Deadly Little Lies (17 page)

After work I call my parents to tell them I’m all set with a ride home, then Adam and I head over to Regino’s for a large cheese pizza with mushrooms. We sit at a table toward the back, the top of which is covered with a sticky vinyl tablecloth.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Adam asks. “Because you seemed a little out of it at work.”

“I guess I have a lot on my mind.” I gaze out the window beside us, where a tall barren tree branches out in our direction, all but touching the glass pane.

“That seems to be the norm with you,” he says.

“Well, I don’t know if it’s normal, but it’s definitely me.”

“Does it have something to do with that guy you were seeing? The one who went away but then came back . . . the one you were waiting for?”

“Not exactly,” I say, looking back at him.

“What’s the deal with him, anyway?” He takes a sip from his root beer mug. “You guys still have something going?”

“Not exactly,” I repeat.

His eyebrows go up, as if in surprise. “You don’t sound so sure.”

“Ben and I are just friends.” Barely friends, actually.

“But you want it to be more?”

I look over my shoulder, suddenly feeling warm.

“I mean, I don’t want to get all up-close-and-personal in your business or anything,” he continues. “It’s just that I like you. And I’d kind of like to be clear on things before I get too attached.”

“Really?” I grin.

“Are you a heartbreaker?” He winks to be funny.

“Hardly.”

“Then what’s the deal?”

“The deal is that, yes, there’s some personal stuff going on with me right now. But no, Ben is no longer my boyfriend.” I don’t know that he ever was.

“So why did you guys break up, then?”

“Are you sure you want to talk about this?”

“It’s the third date, if you count the coffee shop; aren’t we
supposed
to talk about this stuff now?”

I shift uneasily, almost forgetting that this
is
a date, and that things are obviously starting to progress. “I didn’t know there was a handbook on when-to-talk-about-what when you’re dating,” I say to redeem myself.

“Are you kidding?” His brown eyes crinkle in a smile. “I wrote the book.”

“Well, in that case . . .”

And so I give him some vague details about Ben, including how he was homeschooled for a while, how the first time I saw him was when he saved my life, and how he hasn’t exactly been welcome at my school.

“I don’t get it,” he says. “How can somebody who saved your life not be the most popular guy in school?”

“Ben has a past.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Yeah, but his is . . . difficult. He sort of has a bad reputation.”

“Sort of?” Adam asks.

I grab my root beer mug and press it against my lips. “Maybe this is a conversation for another time.”

“Come on, now you’ve
got
to tell me,” Adam insists. “I mean, how bad can it be? The guy didn’t kill anyone, did he?”

My mouth drops at the irony of the remark, and I nearly choke mid-sip. Root beer burns in my throat.

“Are you okay?” Adam asks, pushing a glass of water toward me.

I nod and take a sip, trying to stifle a cough. Meanwhile, the waitress comes to deliver our pizza. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks.

I shake my head, anxious for her to leave.

Once she does, Adam takes my plate and serves me a slice. “Don’t worry about all that ex info,” he says. “I’ll weasel it out of you eventually.”

“I don’t feel right talking about Ben’s private life,” I say, my throat finally clear.

“It must be pretty bad if even saving your life doesn’t make him a hero.”

“It’s just that Ben has a lot of secrets.”

“Okay, well now you’re just being cruel.”

“Actually, I think maybe I’ve already said too much.”

“Well, let’s see,” he says, putting it all together. “The guy has a dark and secretive past, a bad reputation, and not many friends. I can definitely see the appeal.”

“You really just have to get to know him.”

“And when will that be? I’d love to meet this guy.”

“Maybe in another lifetime.” I take a bite of pizza, reluctant to say any more.

“Well, there’s one thing I already know for sure,” Adam continues. “Ben’s definitely an idiot for not wanting you back; but you’re probably better off.”

“You think?”

“I know,” he says, reaching out to touch my forearm. “And I’m better off too, because now I’m the one who gets to have pizza with you.” He smiles slightly, like he really means it—like he really cares about what’s happening between us.

“So, maybe we should talk about
your
ex-girlfriends now,” I say.

“I have a better idea.” He leans forward over the table as if he wants to kiss me, and part of me hopes he will. But then there’s another part that still feels conflicted, like maybe this is all happening way too soon.

Adam stares at me hard, making my heart beat fast. I’m just about to look away, when I feel his mouth brush against my lips in a tiny kiss.

“I’m so glad I bumped into Spencer that day,” he says, once the kiss breaks. “I may never have met you otherwise.”

“Yeah,” I say, almost tempted to kiss him back. “Me too.” I gaze out the window again, suddenly wishing I’d met him at some other, less complicated time.

A moment later, a limb snaps off the tree outside, and I flinch. The branch falls to the ground with a penetrating crack that cuts right through my core.

“Is everything okay?” Adam asks.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, unable to take my eyes off that tree. It looks so broken now, as if something’s definitely missing.

Adam is glowing as he drives me home.

There’s a huge grin on his face, and every few seconds he turns to look at me.

I nervously tug at my ponytail, only wishing I felt the same. It’s not that I don’t like him—right down to his quirky sense of humor and how thoughtful he is with me—it’s just that my heart really isn’t into this right now. But maybe in time it will be.

I look at his profile, wanting to tell him that, but before I can, he asks when he can see me again.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “When’s your next shift at Knead?”

“Thursday,” he says, pulling up in front of my house. He puts the car in park and inches closer. “But please don’t make me wait until then.”

A smile wriggles across my lips.

“Wait, did that just sound totally lame?” he asks.

I shake my head, flattered by his affection, but also knowing that if I want to pursue something real with him, I need to put Ben behind me. For good.

“Can I pick you up from school on Wednesday?” he asks.

I nod and he leans in even closer. “Good night,” I say, turning my head. I feel his kiss land against my cheek.

“Good night,” he whispers. There’s a disappointed look on his face.

“I just need to take things slow.”

“I get it,” he says, perhaps slightly reassured. He manages a smile and gives my hand a tiny squeeze.

“But I’ll see you Wednesday,” I continue. I close the car door behind me, then linger on the sidewalk while he pulls away and takes a turn at the end of my street.

I’m just about to go inside, when I spot a moving shadow near the driveway. “Hello?” I call out, pausing just a couple yards from the front door. I look toward the motion-detector light, trying to reassure myself. If someone was there, it’d definitely go on.

But no one answers and I don’t hear anything.

I move a couple steps closer to the door. At the same moment, the shadow moves from behind my mom’s car. I can see it clearly now, a narrow strip of darkness that grows wider with each step, until he’s only a couple feet away.

Ben.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

Dressed in layers of charcoal and navy, his hair is tousled and windblown and his dark gray eyes are urgent and needy.

“I was just riding around.” He motions to his bike parked across the street several houses down. “And I wanted to see you. I thought I’d return that sweatshirt of yours.”

“You were supposed to leave it for me at school.”

“Oh, right,” he says, as if just remembering. “I did leave it there. I don’t know what I’m thinking.”

I shake my head, completely confused, especially since I didn’t see my sweatshirt in homeroom this morning.

“So, I just kind of wanted to check on you,” he says, suddenly abandoning his excuse.

“What for?” I look over my shoulder at the outside light by the door, knowing that my parents are probably waiting up for me.

“Were you out with that guy again?”

“Do you honestly believe that you have any right to ask me that?”

“He didn’t even walk you to the door,” Ben says, coming closer. His pale smooth skin is like a slice of moonlight.

“He doesn’t exactly skulk around my house either.”

Ben’s eyes lock on mine. “I’m not skulking,” he says.

“Then what do you call it?” I ask. “Hanging around my house at night, where no one can see you?”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he says.

“Then why didn’t you ring the doorbell?”

He gestures to my bedroom window, where the shade’s drawn. “I knew you weren’t home. The light’s been out all night.”

“You should go,” I say, wondering how long he’s been out here waiting for me.

“Is that really what you want?” He steps even closer, so that our faces are only inches apart. I can smell the motorcycle fumes on his clothes.

“You have no right to come here,” I snap. “You have no right to sneak up on me, or ask me about other guys.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Just say you want me to leave, and I’ll go.”

“I want you to leave,” I say, hearing the quiver in my voice.

Still he doesn’t move. Instead he touches me. His thigh grazes my leg as if by accident. I close my eyes, feeling an electric current pulse through my veins.

“Are you sure you want me to go?” he whispers into my ear.

“Yes,” I lie, almost tempted to touch his shoulder, to rest my head against his chest, and then to kiss him until my lips ache.

His thigh still pressed against my leg—our only point of physical contact—I want more than anything to draw him even closer, to feel the heat of his body pressed against mine.
Kiss me
, I scream inside my head. His mouth is just millimeters from brushing against my cheek. I can feel his breath, a slow and rhythmic pant.

“I just wanted to check on you,” he says again.

Despite the chill in the air, I can feel perspiration beading up at the back of my neck. I’m half-tempted to tear off my coat, to snake my arms underneath his jacket, and feel his pulse on my skin.

I open my eyes finally, while his remain closed. “Why did you want to check on me?” I ask. “Is there something wrong?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Ben?”

“I’ve missed you so much,” he says. At least I think that’s what he said. His voice is barely above a whisper.

Part of me wants to say that I miss him too, but instead I tell him that I should go in. “My parents will be wondering where I am.” I take a reluctant step back, just leaving him there.

“Good night,” he says, looking back at his bike so I can’t see his disappointment.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?” I ask.

He shakes his head and moves toward the street until I can no longer see him. There’s just a shadow against the pavement now.

And an aching deep inside me.