And I could have done it, too, very easily, since he had one arm up against the tree trunk beside me and was kind of leaning over me in a totally proprietary manner that, I have to admit, I was finding extremely enjoyable.
But then — finally — my brain kicked in, and I remembered I was supposed to hate him.
“Right,” I finally forced my mouth to say. “So that little speech about how I don’t understand — or like — myself wasn’t supposed to undermine my confidence so I would screw up tonight and lose the pageant?”
He looked down at me with a totally incredulous expression on his face. “What?No. Katie—”
“And that whole thing where you kissed me in the parking lot, where anyone might have seen us,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. Because I think body language is important, and I was afraid I was giving off the wrong signals with the whole letting-him-lean-over-me thing. “That wasn’t because you werehoping my friends would catch me, and that my boyfriend would dump me and my social life would be ruined for the year?”
“Excuse me,” Tommy said, looking annoyed now, instead of incredulous. “Were we in the same parking lot last night? Because — correct me if I’m wrong — you seemed to be a pretty active participant in the kissing.”
“Ha!” I said, uncrossing my arms to stab an index finger into his chest. “Youknow I have no resistance to cute guys in parking lots. You saw me behind the emergency generator with Eric. You were taking advantage of my only weakness, as well as acting on insider information.And that’s not fair! ”
I emphasized each of the last four words with a poke of my finger against his chest. He didn’t appear to appreciate this very much, if the way he reached up and grabbed my hand was any indication.
“You’re insane,” Tommy said. “Have any of your other many boyfriends ever mentioned that to you before?”
“Don’t try to change the subject,” I said, more than a little conscious that he was still holding on to my hand. “I want to know the truth. I think I have aright to know it. What were you doing in Mr. Gatch’s office yesterday?”
“You know I can’t tell you that,” he said, shaking his head.
Because it was none of my business. Mr. Gatch had already made that more than clear.
“Fine,” I said, between gritted teeth. Gritted in frustration because he was being so close-mouthed. Not because I was trying to keep myself from throwing my arms around his neck and kissing him again. Not at all. “Then just tell me this: What are youreally doing back in Eastport? And if it’s not to ruin my life, thenwhy did you come back?”
“Katie,” he said, looking down at my hand in his. He seemed upset. He really did. Like he wanted to tell me, but he just…couldn’t.
Of course, that might have been part of the act. You know, the act to make me fall in love with him, then get his revenge by ripping my heart out and smearing it all over Eastport.
But I had to hand it to him. Because the act? It was totally working.
“Oh, who even cares?” I said finally, and wrenched my hand from his.
But only so I could throw my arms around his neck and start kissing him again.
Oh, yes. I was leaning against a tree in Eastport Park, kissing Tommy Sullivan behind the Quahog Princess pageant tent. Not even leaning against the tree so much as being pressed against it by Tommy, who didn’t seem to mind at all that I’d ended our conversation so abruptly…not to mention somewhat unconventionally. Well, I guess it would have been unconventional if it had been anybody but me. But since it was me, well, what else was I going to do but kiss him?
And it wasn’t like Tommy wasn’t kissing me back. He was…and like he really meant it, I might add. His hands were on my waist, his chest pressed up against mine, his mouth hot on my mouth. In all, it was a very excellent moment.
Except that that’s how long it lasted. Just a moment, before Tommy lifted his head and said in a funny, unsteady voice, “Katie.”
“Stop talking, please,” I said, and dragged his head so that his mouth was back down where it belonged: on mine.
But he didn’t keep it there long enough. For me, anyway.
“Katie,” he lifted his head to say again. “I mean it. We can’t keep doing this.”
“Why?” I demanded, dragging him again.
But he resisted!
“Because,” he said firmly, giving my waist a little shake. “We have totalk.”
“Talking is way overrated,” I said. Because, seriously, talking was thelast thing I wanted to do with him. Especially when he was standing so close to me, and I could smell his sunscreen and feel his muscles and all I wanted to do was wrap my legs around himagain.
“Seriously, Katie,” Tommy murmured into my hair. Which I had a feeling was escaping from its updo, on account of all the bark that had just been rubbed against the back of it. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Okay,” I said. Though it was an effort to speak. On account of all the throbbing that was going on in various parts of my body. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Us,” Tommy said. “I don’t want to do this, Katie.”
“What?” I asked, surprised. Because he certainly hadn’t been acting like someone who didn’t want to do this. “Make out with me in parking lots and public parks?”
“Exactly,” Tommy said. “That may have been all right for Eric Fluteley. But it’s not all right with me. You should know up front that I’m not going to be the guy you sneak around with behind your boyfriend’s back. I’m either the boyfriend, or I’m gone. So you’re going to have to make a choice, Katie. It’s me…or them.”
I narrowed my eyes as I stared up at him. Mostly I was thinking about how close his mouth was to mine, and how easy it would be to just start kissing him again.
But even I, the Ado Annie of Eastport, knew that wouldn’t solve anything (although it might make the bits of me that were throbbing feel happy).
Instead I tried to focus on what he had just said. Make a choice. Him or them.
Hadn’t that been the exact same choice I’d had to make four years ago? Granted, we hadn’t been making out behind restaurants and pageant tents back then. But it had been the same problem, really: support Tommy Sullivan, and face social pariahdom forever as the class brainiac and Quahog hater. Or reject Tommy Sullivan, and end up playing spin the bottle with Seth Turner.
How could anyone have decided otherwise?
Except that now…four years later…I couldn’t help wondering: Had I made theright choice?
Or had I just made theeasiest one?
I blinked at him. I didn’t know what to say. I needed a time out. This was too hard to decide on the spur of the moment like this.
Especially given the throbbing bits.
Tommy, almost as if he’d read my mind, reached up and touched the tip of my nose.
“Why don’t you think about it,” he said. There was a trace of laughter in his voice. “You look confused. I’ll be in the audience if you want to let me know after the pageant what you’ve decided.”
I blinked some more. “You’re…you’re going to watch the pageant?”
“Oh,” Tommy said, with a chuckle. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“But.” Why was my brain digesting this information so slowly? “Seth is my escort. Seth will see you. Seth might try to—”
“Well, I guess Mr. Gatch will have something to report about in tomorrow’s Sunday edition then, won’t he?” Tommy kissed the top of my forehead, then turned around to start walking away.