A loud scoff coming from Nathan had me turning to see what was going on. He was shaking his head at you and your lips were pursed, making your cheekbones more prominent. I don’t know how my eyes managed to finally crawl higher to see your eyes, but when they did I saw it. I saw the loathing. It surprised the hell out of me. In all of the times I’ve seen you, I’d never seen that expression, though the night of my birthday, your expression was so fractionally close, I couldn’t sleep for two nights. His head shook, as though he didn’t want to interpret the anger. “A sit up? Baby, do you know what I do to train my body to keep it in this kind of shape?”
“Come on, I showed you mine, now you show me yours.” He took another step closer to you and my muscles contracted. The familiar current of adrenaline coursed through me in preparation for him to touch you. Barbaric or not, babe, I wasn’t going to let it happen.
“Dude, and Lizette … did you see her titties tonight? She’s gained like the college forty rather than fifteen, but day-um, I think it all went to her titties!” Javier’s laughter should have been mellowing me out. I needed something to cut the focus and aggression I was feeling toward Nathan, but it didn’t. I wanted to punch him so he’d shut the hell up. “Are you hearing me, man? You have to see these things. They’re like, bam!” Javier’s hand hit my bicep as he held both of his palms out in front of him to emphasize the size of her chest.
I took a deep breath through my nose and clenched my hand in a fist to prevent my fingers from running through my hair. “Dude, what’s the deal here?” As much as I noticed you in high school, I spent ten times that trying to ignore and avoid you. I never wanted to know what guy you were dating, or who you were sleeping with.
“Are you hearing me?”
I know, I bet you can imagine my reaction. Through his inebriation and laughter, Javier read pretty damn quickly that I didn’t give a shit about Lizette’s titties.
“Hell, I don’t think so. She’s cool, though. I think I heard something a while back, but I don’t know …” I should have finished paying attention to him, but I was focused on what Nathan was saying to you.
“ ... you still think I’m a bad guy. That or you’re playing hard to get, which if that’s the case, I’ll play along.”
I caught Brock looking at me with curiosity as I took a step away from them, bringing me two steps closer to you before I saw you were looking at me. Your eyes were hard and cold, furrowed with the hint of confusion, and it stopped me.
“I’m not interested in you, Nate. I never have been.” Hearing you call him Nate caused another irrational pang of frustration to run through me. “We’d never work because you don’t understand what personal space is. And let’s face it, I’ve heard enough of your reviews to know that your open garage houses a very compact car.” You’d probably hate to hear that you caused so many jokes at his expense from that single line, but you opened the flood gates of one-liners, Ace.
“You wouldn’t know what to do with all of me, baby.” I wanted to shake my head. Nathan’s reply had to have been one of the worst pickup lines ever.
“It’s a good thing we’ll never have to find out.”
“You need to talk to me, Ace, trust me. You may even find that you like me.” You didn’t stop or turn around at Nathan’s words. Instead, you weaved through the crowds of people with your face tilted down. Nathan shook his head in exasperation as he faced us again. “She’s got some fire in those eyes. Can you imagine what she’s like between the sheets?”
I went to my full height, my shoulders squaring and my spine becoming rigid. It took everything inside of me not to hit him. I slammed my shoulder against his as I moved past him, forgetting about Javier and Brock.
I convinced myself I was following you to make sure you were alright as I slid through a group of people, successfully avoiding someone calling my name. The fact that I was starting to lie to myself a lot over that past week was a parting thought as I felt the warm breeze across my face.
Your yellow pants stood out amongst the night-darkened yard, and for some ridiculous reason I began walking over to you. I didn’t know what I was going to say. My irritation was growing with each step, as I reminded myself you weren’t mine to chase.
“You know you’re a game to him.” I could punch myself now for saying those words to you. You should have. But I leaned against the picnic table you sat on feeling temporarily impressed with my quick words, trying to act more casual than I felt by keeping my eyes focused on your shoes. They were sexy as hell, and I really hated that I was starting to be honest with myself.
“He needs to find a new opponent, because it’s not going to happen.” The frustration still resided on your face with the creasing of your forehead and brightness in your eyes, and for some godforsaken reason, I needed to know where it was coming from more than I needed to breathe.
I clenched my jaw to stop the question from leaving my mouth. I didn’t want to play your knight in shining armor. You didn’t need to be saved, your eyes made that very clear as you avoided looking at me.
“It might be easier just to sleep with him and get it over with.” You likely know now that those words were said out of some selfish need to guard myself from you, but after I said it, you looked like I’d slapped you as your eyes focused on mine with anger.
“I appreciate your advice, and you taking the time to tell me that you think so highly of me.” It was then that I saw the tiniest glimpse of your vulnerabilities. Your fingers were restless, and though your eyes were filled with frustration, they were lined with doubt.
I tried to feign calmness even though I irrationally wanted to yell at you. I know that wasn’t fair. You were fucking with my head. The entire week I’d been paying too much attention to your driveway, passing the upstairs window that looked over your backyard, and peeking around my bedroom window shade to see if yours ever opened. I wanted you to be a bitch to me so I could try to stop thinking about you. I think I already knew those days were over. They had ended when I was sixteen. Living in Alaska had only served as a partial reprieve.
“I’m not trying to be offensive,” I avoided looking at you as I threw down the gauntlet. “He likes you. He seems like your type.” My shoulders shrugged again in an attempt to show indifference, knowing what I’d just done and feeling both pissed and relieved over the fact.
“My type?” The tone of your voice and the volume had people turning around to look at us, but I ignored them.
“You know, pretty boy, likes to talk about himself and how great he is. Spends a decent amount of his day on his hair and picking out his clothes ...”
“That’s what you think my type is?” Your frustration turned to rage in a second. “Isn’t he your friend? It’s good to know it’s not just people you don’t know that you have no problem insulting.”
“Fuck no.” I’m sure by the way your eyes had rounded with challenge, you saw my own annoyance peak at the mere idea of you thinking that, making me continue with, “I was there, he came to say hello, and then you showed up.”
I watched your eyes slide from mine and your head drop back to look at the sky. I thought you were too disgusted to look at me any longer. I was freaking the fuck out inside.
My lungs didn’t expand until you said, “I don’t have a type.”
“He and Eric seem pretty similar. Plus, I went to high school with you.”
“Nate isn’t my type. He makes my skin crawl.”
“Usually girls say that after they’ve slept with him.” I don’t know why I said that. Honest to God it was like I couldn’t stop, and I never meant them in accusation, but just in thought. I don’t think I even realized I’d said the words out loud until your eyes whipped to mine faster than it seemed possible.
You stared at me for a long moment as I tried to recount exactly what my words had been so I could try to find a way of explaining them. “Who in the hell do you think you are?” You began yelling at that point, likely drawing more attention to us, but I continued to not care. I knew to be fair to both of us, I had to allow you to remain pissed off at me. It would make it easier for me to avoid you, by you avoiding me is what I told myself as I fought the apology that wanted to come out in fifteen different sorry-ass ways.