Jake grabbed my arm, pulling me to a stop. “I’m going to make a guess as to why you feel that way. If I guess right, I get a date.”
I twisted to face him. “You think you know enough about me to guess how I got so cynical?”
He met my gaze, a challenging glint in his eye. “One date.”
“If you guess right.” I knew he couldn’t. It had taken a lot of bad relationships to get me to this point. The analysis of all of my exes as I turned them into case studies probably hadn’t helped with the cynicism, but it had made me smarter. They say the truth will set you free.
He looked me up and down, like I might be hiding all my secrets in the way I was standing. “Child of divorce. Watched your parents never find love, so now you don’t believe people can be happy together.”
I crossed my arms. “Wrong. My parents
“I was still right.”
“Half-right,” I corrected.
Jake grinned. “So I get half a date. We’ll go somewhere and get an appetizer. Or we’ll go to a movie and walk out in the middle of it.”
I stared at him for a moment, not sure whether to smile or laugh or shake my head and sigh. “I can’t figure you out. Why are you so determined? We’ve had a few good conversations, and I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m attracted to you, what with the fact that I get all flustered whenever you’re around—but really, you don’t know that much about me.” I stuck my hand on my hip. “And don’t even try to tell me it’s in my eyes, that you just have a feeling about us, or something like that.”
He took a step, bringing us so close our bodies were almost touching. “I guess it’s how when you talk about your clients, I can tell you care about them. You’re more honest than most people I know. You’re witty and make really funny jokes about art. And I think it’s cute how you put your fist on your hip when you’re about to tell me all your rules.”
I dropped my fist. “And how is it you think you know all this?”
“Because whenever you’re around, I pay attention.” His eyes bored into mine with such intensity my throat went dry. “You might not believe in seeing someone and knowing something’s different about them, but I do. And there’s something different about you.” Jake ran his fingers down my arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps. Then he grabbed my hand and continued down the sidewalk. “So? Where do you want our half date to be?”
Chapter Eight
You know what I was not doing as I scrubbed my bathroom floor Saturday morning? Singing. The only thing coming from my mouth as I scoured that brown crap between the tiles was a stream of profanities. Not exactly princess behavior, but as I’ve mentioned, I’m no princess, and the guys I’ve dated are far from princes—evidently I have trouble identifying the good guys and end up picking ones who’ll hurt me.
Sometimes I wonder if my dating life would’ve gone differently had my first boyfriend not ended up being a huge jerk. That boy taught me a big life lesson about trust. Apparently not enough to keep from making several mistakes, but he taught me that not everyone is as great as they seem.
My Age: 17
In order to get the full effect of why and how things happened with Sherman, I need to go back to when I was thirteen and my entire life was uprooted.
Mom and Dad had been divorced for three years when Mom met Dwight. After four months of dating, he proposed. Six months later, they got married, and I suddenly gained a stepdad and twin stepbrothers. Mom and I moved from Aurora to Dwight’s ranch in Longmont. Even though it was only an hour drive away, it felt like moving countries.
The entire summer before my freshman year, Drew and Devin tortured me. They called me a baby for still watching Disney movies, pointed out when I got zits, and used my clothes and bedding to line the horse pens for reasons I still don’t understand. And everything I did was “like a girl.” I threw like a girl, talked like a girl, cried like a girl, dressed like a girl. They spat it out like the biggest insult, and I took it as one. I don’t know why. Because after all, I was
Mom assured me life would get better—that I’d meet lots of new friends when school started.
Then school started.
Everyone hated me. I was going through this phase where I was all knees and elbows, with string-bean legs up to my neck. The other students made fun of my clothes even though they were wearing trends from three years ago. At the time, finding pants to fit my long legs was impossible, meaning I got asked when the flood was coming on a regular basis.
Two months into the school year, I couldn’t take it anymore. I missed my old life and my old friends. I parked myself at a table in the back of the school cafeteria, looked at the food on my plate, and started crying. I hoped no one would notice.
No such luck.
Drew and Devin sat down next to me, apparently sensing weakness and preparing to attack. I was just waiting for them to tell me what I was doing like a girl now.
Ross, the leader of the popular boys, walked by, stuck his thumb up and said, “Nice high-waters, dummy.”
Instead of Darby, some jokester had decided to start calling me dummy. It caught like wildfire.
Devin stood up, double-fisted Ross’s shirt, and slammed him against the wall. “Apologize to Darby.”
“Uh…s-s-sorry, Darby,” Ross said.
Drew stood on the other side of him and jabbed a finger into his chest. “You tell everyone you know that making fun of Darby means getting your ass kicked by Devin and me. And never,
Drew smacked the back of Ross’s head with his open palm. “Got it, dummy?”
“I got it,” Ross said.
Devin released him, he hurried off, and then my stepbrothers came and sat back down by me.
I stared at Devin and Drew in shock. “But…why did you do that?”
“Do you want him to call you that?” Devin asked.
I shook my head. “No.”
“We’re family now,” Drew said. “And families stick together.”
At the end of lunch, Devin ran a hand over my head, mussing my hair. “Later, you girl.”
After that, Devin, Drew, and their five friends sat by me in the lunchroom; Ross and his gang never picked on me again. There was still a group of snotty girls that made life hell, but I couldn’t exactly ask my brothers to beat them up for me.
Most days after school, I hung out with the guys. They were far from dwarfs—in fact most of them towered over me—but they were my group. My seven giants. Thinking of going home and being able to ride my horse or hang with the guys, I knew I could make it through the day of school.
Nothing much changed over the next few years. I was never what you’d call popular, and when I went out, it was with my seven giants.
The first day of my junior year, I was feeling pretty good about life. I’d finally stopped growing, filled out a little bit, and Mom had taken me to a store in Denver and bought pants that fit me perfectly. The poofy, big-bang hairdos weren’t in anymore, so my straight, blond hair wasn’t as out of place.
Tabitha Newton walked up to me as I was loading school supplies into my locker. Since she’d made no secret of her hatred for me, I was surprised when she didn’t immediately insult me.
“Hi, Darby,” she said.
I stared for a few seconds before responding. “Hi.”
Tabitha ran a hand through her hair. She’d gotten “The Rachel” cut over the summer and had chunky blond highlights running through it. “You should try out for cheerleading.”
