closer to normal. I’m not sure.
I’m scrolling through his iPod, chuckling at the mass amounts of 80s music when he finally emerges from the locker room. Striding purposely towards his truck, towards me, he grins, and something that’s been building inside of me releases, spreading through me with a slow and satisfying heat I want more of. Something is happening to me, something I didn’t even think I was capable of. I’m a little scared and a whole lot nervous. The tingling anticipation comes to an abrupt halt when Alexis Bledsoe, queen of Hope Springs High School herself, and a redhead whose name may or may not be Jena Becker join him. The two converge on him like vultures to a carcass and I watch helplessly as his grin fades.
They’re saying something to him and he’s listening but still walking. He nods politely and only stops when Jena reaches out and touches his arm. Heady feelings of jealousy possess me for a second but I shake them off.Friends. That’s all we are. And even if we are more than that, he can talk to girls, let them touch his arm. I just wish it wouldn’t be these particular girls. The ones who’ve spent so much time and energy hating me and aggressively recruiting for the Stay Away From Layla Flaherty committee.
It’s none of my business so I force myself to go back to scrolling through his music. The names of his playlists almost make me laugh out loud.Workin’ Out.Makin’ Out. Rockin’ Out.
I’m shaking my head when a click and a cool gust of air startle me. He gives me a tentative smile as he tosses his bag in the back of the cab and climbs into the driver’s seat.
“Ready?” he asks, and his eyes are hooded and dark, like he knows he’s asking if I’m ready for so much more than dinner.
Taking a deep breath, because he is and I think I am, I nod.