Author: Cheryl McIntyre

“Just think of me.”

“Okay…”

“Goodnight,” I rasp.

“Night,” she echoes, her voice full of confusion. Sixty seconds into the song and she won’t be.

Shit. What the hell did I just do?

~*~

I think I fell asleep in class. Or else I zoned out for the last forty minutes. People shuffle past me as I blink rapidly, trying to orientate myself. The corner of my mouth is wet and I wipe it with the back of my fingers. Nice. Drooling is a pretty obvious tell. I might as well have brought a blanket and pillow.

At least I made it here. I swear I had just fallen asleep when my alarm went off. Despite how tired I was, I couldn’t sleep last night.

Wondering what Annie’s reaction to that song was—or what it will be—had me unable to turn my mind off.

I don’t know what I was thinking.

That’s bullshit. I know exactly what I was thinking. Annie’s cool. I like her. I like talking to her. I like hanging out with her. I like pissing her off so I can be rewarded with her smartass mouth. I like that she’s got a really great sense of humor, even if she tries to hide it. I like that she’s smart and organized.

It makes me want to do anything I can to mix her life up. There’s nothing wrong with messy sometimes.

And, hell, I am so attracted to the girl it isn’t even humorous.

But she has a boyfriend—a shitty boyfriend, albeit, but a boyfriend all the same. She’s my friend’s sister. Step-sister, but that doesn’t change anything. We’ve known each other for years. Years that we’ve been nothing more than friends. And most of the time not even that.

What scares me the most is the idea of her not wanting to be around me anymore. She already avoided me for six months during last year. I didn’t like it. I really don’t want her to hide from me again. All because I opened my mouth and made her feel uncomfortable.

I like easy. So what the hell possessed me to go make shit complicated?

I finish packing my stuff up and slip out the door before my professor gets the urge to call me out on my class time nap. The sun’s too bright for my taste at the moment. I pause, slumping against the building as I tug a hat out of my backpack.

Pulling the bill down to shade my eyes, I stay this way, leaning against the cool brick while I work through my internal debate. I want to go back to the dorms and sleep. I want to pass out and pretend last night didn’t happen.

But I have two more classes, one of which is Lit with Kayla.

Shit. I’m not in the mood to see her today. I don’t have the patience to see her today. I need to end that. I push off the wall. If I’m going to act like a grown-up and go to all my classes, I need to go now. I look up just in time to see Loden round the corner, Annie towing behind him. He stops, pulling her until she’s flush against him. I watch—because for some reason I can’t look away—as he glides two fingers over her cheek before kissing her. My jaw grinds, teeth to teeth, as I glimpse flashes of tongue.

It’s enough to repel my gaze. I force myself forward, giving them a wide berth as I pass. I keep my eyes on my shoes. One foot in front of the other. At the last second, I glance up and note they managed to untangle their tongues.

Annie’s eyes are following my movement. I don’t want to ignore her, but there’s no way in hell I’m going over and playing nice with Loden. I nod, not slowing down. She turns, giving me her back—the only clue she noticed the gesture.

I can’t be mad. I brought this on myself. But if she thinks our nightly phone calls are over, she’s damn wrong.

21

Love Somebody

Annie

There is something therapeutic about packing. I get to make lists. I get to check items off. It’s calming. Relaxing. All my energy is focused on the task. I have no time to spend dwelling on anything other than making sure I have enough underwear to last the four days I’ll be away.

I’m taking Loden home to meet my family for Thanksgiving. And then we’ll be making the hour trip to Loden’s parents’ house.

I’m nervous. My mom is all paper plates, plastic utensils, and serve yourself for Thanksgiving. With overloaded, flimsy plates in hand, we all hunker down on the living room floor and watch the first Christmas movie of the year. While eating our turkey—which is always either undercooked or sadly resembling cardboard—we make fun of the movie, re-voicing the characters’ lines. Someone always uses this as an opportunity to make fun of somebody else. A year’s worth of pent up aggression released in a few rewritten lines of Jingle All the Way. Then someone gets mad, peas get flicked, bread winds up being thrown… This all leads to ending our day with one massive food fight.

My stepdad started the rule a few years back that no showers are taken until the living room is cleaned. It’s not a bad rule—it guarantees quick clean-up—but Loden and I will need to get ready for his family’s dinner.

In his house they actually have Thanksgiving dinner at dinner time. Not at noon like we do in my family. They also dress nicely and sit at a dining table. Loden told me his mom has special china she uses for the holidays.

It sounds exactly as I’ve always wished holidays had been in my house. But my family is made up of all these strange little bits—like pieces from several different puzzles all thrown together to make one big, odd picture.

I’ve wondered what it would be like to just have a whole sister or brother. To not have to put “half” or “step” in front of it. I’ll never know, but I will make damn sure my own children will never have to think about it.

And that’s why I’m nervous. I don’t want Loden to know how messed up we all are. I try so hard to keep it all together, to not let anyone see anything less than perfection. But I’ll be giving him a front row seat to the live show. Cirque du Soleil—Annie Phillips style. Except I won’t be wearing a funky costume and I doubt there will be any applause at the end.

My cell phone rings, causing me to jump. I drop the shirt I was folding and look at the clock. 12:15. I know by the time exactly who it is without looking at the caller ID. I ignore it, letting it go to voicemail.

I know I promised I would call him every night, but I just can’t talk to him today. I… I have no idea how I feel. I’m so confused. Why did he tell me to listen to that song and think of him? What does that mean?

I barely slept last night because I kept repeating the song, trying to decipher each and every word. And then arguing with myself over whether I misinterpreted. I’m pretty sure that song is all about sex. Like really hot, giving sex. Either that or cooking.

But I’m pretty sure Chase wouldn’t have me listen to a song about cooking. Of course, I didn’t think he’d have me listen to a song about sex and ask me to think of him. And, God, I did. I did think about him and that just made it so much worse. Because there is an attraction there. I admit it. The boy is so beautiful that I can’t stand it, and maybe if it were a different time or we were different people…maybe if I didn’t have a boyfriend.

No. Just no.

Not Chase. No matter how much the thought of kissing him had me tossing and turning last night I cannot go there. I have Loden. And Loden is perfect. I think he loves me. And I think I could be happy with him. We’re making plans. Planning our future together. We’ve even discussed marriage as a future possibility.

That’s what really matters.

My phone rings again and I sigh as I stare at it. I can’t. A part of me wishes I could explore this—whatever this is—with Chase, but it’s just not worth the risk. Avoidance is the best answer. I’ll go home with Loden, have a great holiday weekend and come back next week, relaxed. Time will heal all this awkward confusion inside and I can get back to normal.

Pounding on my door is followed up with, “Annie?”

I open the door slowly, not recognizing the voice. One of my dorm roommates, I can’t remember her name, is waiting, one bright pink slipper tapping the tiled floor.

“Some guy is here for you.”

I nod my head absentmindedly and look out into the common room.

And then I freeze.

Seriously. I can’t do this.

“What are you doing here?” I hiss. If I act like a total psychotic bitch he’ll turn around and leave. He’ll rethink whatever message he was trying to send me and run far, far away.

“You didn’t call,” Chase says quietly. “And you didn’t answer.” He shrugs unapologetically. “So I stopped by to check on you.”

I watch him scratch his chin nervously and something in that small gesture—that tiny little slip that gives him away—makes my breath shake as I exhale. He was worried about me.

“I don’t need you to check on me. I’m fine.”

He nods and slides his long fingers into his front pockets. “I just needed to see.”

He keeps looking at me and I fight the urge to squirm. To cover myself. To run into my room and lock the door. “Well you saw,” I say, but there’s no bite to it.

“You should’ve called.”

I press my lips together so I don’t scream at him. Instead, I take a step closer and cross my arms over my chest like a shield. “You shouldn’t have told me to play that song.” There. I said it. It’s out. Maybe he’ll feel like an ass and go.

“You’re right,” he agrees.

I search his face, looking for any sign of sarcasm. All I see is uncertainty and it makes my heart squeeze. Maybe I should say something here, but all the thoughts running through my head aren’t ones I can voice. God, if I did… I can’t even imagine it.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t—I didn’t mean—shit.” He rubs his forehead then drags his fingers through his hair. It’s brown today. Must be because he’s going home. I forget sometimes what his natural color looks like, even though it’s always been my favorite on him.

He looks good like this. Just him.

“You don’t have to apologize,” I whisper.

“Why not?” he asks quickly. It catches me off guard and I try to think. Why not?

I shake my head, letting my arms fall to my sides. I feel numb. Sad. And that doesn’t make sense. I should feel good that we’re getting this out and over with.

“I don’t know.” It comes out barely more than a breath through my lips, but he somehow hears it.

He takes this step in my direction and though it’s not any bigger than any other step he’s ever taken, this one feels huge. “I need to know why I shouldn’t apologize, Annie.”

If I tell him he shouldn’t apologize because I have these feelings for him—this attraction—then that’s really important, right? That could change things drastically for a lot of people.

And if I tell him that he doesn’t have to apologize because he is so low on my radar that it didn’t affect me in any way, that’s important too. Because that changes us. Our relationship. Our friendship.

I hate that word right now. Friendship. You’re not allowed to kiss your friends. Not the way I wish I could kiss him.

No. I have Loden. That’s the most important part. I focus on the tile in front of my feet. The one with the uneven crack in the corner.

“Everybody makes mistakes,” I say evenly. “We’re friends. And friends forgive each other. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

There. That was the right response. The mature response. People are drawn to one another all the time. It doesn’t mean they act on it. Now we push through this little bump and move on.

“I meant something by it, Annie,” he says softly. “I’m just not sure what.” I look up in time to see the door close behind him. I’m left alone, shivering in the common room, even more confused now than I was five minutes ago.