A Boy Like You (Like Us Book 1)(31)

"I might be a little jealous," I laugh, clicking my belt and putting my feet up on his dashboard so I can untie my cleats.

"I thought you might be. I know how you like shitty-ass nacho cheese,"  he says, feigning serious. Neither of us ever breaks into a laugh, but  we both know we're kidding. It's almost normal between us, even though  deep down, it will probably never quite be normal again.





Eight





I stuck to riding with Taryn for the rest of the week. I also stayed on  my own ball field, avoiding venturing over to the baseball side during  practice and after games. It kept me away from Wes, and it kept me away  from the uncomfortable feeling that now accompanies being near Kyle.  Most importantly, I avoided the entire nightmare that is standing  between Wes and Kyle while McKenna looks on.         

     



 

I smoked a cigarette this morning with Taryn on our way to school. I  blame all of this girl drama. I'm back to zero days of no smoking in a  row. I might just chalk today up to a total loss and smoke one on the  way home too. I'm walking, because riding with Kyle just stresses me out  too much now, and Taryn took off to her empty house with TK.

My father passes me in his car, never once slowing down as he pulls out  of the faculty lot in front of me. There's no way he doesn't see me. I'm  the reason the crosswalk is blinking. Of course, he ignores the YIELD  and blows through the stop anyhow.

It was Friday, light practice, and we were done by four, which  apparently is why the beach plan was hatched. I heard about it, but I  haven't been formally invited. All of my friends are either going or  have plans on their own, so it looks like I could have started my job at  the Jungle Gym tonight-like Mike, the boss, originally asked.

There's forty bucks missed out on.

Wes and Levi drove out before my father left. They turned right out of  the lot, toward the main highway, which means they're going to Pismo  along with everyone else. I will be walking home to the left, to the  home I used to sprint to as a kid-the place I couldn't wait to be. Now  it's just the place my dad stores his liquor and I go to sleep when I  don't have anywhere else to go.

"Are you seriously moping?" Kyle's voice breaks into my pity party, and I  cringe because I'm going to have to talk to him-and yes, I was in fact  moping.

"I'm just tired," I say, shrugging.

"You're a shitty liar. Get your ass in my truck. I'll go pick up Conner  and Layla, and I'll drop you off at your house so you can change," he  says, reaching across the long seat to push the passenger door open. I  just look inside without moving.

"Change for what?" I ask, knowing what, but putting off excuses as long as possible because … well … I need to think of one.

"Don't play that with me. You can bullshit other people all you want,  Joss, but you and I both know you're pissed about McKenna, and the  beach, and you want to be there. This act is just your front because  you're pissed Wes didn't ask you. But you know what? It wasn't Wes's  thing. This whole bonfire idea was McKenna's … and she doesn't want you  there, which is exactly why you should go. So can we cut through ten  minutes of you lying to me and pretending like you're not going to end  up there tonight anyway and just get moving?"

I do my best to look tough, but my exterior cracks quickly, and my tight lips stretch into a smile with a breath of a laugh.

"You're a fucking dick, Kyle. You know that?" I say, throwing my gear  and backpack in the truck bed and climbing into the seat next to him.

"Yeah, you've called me that before too. Whatevs. I'm right, and you know it," he says.

The sense of awkwardness kicks in after a minute, and the reason I  avoided Kyle comes screaming back. I glance at him as he drives to my  house, but he works hard never to turn his face enough that his eyes  catch sight of me. His discomfort is all over his face, and I feel  guilty. I'm kind of mad at him that I feel guilty, which I know isn't  really fair. You can't help feelings, but Kyle is me-I need my other  half. And when he opened his mouth, I feel like he took that half away,  because I didn't feel the same way he did.

"You can quit looking at me with pity too," he finally says. I crack a smile.

"I wouldn't dream of pitying you," I say. I mean it. No, I don't.

"Look, you and I-we've been friends for a long time. And I'm not  stupid … ah … don't you contradict that," he says, holding up a hand. I  laugh, because he caught me-I was about to give him shit. "I'm not  throwing away my best friend just because she doesn't love me that way. I  meant what I said before-I'll figure this out, get over it, or  whatever. But you can't ignore me and avoid me on top of it. That shit  just hurts, and it's mean. Like, meaner than your normal mean to me."

We both sit in silence as I stare at him and watch his eyes dart around  traffic, his jaw twitching as he chews at the side of his mouth.  Finally, I breathe, and while the awkwardness is still there, it does  somehow feel a little less.

"You called me mean, dude. That hurts … right here," I say, pounding my fist on my chest.

"Yeah, well, you can be a real bitch too. How's that for ya?" he says, his familiar teasing tone back.

I punch him in the leg and he swerves a little because of it.         

     



 

"Oww! Fuck, Joss!" he chuckles, but he grows serious quickly, righting  his hands on the wheel and sitting up straighter. "Don't do that shit  when I drive. I meant what I said to Wes too. I'm not going to do risky  shit like that with you anymore. It scared me too much."

This time, the weight I feel is different, the guilt different. The  accident wasn't Kyle's fault entirely. I didn't have to climb out his  window.

"Why are you taking me to the beach?" I whisper my question.

Kyle glances at me a few times before looking forward again, his brow furrowed as he turns down my street.

"Why, Kyle? You know I only want to go because of Wes. You even said so.  Why are you helping? Is it because you feel guilty about the accident  and you want him to not hate you for it? Or because you feel guilty  about me getting hurt?"

I hold my breath and wait for his answer as his truck stops in front of  my house. I look over to my driveway long enough to register that my  dad's car is gone.

"Maybe a little of everything," Kyle says, his arms gliding down to the  bottom of the wheel as he sits back in his seat. He tilts his head to  the side to take me in, and after a few seconds, he laughs a breath  through his nose and shrugs. "And I also think McKenna's a bitch."

I let my grin slide into place and linger before moving my hand over to  take Kyle's. I squeeze it once, memorizing my hand on his, then move my  gaze back up to his genuine smile waiting for me.

"I do love you, you know," I say, my chest hurting when he takes a  harsh, deep breath that lets me know he knows exactly what I  mean-exactly how I love him. It's not the same as his love for me, but  it's still real.

"Yeah, yeah," he says, shifting in his seat and pushing the gear into  park. "Go get your ass changed. I'll be back in ten minutes."

I nod and climb out the passenger side, reaching over and grabbing my  things from his truck, patting the side of the bed when I'm done to let  him know he can leave. He doesn't look back when he drives away, but I  watch just in case.

Within the few minutes Kyle is gone, I manage to go through seven  possible outfits. I'm not good at this kind of stuff, and I wish I had  Taryn here to help me with it. I finally settle on my original choice:  my rolled-up loose jeans with holes in the knees, my Vans, and my black  bikini top. I grab my white sweater to wear when the sun sets and the  temperatures fall into the fifties, then sprint out to Kyle's truck with  my small backpack to hold my phone, wallet, and knit cap. I haven't  earned a dime from my new job, so the only cash I have on hand is in  quarters.

"That's what you're wearing? " Kyle says, nodding to my sweater when I  climb into his truck. Layla and Conner snuggle together in the small  half-seat in the back.

"What? It gets cold at night," I protest. He doesn't shift gears and  keeps his stare on me, his forehead wrinkled as he waits on the brink of  laughing at me. "Damn … fine. I'll take it off," I say, stepping out of  the truck for a few seconds to pull my sweater away.

I climb back in and shove the sweater into my backpack, then buckle my  safety belt before looking back at Kyle, who still hasn't shifted into  drive. This time he's staring at me with his eyebrows high, so I hold my  palms out in front of me. "Jesus … what?"

"Nothing," he says, spinning to the front, shifting into drive and  swallowing hard. We drive for a mile or two before he finishes his  thought. "It's just McKenna isn't going to know what to do. No way she  looks like that in any damn swimsuit she shows up in."