“Thanks,” I mumbled when I’d pulled on his oversized hoodie that reached mid-thigh and covered the evidence. The sweatshirt smelled like the fabric softener his mom used and his woodsy shower gel and peppermint gum. It smelled like him.
I stepped out of the stall, unable to look at him and washed my hands at the sink. “This is so gross.”
“Nah. It’s no biggie.”
Easy for him to say. I side-eyed him as we exited the bathroom. He didn’t look grossed out. He gave me a little smile and didn’t even tease me.
“I’ll um... wash the hoodie and get it back to you tomorrow.”
“Keep it,” he said, holding the front door open for me.
I stepped outside and took a deep breath of hot, muggy air. “But it’s your favorite.”
“That’s why I want you to keep it.” He came to stand next to me and dropped all three bags onto the sidewalk while we waited for his mom to arrive.
“But why?” I asked, not understanding his logic.
“Because, Lila... if a guy won’t give you his favorite hoodie, he’s not worth your time.”
I turned my head to look at his face. He smiled, his dimples on full display. My breath caught in my throat as he tugged on one of the strings of his hoodie. “I like you in my hoodie. Looks better on you.”
It didn’t. It looked good on him. Just like the basketball shorts and T-shirt he was wearing. Everything looked good on Jude because he was like a young god with tousled chestnut hair and full lips and piercing blue eyes that could read my face and see straight into my soul.
For a few long moments, we just stood there staring at each other and I wanted to take back all the stupid things I’d said to Ashleigh.
Because Jude was mine and I didn’t want anyone else to have him.
Because that was the day I fell in love with Jude McCallister. Six days after my fifteenth birthday. The first time I got my period. The day he strode into the girls’ bathroom and came to my rescue by giving me his hoodie.
“My mom’s here,” he said, breaking the spell I was under.
Chapter Eight
Lila
Another year had come and gone and I’d celebrated my sixteenth birthday by blowing out all the candles on a cake that Kate baked for me and wishing for a miracle. I bargained and bartered and pleaded with a God who wasn’t listening.
If I get straight A’s on my report card, my mom will get better.
If I clean the house from top to bottom, my mom will get better.
If I push myself to run one extra mile, my mom will get better.
Spoiler Alert: She wasn’t going to get better.
Now I was huddled on the sofa, trying to get lost in a stupid vampire book while a summer storm raged outside. Stupid Bella. She was so freaking annoying that I was tempted to throw the book across the room but I kept reading to see if she’d develop a spine. Edward didn’t even sound that great. What was all the fuss about?
I kept hoping he’d bite her and turn her into a vampire. Then maybe we’d have a fun story.
“Hey Rebel. You good?” Jude asked when I answered my phone.
“Checking up on me?” I asked. “Or do you just want to get in on the pizza I’m ordering?”
“Pizza. Why didn’t you say so?”
A bolt of lightning lit up the sky outside my living room window and I squeaked, hoping I couldn’t be overheard over the rumbling thunder.
“I’ll be right over.”
Guess he’d heard that squeak.
I hadn’t seen much of him this summer but I’d heard plenty of things I’d rather not know. He was working construction for his dad and I spent most of my time at home, tending to the garden and doing the laundry and cleaning and cooking. Not that my mom ate much these days.
Minutes later, I opened the front door to Jude who stepped inside, all six foot two inches of lean muscle and broad shoulders and it was weird to think that I’d known him when he was just a little kid with a mischievous grin and shaggy hair falling into his eyes. He shook his head, spraying droplets of rainwater all over me. I jumped back, laughing.
“You’re like a wet dog. Smell like one too.”
No, he didn’t. He smelled good. Like fresh rain and the shower gel he used and the Double Mint gum he always chewed.
“Where’s the pizza?”
“I haven’t called in the order yet.”
He strode into the kitchen and picked up the phone to call in the order. I let him take charge because outside a summer storm was raging. After he placed an order for a pepperoni pizza he helped himself to a clean towel from the downstairs bathroom and ran it over his hair before he hung it on the hook on the back of the door.
“Let’s see what’s on TV.” He nudged me forward, his hand on my lower back.
“We can’t watch TV…” I jumped at a clap of thunder and covered my face with my hands. “I’m such a wimp.”
“Nah. Everyone’s scared of something.”
I plopped down on the sofa next to him and he leaned forward, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and pointing it at the TV.
“What are you scared of?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
I swatted his arm and he laughed as he flipped through the channels. He stopped at a baseball game and I tried to wrestle the remote out of his hand but he held it up in the air out of my reach.
“My house. My choice,” I said, trying to grab the remote.
“Fight me for it,” he said, holding it out of my reach. I jumped onto the sofa and lunged for the remote. My hand wrapped around it and I held it in the air triumphantly, but my victory was short-lived. He
