A Boy Like You (Like Us Book 1)(47)

I fold the garment over my arm and lean into my friend. I'm not a  hugger, but I feel like I need to give her some gesture to show her how  much this afternoon meant to me. She spent a good hour making me look  like a princess-at least the blond parts. The rest is up to me.

"Text me when you guys are leaving to go there. We'll get there around  the same time," she says, hanging on her door as I leave through the  hallway. I promise her I will, and make my way through her front door,  letting the screen slam closed behind me.         

     



 

"You look beautiful, Joss," Taryn's father says as I pass him at the end  of his driveway. He's standing from the kneeling position, holding a  car part in an oily towel that he's working with his hands. Her father  takes on a lot of spare repair jobs at their home, separate from his  work at the garage. It helps pay for her sisters' college tuitions, and  it will probably help pay for Taryn's too. "You want a ride home? So you  don't have to get your hair all messy?"

The breeze has picked up, and it actually feels nice against my bare neck. I smile at him and shake my head no.

"It actually feels kind of nice," I smile. "I think I'll walk."

"Okay, JJ. You be good tonight, you hear?" He leans forward and presses a  small kiss on my cheek. Taryn's father has always treated me like one  of his own. He's been calling me JJ since Taryn and I were kids, and I  know he said it just now to remind me of the fact that I'm still his  little girl. It warms my belly to feel that kind of love.

It only takes me a few minutes to get to my house from Taryn's, and I  head right to my room, turning my iPod on and plugging it into my clock  speaker. Wes downloaded a bunch of top-forty music to it yesterday, and  he insisted I listen to it to get myself ready for the dance. It's all  pop, and I know most of the songs-they just aren't what I usually listen  to. Nothing hard, and every song has a happy ending. By the fifth tune,  I'm almost giggling at the difference between this playlist and my  usual soundtrack.

My phone buzzes with a text from Wes, telling me he's on his way, so I  pull the silky black dress from the bag and hanger Taryn leant me. It  was the dress she wore for her quinceañera two years ago. It's simple  and nice, and it will do the job. I slip it on easily, reaching the  zipper on my own and working the length down my hips until the hem rests  at my knees. I stand on the end of my mattress and press my hands on  the ceiling above me to hold my balance so I can see the full form. I'm  turning to the side when I hear the soft knock on my door.

"One second," I say, glancing down at my bare legs. It feels too fast for Wes to be here, and I'm not completely ready yet.

"It's just me. He's not here yet," my father says. I slow as I step down  from the bed and approach the door. My hand stops on the knob, and for a  moment, I consider telling him I'm still getting ready. I don't,  opening the door instead.

My father's eyes move right to mine, then fall along my cheek, hairline,  and shoulder, taking in my appearance as his head falls to the side.  His lips are in a flat line-emotionless.

"Well?" I lift my hands to either side and spin slowly for him. "It's  T's dress. I don't really have anything, and … I'm so uncomfortable."

My father only nods slowly, his eyes caught somewhere around my waist  while he chews at the inside of his cheek. My hands move around my body,  and I mentally begin to file through other dresses I like in Taryn's  closet-or sweaters or something that isn't what I have on right now.  Then my father lifts the plastic bag from his side and hands it to me.

"That one isn't you. But this … maybe?" His hand trembles with the weight  of the bag. It's not that it's heavy. It's that he got something-for me.  And I think maybe he just trembles more now too.

My brow pulled in tight, I take it from him and move back to the edge of  my bed, sitting while I pull the bag open and reach inside. The white  crisscross of the back of the dress is the first thing I see, and I let  the weight of the dress and bag fall into my lap under my hands, my eyes  jetting to my father's.

"How'd you know?" This is the dress I touched when I was with Taryn.  It's the only thing I saw in the entire store that I thought I would  actually buy for myself if I had the means to do so. It wasn't  incredibly expensive, but it was more than I had to give for a dress.  It's not a lot of money for my father, but it's more than he's ever  spent on something that wasn't a bat or a glove.

My father shrugs.

"It was Taryn's idea, really. She said you didn't have anything to wear,  said I should do something about that. I gave her the money at school,  but she dropped the bag here yesterday, said it would be … more meaningful  if I gave it to you," he says, every word sounding uncomfortable and  embarrassed. His eyes dart to mine, but drop quickly to his feet.

"Dress shopping isn't our thing," I say, giving him an excuse. I don't  know why I do, but I can see the struggle in his body language. He feels  guilty that Taryn had to prod him to do something nice. But still … he  wanted to do it. I wouldn't be holding this dress if he hadn't. That's  the part that matters … I think.         

     



 

"I hope she got the size right," he says with a quick smirk.

"It's … it's right," I say, pulling the dress completely from the bag now.  My fingers work at the tag, my thumb running over the eighty-dollar  price marking. "You … you didn't have to … "

"Yeah … I did," my father interrupts. He leans his head against the frame  of the door, and his eyes finally make it to mine. "This is one of those  things a father should do for his daughter."

I hold his gaze and let his words burrow into me. After several seconds,  I look back down at the dress in my lap and let my hands smooth it out  as I nod.

"Okay," I whisper. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," my father says, swallowing as he reaches into his  hair, his fingers scratching at his scalp. "I'll let you finish. If Wes  comes, I'll keep him busy so you can get ready."

"Okay," I say, my eyes still locked on his as he slowly pulls the door to a close between us.

For a full minute, I remain frozen, my perfect dress in my hands. It  takes me that long to feel like I deserve the dress I'm holding. When I  slip it over my head, it looks exactly as I imagined it would. I put  Taryn's dress back into the bag and set it along with the black shoes I  borrowed from her on the chair in the corner of my room, then go into my  closet and find the dark-brown cowboy boots I haven't touched in almost  a year. They were my mother's, and wearing them feels like a betrayal.  But I won't ever get rid of them. I love them as much as I hate them.

Minutes later, I hear the doorbell ring, and even though I'm ready, I  wait by my door, listening as my father opens the door and makes small  talk with Wes. I put my phone and the twenty I kept out from my first  paycheck in the satchel purse that I used to use to smuggle cigarettes  and beer into the movies. I cross the strap over my body and pause again  with my hand on my doorknob. Wes and my father are chuckling over  something, but I can tell they're both really just waiting for me.

My eyes closed, I whisper a prayer. I ask for tonight to be perfect, to  be heartbreak free. And then I push through the door. When my eyes open  again, I'm given my first indication that my wish was heard. They aren't  pandering. They aren't gawking. Their smiles are subtle, and my  father's eyes are glassy. Neither of them says a word, until my father  holds the door open for us both and reminds Wes to drive carefully.

I feel the tickle of Wes's fingers along my back as he guides me toward  the curb, to his truck. I reach to grab the door handle, but he stops  me, his hand covering mine.

"No, let me. Just tonight," he says.

I laugh lightly. "All right, just tonight," I say, my palms moving to  the skirt of my dress, bunching the folds of fabric together, and  getting ready to lift myself into the truck seat. Wes opens the door,  and reaches for my free hand, taking it as I step up into the cab. He  stops before closing the door, his eyes on mine, his face void of the  usual stray pieces of hair that fly loose when he pulls away a hat. With  both hands hanging on the top of the open door frame, his head falls  forward as his chest lets out a heavy breath.

"I promised Taryn I wouldn't make you uncomfortable with attention and  talk about how pretty you are. She said that might scare you. But holy  fucking damn, Joss. Just … holy fucking damn," he says, raising his head  again, his lip in his teeth and a smile on his face.

He doesn't say anything more, closing the door and walking around the  front of the truck. But he pats his hand on the hood twice as he rounds  the front to his door, and he bites his lip once more before shaking his  head and firing the engine.