Wicked Restless

Trent doesn’t respond, and eventually he slides from his seat and moves into our living room, picking up the remote and putting on ESPN, going right to his routine. I watch him for a few seconds, and I try to find the courage to ask him what he thinks I should do. But I already know—he doesn’t think I belong in the ring with that guy, and he knows I won’t be able to control myself when I face him. And I don’t want Trent to tell me not to do it.

After a few minutes, I leave the kitchen and kick my shoes off by the front door, then grab my backpack from the table and start to carry it to my room.

“You should take her out on a real date. That’s what you do. Buy her flowers, give her chocolate, or a teddy bear. Hell…do all three. You need all the help you can get,” he says, stopping me before I reach my room. I turn my head back to look at him, and at first he keeps his attention on the TV, but eventually he faces me, giving me a slight shrug. “You asked me what you should do, and if you really love her, you should make that absolutely clear to her.”

I chew at the inside of my mouth for a few seconds, considering what Trent said. Eventually, I nod in agreement, then make my way to my room so I can come up with something perfect for Emma—something I can do tonight, because I cannot let one more day go by where I’m anything but in love with this girl.

Chapter 19

Emma

I skipped Miranda’s lecture today. I’m sure she’ll text me. I’ve only missed once before, and it was because of a financial-aid meeting. She questioned my absence then, and it was easy to explain. Today’s is a little more challenging. “Oh, well, you see…your son got all grabby with me, then hit me when I fought back, and I want to hide this from you because I’m afraid you’ll pick his side.”

Yeah—skipping was a good call.

I left my things at Andrew’s this morning, and somehow, despite months of walking home in one direction, my legs managed to remember that today they lived somewhere else. The tickle in my tummy is constant the closer I get to his apartment, and I can’t decide if it’s because I’m excited, or because I’m anxious over Lindsey. I think maybe it’s both.

I still feel selfish.

I’m about to push his key in the lock when the door suddenly opens in front of me, Andrew stepping through it and closing it behind his back. He’s wearing a thin white T-shirt with skulls on the front over a black long-sleeved shirt, tight black jeans, and gray lace-up boots. His hair is combed back, and he smells almost edible. I swear his cologne is circling me for the kill. He pushes his hands into his pockets nervously, and shuffles his feet as he looks down at them while he talks.

“So I have plans. I mean, for me and you. I mean…shit. I’m already messing this up,” he stammers. I suck in my bottom lip, trying not to smile or embarrass him. He looks me in the eyes and takes a deep breath, holding up a finger, stepping into his apartment and exiting it again just as he did before. “Let’s try this again. Emma, I’d like to take you out tonight. On a date—a real date. And if this turns out to be corny or lame or if I gross you out or…whatever…then it’s all Trent’s fault. He told me I should show you how I feel. So, tonight, if you’re willing to give me a shot, I’d like to start over. I’d like us to start over. And I’d like to treat you like you deserve to be treated…like I should have treated you all along. Whadaya say?”

My lip slides loose from my hold, and I can’t stop the quick spread of my smile. Andrew smiles in return, nodding once and letting out a heavy breath. “Phew. Good. Okay then, before you go inside, I want you to know that I realize I might have gone a little overboard. But like I said—I didn’t want there to be any question in your mind about my intentions here. I’m asking you on a date, and that date ends when you say goodnight. And then I will take my place on our very comfortable couch, giving you your privacy in my room for as long as you need it.”

I open my mouth, my brow pinching with guilt; I hate the thought of pushing him out of his room, but Andrew holds a hand up quickly. “No questioning me. Not tonight. I’m too nervous about everything being perfect for you to question tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” I say. Andrew closes his eyes, his smile once again relieved.

He pushes his door open, holding his arm out to direct me inside, where there are three gigantic boxes placed on the floor—wrapped in purple paper with white bows.

“Purple’s my favorite color,” I say.

“I know,” he says in return. “Go on. Open them.”