He swipes it up and practically inhales the whole thing. “Yep.”
I catch him still eyeing mine though, so I step around him and leave the kitchen. “Mom, Brayden’s here! I’m going to put my sneakers on and then we’re leaving!”
Fingers crossed that Hailee is wearing her earbuds and didn’t hear me. I do NOT need her coming down here to meddle and talk with Brayden.
“Hi, Brayden,” Mom says, coming out of Kyle’s room, “how are—”
“Brayden!” Kyle interrupts, running past Mom. “You wanna see me room? I have lots of cool action figures and everything!”
And that’s my cue to go upstairs. The cookie is long gone by the time I’m in my room, and even though I really don’t want to—I go ahead and shove my sneakers on.
I shouldn’t have agreed to this. It’s going to be terrible; I just know it.
“You have perfume to wear…right?”
“Hailee!” I hiss, placing a hand over my heart. “Why the heck are you creeping in my doorway?”
“Perfume,” she says, crossing her arms, “do you have some or not?”
“Yes, I have perfume,” I retort with a glare, “but that doesn’t mean I’m wearing it.”
“Megan!” she huffs, coming into the room without my consent. “Don’t you want to smell good?”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Are you implying that I smell bad?”
“You smell average,” she informs me with a sigh, “just trust me and put some perfume on. Nothing flowery. Something subtle, yet sexy.”
I point a finger toward the open door. “Get out of my room.”
“Do it,” she insists, taking a couple of steps backward, “or you’ll be forcing me to go downstairs and—”
“Okay!” I cut her off, snatching one of the perfume bottles off my dresser before spritzing myself with it. “Look, I’m putting it on!”
“Well,” she drawls, wrinkling her nose, “I don’t think I would’ve picked that one…but I’ll let it slide.”
Such a giver.
I set the bottle back down on my dresser, then herd her out of my room. “I’m leaving now, and so are you.”
“Megan,” she says once we’re in the hallway, “you’ll tell me if you guys end up kissing, right?”
“Who said anything about kissing?” I snap in a hushed tone as I close my bedroom door. “I already told you that we don’t like each other, so stop trying to turn this into something it’s not!”
She shakes her head with a laugh. “Dang, do you have it bad for him.” She then points a finger at me. “Make sure you chew some gum, okay? Stale breath is a big turn-off when it comes to kissing.”
As if she’s had kissing experience.
“Look who’s just full of compliments tonight,” I tell her with a tight smile. “Is that all? Or did you want to comment on something else? Like, maybe the horrible way I tied my laces?”
She glances down at my sneakers. “No, that’s probably the best thing you have going for you right now.”
The little…
She pops her earbuds in, then struts off to her room. “Don’t forget about the gum!”
I’m pretty darn close to chewing said gum, then sticking it right in the middle of her hair.
“Megan!” Mom calls from downstairs. “It’s going to get dark soon, and Brayden’s waiting!”
Ugh.
I go back downstairs where Kyle is spouting nonsense about one of his toys, and Mom is talking to Brayden about…the neighborhood, I guess.
“Yes, ma’am,” Brayden says with a nod, “we’ll just be walking on this street, and I’ll have her back before it gets dark.”
Oh no, no, no, no, NO! Why is he making it sound like a date? This isn’t a date! The only reason we’re even going for this stupid “walk” is because he wanted to talk. In a non-date way. Because two people can go for a walk and spend that time talking, for whatever reason, without it being a date.
This isn’t a date.
“All right,” Mom says, clasping her hands in front of her waist, “well…you two have a nice walk.”
Gah, she totally thinks this is a date. Which means she and Hailee will both be hounding me for details afterward. Lovely.
I lead the way outside, eager to get this over with, and Brayden closes the front door behind us.
“You okay?” he asks as we leave the porch and walk along the pathway. “You seem kind of anxious.”
“I’m fine,” I verbally wave him off. “I’m just not used to going for walks.”
I still can’t believe it’s an actual habit of his…
“It helps me clear my head,” he says with a careless shrug, “and gives me a chance to slow down. Plus, the view is always amazing.”
Because that totally didn’t sound like a line—but then again, what reason does he have to use a line on me? True. Great, now I’m confused.
“So, listen,” he drawls as we start walking down the street, past his house, “I wasn’t completely honest about why I didn’t show up for lunch on Thursday…and I know we talked about starting over, but I feel like we can’t really start over until I say this.”
Even greater, I’m more confused. Why is he bringing up Thursday?
“When we were together,” he continues, tucking his hands into the pockets of his black basketball shorts, “back in middle school, I—”
“That was a long time ago,” I interrupt him, not wanting to go down memory lane for the umpteenth time, “we really don’t need to talk about…then.”
He proceeds to curse. “See? That’s just it, Meg, we do need to talk about it. I need to say this, and you need to listen.”
I’m not backing down that easily though. “Well, maybe—”
“I’m serious, Megan,” he insists, his footsteps coming to an abrupt stop, “this is important.”
I find myself stopping too, unable to ignore the
