Page 67 of Heartbeat

“You boys have fun.”

“Thanks. Can we go now?” I turned to Ethan and all but begged him.

At that point, I was happy it was only Mom and Jonas gawking at Ethan. Although, to be fair, I’m pretty sure the dimples would’ve worked on everybody in the house.

“Sure,” Ethan said.

“Ahem.” Jonas cleared his throat.

Maybe it hadn’t worked as well on him, after all.

“What are you guys doing tonight?”

Or maybe he was just evil.

“Uh, you know…” Ethan said, tensing up again as Mom looked curiously at us both.

“Hang out?” I jumped in. “I’m considering joining the Vikings, and Ethan here is best friends with the captain, Dean.” Two could play that game.

It worked for about a second as Jonas seemed really taken aback for a moment.

“Oh?” Mom said, surprised. “That’s wonderful, honey—” She had a newfound interest in the conversation, thanks to fucking Jonas.

“Dean? Isn’t he a bully?” Jonas asked, feigning confusion while trying desperately to conceal a smile.

As I said, evil. Also, there was no such thing as bluffing when it came to Jonas Miller.

But I was determined. “Not a bully. Just… misunderstood.” I resisted an urge to slap him. “You know, like Marcy.” I casually worked her name in the conversation.

Had I been a better person, I would’ve instantly regretted bringing Marcy into this.

“I love Marcy. How are things going between you two, Jonas?” Mom asked.

I was not.

Jonas looked at me, and for a second, I thought he was going to be angry. Turned out, the opposite was true. He smiled—an honest smile—and clicked his tongue as though admitting defeat. Jonas Miller did not forfeit, mind you. But apparently, he did, that time. He seemed to have enjoyed the banter almost as though he’d missed it, and in all honesty, it did feel kind of nice.

“I’ll tell you all about it during dinner, Jane,” he said.

“Wonderful,” Mom said, amazingly oblivious.

She said goodbye to Ethan once again, and then she and Jonas went back inside.

“What was that about?” Ethan asked as we started down the steps to the sidewalk.

“Months of pent-up anger, and no one to annoy? I’m just glad it’s over.”

“You look nice,” he said, so softly.

I’d taken Jonas’s advice and wore a pair of black jeans, a white T-shirt with a single pocket, and a long-sleeved, stonewashed, dark brown shirt. “You too. I like the shirt.”

“Thank you.” He ran an open palm over his stomach.

“So,” I said, just as he brushed his hand on mine as we walked alongside each other. “What’s the plan?”

“How hungry are you?”

“I’m permanently hungry.”

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