Losing Romeo (8 page)

“I don’t know,” Dafne said. “It’s probably for the best.”

“No, it’s just stubborn old people being ridiculously pig-headed. It’s time to end that stupid fight. Maybe Romeo and Juliet can do it.”

Dafne whipped her head up. “Juliet’s dating a Montague?”

“The one I was dating before he saw Juliet and decided she was easier than I was. Of course, that was after I’d made the mistake of…you know.” Rosaline bit her nail, then dropped it when she tasted nail polish. “He was the one who gave me the drugs. I was supposed to meet him, and he and I were supposed to be the ones defying the family rivalry.” A lump formed in her throat. “But he chose her.

“You can’t tell anyone about Romeo and Juliet,” Rosaline said. “I mean, part of me would love to tell someone and break them up—then they could feel my pain. But I…” Rosaline shook her head, fighting her own unexpected tears.

“You’ve got too good of a heart,” Dafne said.

“I don’t know about that.”

“You do.”

“Well, it’s broken right now. I don’t know if it’ll ever be fixed. Yours is still broken, isn’t it?” Rosaline let her head back with a sigh. “Great. I’m already ruined.”

“You loved Romeo?”

“Well, maybe not loved. More like thought I could. Yours is definitely way, way worse, and I’m really sorry you went through that.”

Dafne took a deep breath and then slowly let it out. “I was broken for a long time, but heartbreak doesn’t last forever. It was why I wanted to get as far away as I could, though.”

“You certainly achieved it,” Rosaline said.

“Only to fall for another unattainable guy.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s unattainable.”

Dafne bit her lip. “I don’t know if I can risk it again. How many heartbreaks can a person take until they’re permanently broken?”

Rosaline thought about it for a moment, wanting to find the right words to console Dafne. “Honestly, I think it’s sadder not to try. I mean, I’m still healing, and my trust in guys is a little shaky, but I’d be perfectly happy to help you.”

“My job is everything. If I risk a relationship with Winslow and I lose…” Now Dafne was the one shaking her head.

“If Winslow’s too stupid to see how awesome you are, it’s his loss. And if it doesn’t work, we’ll find you someone else, no matter what it takes. I swear.”

“I’ve tried a hundred times to get the courage to make a move. But he really should.”

“Yeah, but guys are dense,” Rosaline said. “You have to practically slam something over their heads to get their attention.”

“I think slamming something over Winslow’s head might get me fired.”

“We’ll make that plan B, then.” Already, an idea was forming Rosaline’s mind. “But we won’t need it. Because Plan A is totally going to work.”

Chapter Ten

“Almost done,” Rosaline said, making the last curl in Dafne’s hair with a large barrel curling iron.

Plan A was supposed to be carried out over a few days so that it would all go smoothly and Dafne would remain calm. But when Mr. Mercer called and said he’d give them a ride to the church in Springdale bright and early Sunday morning, planned and calm flew out the window.

Rosaline misted the ends of Dafne’s hair with hairspray. Then she thrust the wild rose lipstick that complemented Dafne’s burgundy wrap dress at her. “Use this.”

Dafne coated her lips as instructed and leaned closer to the mirror. “It’s too much. He’s going to see that I’m trying too hard.” She reached for a tissue. “I’ve got to start over.”

Rosaline grabbed Dafne’s wrist before the tissue made contact with her lips. “No time. Plus all he’s going to see is that you’re smoking hot.”

“You went to the same all-girl school I did. How do you know so much about guys?”

“I promise I’m good at what it takes to get a guy to notice.”
Just not so much on knowing how to keep him.
She wasn’t going to tell Dafne that, though.

The doorbell rang, and Dafne’s eyes widened. “That’s him!”

Unfortunately, Rosaline had spent so much time getting Dafne ready that she’d run out of time for herself. She twisted her hair into a loose updo, pulling a couple strands free to frame her face, and stuck in dangly earrings. This was about Dafne, but she couldn’t go looking all scrubby.

Catching a glimpse of Dafne’s clunky black pumps, Rosaline yanked her aunt into her bedroom. “Take those ugly things off and wear these shoes instead.”

The strappy black stilettos were four inches tall—enough to give Dafne’s legs nice definition.

The doorbell rang again. Apparently Mr. Mercer wasn’t used to waiting.

Dafne looked like she was about to argue against the shoes, but then she kicked off her ugly ones and slid her feet into the stilettos. “I can practically hear the teachers at Saint Mary’s scolding me for primping for church.”

“Yeah, well, most of them are single and bitter.” Rosaline stepped into her nude peep-toe pumps, double-checking they matched her pink dress. “Besides, you’re not primping, you’re…” She couldn’t think of a good word. “Just come on.” She headed to greet their guest, heels echoing on the floor.

She swung open the door and promptly stepped aside so Mr. Mercer could get a good look at Dafne. If he didn’t react, she was going to—

His eyebrows shot up, and he swallowed, the gesture looking like it took a lot of effort.
That’s right. Now compliment her on how nice she looks.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice husky. A compliment in its own way, but he needed as much work as Dafne did.

Jeez. Do I have to do everything?

At least he opened the passenger door of the Range Rover for Dafne. Rosaline kept her gaze on them as she slid into back—almost right on top of Bryson. He barely scooted over in time for her to miss sitting in his lap. “Oh. I didn’t realize…” She smiled at him. “Hey.”

He gave a tight nod, then scooted all the way to the other side and stared out the window.

“Not a morning person?” Rosaline asked.

Mr. Mercer glanced over his shoulder. “Bryson’s not thrilled about going to church this morning.”

“You asked me to come, and I’m here, so let’s just drop it.” Bryson slumped in his seat, closing his eyes.

From the looks of it, it didn’t matter how well Rosaline’s shoes matched her dress. Or how cute her hot pink toenails looked peeking out of them. Even grumpy, the gray button-down and black slacks worked for Bryson. His hair was in his face, as usual, but he’d shaved, and she caught a hint of aftershave in the air. Or maybe it was cologne. Whatever it was, she wanted to lean, take a whiff, and get lost in it.

It’d only been two days since they’d hung out, but it seemed like longer, and she was dying to talk to him. Every thought she’d had since their horse ride rose up, and she fought the urge to let it all out in one long sentence.

He’s probably just tired. After he wakes up, I’ll get him talking.

When they got to the church, Rosaline followed Dafne into a pew, making sure Bryson had room. Only he walked past her instead and sat on the other side of Mr. Mercer.

Oh...kay. It’s like we’re in a fight but no one told me.

Services started, and she tried to listen, casting an occasional glance at Dafne, Mr. Mercer, and Bryson. Bryson had his head down, hair covering his face; Dafne was either a great actress or was actually fascinated by the homily, because she appeared to be enthralled; and Mr. Mercer peeked at his watch.

Then his gaze moved to Dafne. Warmth crept into his features, and his mouth curved into a smile.

Well, Bryson might be acting weird, but Plan A was totally working.

***

Even with his hair covering his face, Bryson could still make out Rosaline’s killer legs. He tilted his head so he could see her face. He’d decided she was trouble, but from the looks of it, she didn’t have to be dragged to church like he did. She glanced at him, and he quickly looked back at the floor.

When he dared another peek, her gaze wasn’t on him anymore. She was smiling, and a guy two rows up was staring back at her, flashing her a love-struck grin. The guy was clean-cut, no scar marring his face. In fact, he looked like a good little Catholic boy. The kind of guy Rosaline could take home to her mom and dad and write gushing messages to her friend Clara about, saying how great he was. How he walked without a damn cane.

Bryson hung his head. He’d forgotten how long mass was. And how much up and down there was. His leg throbbed, begging to be done. His attention drifted back to Rosaline. It was so much easier when he could distance himself and not have to look at her. Not remember how her laughter had sounded the other day when they’d been riding.

He considered slamming his head against the bench in front of him to knock some sense into himself. Maybe if he caused a scene, Winslow wouldn’t insist he attend church with him. And why was Winslow suddenly acting so weird? Attending church, acting nervous as they’d gotten into the car. Lately everything Bryson did disappointed Winslow, and since he owed his uncle, he’d given in to the request and come to church. Now he got to be tortured by the never-ending service and being way too near Rosaline.

Loverboy was still making googly eyes at her, but she was paying more attention to Winslow. Then her eyes met Bryson’s. Busted. One of her eyebrows raised in a silent question.

Before he lost his mind, as he was prone to do around pretty girls, he broke eye-contact and stared at the floor again.

I’ve just got to make it through church.

Then a car ride home where she’ll be within reaching distance.

After that, he’d keep a better watch out, exiting the back of the house when she came in and locking himself in his bike garage. Survive today, then go back to avoiding at all costs.

She’d get over it. She’d probably have someone else to talk to within the week.

***

“Well, I guess that’s maybe progress,” Dafne said, locking the front door behind her and Rosaline. “I was hoping he’d invite me to dinner. Anything to show he was actually interested in more than talking to his work colleague.”

Rosaline grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and took it to the fridge to get water. “Trust me, the way he was looking at you was way more intense than colleague. It was more like I-want-to-take-you-in-my-arms-and-kiss-you.”

Dafne blushed. “I don’t think it was quite like that.”

“Another week with my help and it will be.” Cup in hand, Rosaline sat on the couch and kicked off her shoes.

“That boy who talked to you after the services seemed nice. Cute, too.”

“I guess. At least he talked to me, even though all he talked about was the weather.” The reason she hadn’t really cared about the dull-but-cute boy was because she couldn’t stop looking at Bryson, waiting for him to snap out of it and stop ignoring her. “Bryson didn’t say a word to me. Today he was like a different person.”

Dafne sat next to her, the cushions sinking slightly with her weight. “I worried this would happen. I told you, Bryson’s just… For one, he’s got a temper. Before the fight that landed him in the hospital, he was in several other brawls, always coming home with bruises and cuts. It was like he had something to prove. I don’t know what, and once he lost that last fight…” Dafne reached out and swept a piece of Rosaline’s hair behind her ear. “Don’t push him, okay? Winslow’s tried, and it only makes it worse. I don’t want you to get your feelings hurt.”

Dafne’s news should’ve made her willing to forget about him, but it only made her more curious. Fights? A temper? “He’s never been like that with me.”

Okay, so maybe the first time we met, when I broke into his room.

“Don’t get me wrong; he’s a good guy. Just hot-blooded, kind of like Papa Capulet. Occasional swearing and throwing things, that kind of thing.” Dafne curled her feet under her and massaged them. “Sometimes I don’t see him for days.”

So he was like this with everyone. She’d thought she was different, though. She ran over everything in her head. The last time they’d been hanging out, what had she talked about? Since she was chatty, recalling everything could take a while. But then it suddenly hit her.
I slipped and told him I’d been arrested.

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. He’d mentioned before he wanted to avoid drama, and she had to go and bring hers up.
Obviously, I’m more drama than he can handle.

Not that she could blame him. Sometimes she was more drama than even
she
could handle. Still, she’d thought they’d had a stronger relationship than that, regardless of how short it was.

Why do guys have to be so freaking confusing?

Chapter Eleven

Why do girls have to be so confusing?

Bryson had avoided Rosaline for two painstakingly long days, only to come home Tuesday night and find a neon pink Post-it on his bedroom door.

Don’t worry. I didn’t go
IN
your room, but I’m about ready to if you don’t come talk to me already. What happened? Is it because I talk too much? I’ll talk less, I swear! Ok, so we both know that’s a promise I can’t keep. Just come find me tomorrow around quitting time. K?

Rosaline

His gut twisted as he read the words. The thing was, he knew she only cared because he was the only person around. Why didn’t she call Loverboy from church? That guy had practically sprinted up to her after the service.

Bryson crumpled the note and flopped on his bed. He’d been doing so well not thinking about her. Okay, maybe that was a stretch. A habit took twenty-one days to break, though. He turned on a recorded motocross race, one from last month, and analyzed it for the hundredth or so time.

Girls were confusing; bikes made sense.

Even if he couldn’t ride one anymore.

***

Wednesday afternoon ticked by so slowly Rosaline kept checking the clock to make sure time hadn’t stopped. Waiting for Bryson to show made it that much slower, and she started to think he was never going to talk to her again.

She blew a giant pink bubble with her gum, then sucked it back in with a loud pop.

“Do you have to do that?” Dafne asked.

“Not have to. But since I
have
to sort all these files,” she said, pulling another from the pile, “it keeps me from going insane.”

“Well, the noise is about to drive me insane.”

All the fuzzy bonding moments they’d built up were fading after so much forced time together.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Rosaline stared at the door, anticipation zipping through her gut.
Bryson’s finally come to rescue me.

Winslow appeared in the doorway, and Rosaline flopped back in her seat, her momentary excitement twitching like a squashed bug. She tossed her pen on the desk. “Is Bryson out of town or something?”

“No,” Winslow said. “I had him run some errands this afternoon, but he’s back.”

A pang went through her chest.
He ran errands without me?

From the looks of it, he was ignoring her note, too. Which meant he didn’t want to be around her. Suddenly tears rose dangerously close to the surface. She pushed away from the desk and stood. “I’m going to go saddle up a horse and take a ride.” She looked to Winslow. “If that’s okay.”

“Fine by me, but they’re Bryson’s horses.”

Back when he was still talking to her, he’d said to take them whenever, so she was sticking with that until he showed up and told her otherwise. Besides, leaving would give Winslow and Dafne some alone time. The flirting was gradually picking up, which was good, but also kind of torturous to watch, what with her not even having a freaking friend to talk to anymore.

Dafne’s and Winslow’s voices faded away, and Rosaline reached the front door. She cast one last glance upstairs, hoping maybe Bryson would show up, apologize for ignoring her, and ask her to hang out.

But, of course, he didn’t.
Stupid jerk.

Cool air washed over her as she pushed outside. Dark clouds covered the sky—it was nice and stormy, just like her mood.

She contemplated changing and getting Dafne’s boots but decided it didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to be riding hard, just far enough to get away for a while. At least then she wouldn’t keep waiting for Bryson, who was obviously going out of his way to avoid her.

***

Rosaline’s hair swirled in front of her face as the wind picked up speed, going from breezy to punishing. The dark clouds overhead turned angrier by the minute, now so black that they choked out the sun’s rays. Ace stomped around, whinnying nervously.

She reached down and patted his muscled neck. “Is it the storm?” The air had that electric charge and carried the scent of rain. The first thirty minutes of galloping across the land was just what she needed, and she’d made sure to pay attention to what direction she’d headed in this time, determined not to make the same mistake as last time.

A bolt of lightning tore through the sky, followed by a clap of thunder that echoed through Rosaline’s core. Fat drops of rain hit the top of her head. After being in a hot, stuffy office all day, it felt nice. Then the rain steadily increased, the wind whipping it against her skin, and nice morphed into ouchy and cold.

“Let’s go home,” Rosaline yelled, nudging Ace with her heels.

He took off at a gallop, apparently in as big a hurry to get inside as she was.

Why did I go so far?
Rosaline thought as the rain soaked through her clothes.

By the time she and Ace made it back to the barn, her shirt was plastered against her skin, and her teeth were chattering. She dismounted and tugged the horse into the barn, shoving the door closed against the wind.

She spun around to lead Ace to his pen and noticed Bryson standing in front of the yellowish horse—Sonny, she remembered him saying—holding up a bucket of grain.

Aware her pale, pink shirt was now see through, Rosaline crossed her arms, shivering against the cold.

Bryson stared for a moment, then reached back and tugged his hoodie off, up over his head that way boys do because they don’t have to worry about messing up their hair. He held it out to her. “Here.”

She took the hoodie and started to pull it on.

“You probably want to take off the wet shirt first, or it won’t help much,” Bryson said.

She froze with it half-off, half-on. “If you hadn’t been ignoring me all week, I might mistake that for a pickup line.”

Bryson didn’t say anything, simply spun around, giving her privacy.

Rosaline turned her back to him and peeled off her wet shirt. She tugged on the hoodie, her icy skin sighing underneath its warmth. “Thanks. I’ll just put Ace away and then get out of your hair.”

“You should stay and warm up, see if the rain lets up.” Bryson took Ace from her and led him into his pen.

“Why?” she asked when he locked the pen door behind Ace, her anger and confusion at a boiling point now that Bryson was in front of her again. “Why won’t you talk to me anymore? Is it because I mentioned the trouble I got into before coming here?” To her dismay, her voice broke, sounding painfully pathetic. But she couldn’t stop, not when it was all she’d been able to think about. “I thought you were different. I thought this would be the time I didn’t say the wrong thing and screw it all up.”

“It’s not you,” Bryson said.

“It’s something about me. Even my parents don’t want me around.” Tears lodged in her throat, and she clenched her jaw, desperate to keep them from breaking free.

“It’s not you,” Bryson repeated, putting his hand on her arm and looking her right in the eye. “It’s me. I’m so messed up that I ignore a cool girl and come out here to talk to a horse instead.” He gestured to Sonny.

Rosaline moved closer to the horse, examining the long marks on its backside and his mangled back leg. “What happened to him?”

“Bear attack,” he said. Her fear must’ve shown on her face, because Bryson added, “Up in the hills—not here.” He leaned against the door to Sonny’s pen. “Sonny used to be a race horse. I read about how she got attacked in the paper. The owners were talking about putting her down, so I went and checked it out. The vet said she’d heal—never race again, though. So I bought her and brought her here.”

“Was that before or after you hurt your leg?”

Bryson scuffed his shoe on the ground. “A couple months after. Did you get the story how I got hurt yet?”

“Fight was what I heard,” she said, figuring there was no reason to hold back now.

“Jumped was more like it. My big mouth got me into trouble. The one guy I started the fight with I could’ve easily taken, but when his two other friends came, both armed…” A faraway look entered Bryson’s eyes. He turned and scratched Sonny’s nose. “So now we share war stories.”

The bond between him and the horse was apparent. “Maybe you should mix it up some time,” Rosaline said. “Tell some happy stories, too.”

“A happy horse story?”

“Why not? Here, I’ll get you started.” Rosaline ran her hand down Sonny’s neck. “Once upon a time…”

The amused, lopsided grin spread across his face, and Rosaline’s heart leapt. “Once upon a time?”

“Don’t you know? It’s how all good fairytales start.
Once upon a time,
there was this horse that got hurt. But a fairy godhorse came—”

“Now that’s an image,” Bryson said, the other side of his mouth getting in on the grin.

“Yeah. Fairy godhorses are crazy about tutus. It’s hard to find one that fits, though, which is tragic.”

Bryson laughed. “You’re the strangest girl I’ve ever met. And I mean that in the best possible way.”

“FYI, girls prefer to be called things like funny and pretty as opposed to strange.”

“Well, you’re those things, too.” He leaned close, his dark blue eyes boring into her. “But I find the strange is what makes me like talking to you the most.”

Tingly excitement stirred in her stomach. “So you’re going to talk to me? We’re friends again?”

Bryson’s smile dropped. Her pulse pounded through her head as she waited for the answer, worried he’d blow her off again. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah. We’re friends.”

He didn’t sound as excited as she would’ve liked, but she was desperate enough to have him as a friend that she decided not to push the issue.