I put on my seatbelt and looked around the interior of the car, admiring all the fancy dials in the dash.
Once he got in and settled, he turned to me and said, “Peaches, you’re a girl.”
“Yes. I am a girl.” I got that deja vu feeling, because of all the times he’d said that phrase to me back in high school. What followed would be a hypothetical question about a girl, but this time I didn’t mind.
As Adrian told me about this girl he’d met, who he couldn’t get a clear reading on, I rubbed my index finger back and forth across my lower lip and thought about what a great kisser Dalton Deangelo was.
Adrian Storm talked most of the way back to my house, but I wasn’t paying close attention. I kept thinking about Dalton, and the way his hot skin felt under my hands, and how if I got another date with him, I’d take things slower.
We pulled up in front of my house, where the lights were still on.
Adrian said, “So should I just ask her out? Actors and actresses are so weird. They’re very outgoing people, and I think they have to be. To do their jobs, they have to connect with their characters and with the other actors instantly. It’s, like, visceral.”
“This girl is an actress?”
“Yes. That’s why I feel so weird around her, like there are cameras on us when she talks to me. Everything she says to me sounds so measured and precise.”
“Huh.”
“It doesn’t feel real to me, but I still like it. I love the attention, even if it’s pretend.”
“What do you mean, pretend?”
“Well, she’s an actress. That makes her the world’s best liar, doesn’t it? Even if she’s honest, how would I ever know?”
“Don’t you trust your instincts?”
Cujo sneezed in the back seat and stood up, wagging his tail and bonking it against the window. He seemed like a nice enough dog when he wasn’t knocking me to the ground.
“I used to trust my instincts,” he said. “Then I gambled away my future.”
“You could just take it one day at a time,” I said to Adrian. “Whether it goes anywhere or not, it’s fun while it lasts, right?”
He turned to me, his pale eyes lit by the streetlamps and suddenly looking haunted. “It’s no fun to be played a fool and have your heart ripped out.”
I laughed to lighten the mood. “Not even a little bit?”
He tilted his head, as though seeing me in a new light. “How about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
Ah, so clearly he thought I was doing something other than Dalton out at Dragonfly Lake. Perhaps taking pictures to sell to the tabloids. That added up.
“I’m seeing someone,” I said. “Right now is the fun part, before my heart gets ripped out.”
“Be careful. I know you’re as tough as ten-dollar nails, but even a girl like you can get hurt.”
“A girl like me?” What. The. Fuck?
CHAPTER 10
“A girl like me?” I repeated.
Adrian Storm turned to stare ahead at the clock on the dashboard, and tapped the steering wheel rhythmically. “Good seeing you, Petra.”
I pushed open the car door, got out, and slammed it behind me without a word. I stomped up to the house. What the hell? A girl like me?
I fumbled with my keys and the lock, choking on indignation.
A girl like me. Did he mean a fat girl?
Of course he did.
That was why he used to talk so candidly to me about his girl problems. He never saw me as a viable dating option, and he still didn’t.
I hoped he did date some actress and get his heart ripped out. He had it coming.
A girl like me. Hah!
He couldn’t handle a girl like me. It took a real man to do that job.
I stomped up the stairs and found Shayla lounging in the clawfoot bath tub, the tea kettle on the floor next to her.
I put down the toilet seat and sat down next to her.
Her eyes widened. “You’re filthy! What happened? Do you need me to call the police? Or should I put Vaseline on my face and slick my hair back so we can go kick some ass?”
“Easy there, One-Woman Army of Vengeance. Dalton was a perfect gentleman. I just took a shortcut on the way home and got treated like a training dummy by a retired, toothless police dog.”
“And you say you’re not the fun one. I ate a tin of Almond Roca and stalked people from high school on the computer all night.”
“Freaky. It’s like we’re magically trading places.”
I thought about telling her all about Adrian insulting me, but my mouth didn’t want to make the effort. Screw him.
Shayla sunk down into the tub, opened her mouth to let water pool in, then spat it at me in a perfect arc.
I sat there and got soaked, too exhausted from my crazy night to get out of the way.
“Tell me what depraved sexual things you let Dalton Deangelo do to you,” Shayla said. “Or I’ll keep spraying you with water.”
“Well, you know how I always say I can’t see the fuss over receiving o**l s*x?”
Her face lit up.
“Let’s just say I’m a believer,” I said. “This postal outlet is now open for incoming mail of the tongue variety.”
“You dirty slut!”
I got up and closed the bathroom window, because Mr. Galloway didn’t need to know what a dirty slut I was, and I was about to tell Shayla every detail, even the embarrassing ones. Especially the embarrassing ones.
~
I woke up in my own bed, which contained only me and some fig newton cookie crumbs—a few more fig newton cookie crumbs than I would recommend for a good night’s sleep.
Shayla and I had stayed up far too late discussing every word out of Dalton’s mouth and what it all could mean.
She annoyed me, actually. The way she acted like what happened next was completely up to me. Bullshit it was.
I hate when people tell you “it’s all about the attitude” and “fake it ’til you make it.”
You know what that advice amounts to? Kicking you when you’re down. Because now it’s your fault, because you didn’t believe in yourself enough. You didn’t clap your hands, and all the pixies died… or however that story goes. You know what I mean.
If a willingness to be confident was all it took, we’d all be confident. We’d all leave the house in one-piece rompers, ass hanging out for everyone to enjoy.
That morning, I should have been in a great mood, but I wasn’t. That’s the thing about moods—they’re not logical. And change is stressful, even if it’s good change like dating someone hot.