Page 23 of The Love Interest
A knock sounds on my window, the one that looks out over the roof. I sit up and instinctively pull my blanket over my crotch. I check my phone; it’s 3:00 a.m. Yawning, I spin around.
Perched outside my window is Dyl. He’s dressed in a plain white shirt under a leather jacket, skinny jeans, and brown boots. He’s crouched down so the entirety of him is visible, framed by the window. I grab a shirt from where I threw it when I went to bed. As I tug it down I slide out of bed, painfully aware of the fact that my lower half is covered only by thin blue boxers.
I slide the window up and stare at him. “What are you doing?”
He reaches into his bag and pulls out a bottle of beer. He offers it to me. “I tried this, and man, you need to check it out. It’s the most delicious thing ever. Get some clothes on and get out here!”
I eye him warily. “How do you know where I live?”
He laughs. “Oh man, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about that. I asked Judy and she told me your address. I told her it was so I could keep my eye on you, but really it’s because I was bored and I wanted to hang out.”
I scoop up a pair of chinos from the floor and step into them. I need to play this carefully. Dyl is here, for some reason, and that reason can’t be because he wants to spend time with me,especiallyif Judy is involved. I can’t think for a moment he’s here to be my friend. If Dyl is here, it means he’s playing the game.
Only he’s underestimated me. He thinks he can play me and I won’t notice.
Oh man, I’m going to mop the floor with him.
I clamber out of the window. He’s already sitting on the edge of the roof, his legs dangling. I sit down beside him, leaving a gap of about half a yard. Still, it feels too close for comfort.
He offers me the beer, and I take it. It’s cold, and the paper label is soaking wet, so it slides underneath my fingers. How many calories does it have? Probably a lot. I turn the bottle around and check the label.
He narrows his eyes. “Seriously? Come on, man, one freaking beer isn’t going to turn you into Homer Simpson. Live a little!”
I glance at him. His eyes are bright, filled with joy and enthusiasm, like he’s actually excited about me trying beer. He’s acting. He must be. And he’s good. Maybe I do need alcohol. I take a big swig. It tastes how my new stepdad smells: bitter and nasty. Wincing, I force a swallow and smile. “Yeah, this is super delicious.”
He turns to me. “You hate it, don’t you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Come on, man. I thought we weren’t going to lie to each other. We’re the only people we can tell the truth to, remember? You don’t have to lie to me about small stuff, or anything at all, really. If you don’t like something, you can tell me. I promise I can handle it.”
“Fine, I don’t like it. It’s bitter and tastes sort of like watered-down piss.”
“There we go, the real Caden shows himself. Also, are you an expert on the taste of watered-down piss?”
“No, of course not. Why would you say that?”
He laughs. “I was being sarcastic, Caden. I guess they didn’t teach you that at Nice school.”
“I was being aggressive, Dyl. I thought for sure they would’ve taught you that.”
I take another sip of the beer. This time, now that my taste buds know what they’re in for, it’s not that bad. It tastes sort of crisp, like an apple, and the dryness is pleasant.
“Actually,” I say, “this is pretty nice. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
We sit there for a few moments in the silver moonlight, our legs dangling in thin air. Every time he moves, the leather of his jacket makes a rustling sound. The warm wind has buffeted his hair, and now a few long, straight strands have fallen out of place from behind his ears to the front of his face, in front of his impossibly green eyes. His surgeons did an exceptional job with him. It’s hard to take my eyes off his face, and it’s causing a weird tightness in my throat, making it difficult to breathe.
He drums his fingers on his thighs. “So you met Juliet today. How was it? Was it everything they told us it would be? Was it the best moment of yourwholelife?”
The sarcasm is strong in this one.
“Getting out of the LIC was the best moment of my life,” I say.
He tilts his beer toward me. “Amen to that.” I clink the neck of my bottle against his.
“But it was nice. She seems like a cool girl. What did you do today? You weren’t at school.”
