“She’s smokin’ hot!” Matt pipes in, his attention on me just long enough to add his approval, and then he’s quickly distracted by some brunette at the next table.
“Yeah, she’s smokin’ hot, all right,” Ben says, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest while he studies me. “You’ve known Birdie forever. What’s this new…thing?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug him off, pissed that he’s still calling her Birdie. I don’t really know how to answer him. All I know is something clicked, and I just see her a whole hell of a lot differently now. I know it won’t make sense to the guys, but I don’t really care.
“Hmmm, a’right then. She’s not coming to rehearsals and shit, though,” he says, pointing a finger at me like some tough ass**le. I just roll my eyes and shake my head at him, not too worried about Avery ever wanting to hole up in the basement while me and the guys pick apart each other’s playing.
I nursed two beers and picked at a grilled cheese for about an hour, just killing time until Avery’s shift was done. The guys hung around for a while, but eventually, they all headed over to Ben’s to watch the game. I could tell Ben was ticked off I didn’t go with them, but he’ll get over it. How many times has that dickhead blown me off for a girl?
I thought about going home early, hanging out with Max, but once he asked me what three-four time meant in music, he was back in hyper-focus mode on his iPad. So I waited, and then I took off for the house when I heard Avery saying goodnight. I didn’t want to look like I was following her, but who am I kidding. I’ve been dying to get her alone. And I feel like a damned stalker sitting here in the driveway.
The way I see it, I have two choices now—get out of my car as soon as she turns her engine off and scare that crap out of her, or duck, wait for her to get inside, and then crawl into the house later, hoping she doesn’t notice. Both are bad ideas, so I kick open my door just as she kills her lights, and wave my hands over her head to try to get her attention.
“What are you, my escort now or something?” she sasses. She’s trying to keep that same front up with me, but she’s having a hard time now, and I can see the smile creeping into her lips.
“Escort. Stalker. Take your pick,” I say, moving closer to her. Surprisingly, she lets me walk up to her until my hands are locked with hers. Ray’s not home, won’t be home for hours. Claire is here, and it’s early, so I know Max is still awake, but we have this little window of time here…outside…before anyone realizes we’re home.
“So that was some stunt you pulled today,” she smirks, and I move in even closer, pressing my forehead to hers.
“Yeah, you liked it,” I tease. She bites at her bottom lip and the smallest giggle slips out. I kiss her in response. Not hard, just a quick peck.
“I did,” she says, all breathy and sexy. I don’t know who this girl is—she’s a far cry from the one who wanted to knee me in the groin a week ago—but my god do I like her. “It’s early, and Max is up. I have to get inside.”
“I figured. I just wanted to catch you—you know, before your dad beats the shit out of me later?” I wince and put my arm around her to walk inside.
“Oh wow, I didn’t really think about that. Yeah, Dad’s going to kill you,” she laughs. I’m smiling at her, but I know deep down Ray’s not real happy about this. And I get it—I understood everything he said this morning. I even thought about killing it all right then and there, just chalking it up to high emotions and an innocent mistake. But the thought of not kissing Avery again—or of seeing her kiss someone else—made my stomach hurt.
I pull my arm away as soon as we get inside, giving a wink to Claire before I head upstairs. “Mason Street, you and I are gonna have words, mister!” she yells at my back. I just wave my hand. I know she just wants to get details, and probably give me her own version of Ray’s warning, and she can do that—tomorrow.
Max is working at the small desk in Avery’s room, his feet kicking wildly underneath. I walk over to the door, but he never looks up.
“Whatcha working on, Max?” I’ve learned that if I use his name it helps get his attention. Claire taught me that.
“I have to fill in every box for my teacher. I have to turn this in tomorrow,” he says, his fingers gripping at the edges of the paper like he wants to crumple it or tear it into pieces. I’m careful, but I move in a little closer so I can see. It’s an oversized paper, and there are a few boxes with some sparse color in them.