Cole won’t look at me directly, but he continues to talk to my parents and even agrees to come out to the house for my dad’s company party next week. When all of the niceties are over and we’re standing on the sidewalk watching them go, I shake my head and blow a strand of hair out of my face. “I guess my sister really threw us under the bus.”
He stabs his gaze at me but only mumbles something that I can’t make out.
I shake myself and push forward. “So, um, thanks for coming to eat with my family. It was… interesting.”
“Yep,” Cole says blandly, fishing his keys out.
“And you don’t have to come to that party that my mom mentioned. I’m sure that it’s going to be awful. All of their country club friends and my dad’s clients in one place… Talk about a nightmare.”
“I’ll think about it,” he says, shifting his weight to one hip.
“Do you want to come inside?” I press, swallowing down my nervous energy.
“Nah.” With shadowed eyes, Cole dangles the keys in front of himself like some kind of explanation. “I’m going to head home. I’ve got some stuff to do.”
Stuff to do? Is he really this irritated about Brian?
My feet are nailed in place. I can’t put it into words—the feeling like I’m trying to hold water but it’s slipping through my fingers. Cole makes his way round the hood of the truck and unlocks the door before I’ve worked up the nerve to speak. “Cole?”
He straightens his spine and takes his hand off the door handle. “Yeah?”
I open my mouth, falter, take a breath and try again. “Why did you come over today? I thought you had practice all day.”
“I lied about that. I had a whole thing planned for us. I wanted to take you to the beach.”
“Oh,” I say, summoning a smile that feels all wrong on my face. “That would have been nice…” Nice? What a boring adjective. A flush creeps over my features. “Will I see you later?”
He inclines his chin and gives a non-committal shrug, effectively sidestepping my question. “We’ll see.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Aimee
I splash my face with water and stare at my reflection. I want to hit something. I want to toss myself onto my bed and scream bloody murder into my pillow. I saw Brian St. John today. My mom is going to want to have one of her “talks” with me. My sister and I are in a fight. Cole would hardly look at me.
I don’t think about what I’m doing. I pull my hair into a high ponytail and use an exfoliating sponge to scrub my make-up off. My face is blotchy red and there are still dark smudges under my eyes from the rubbed off mascara but I don’t mind. I feel bad so I might as well look bad, right? Bending my arm awkwardly behind my back, I grip the zipper and slip out of the dress I wore on that first date with Cole. I leave it rumpled on the floor by the bathroom and go look for a sports bra and a pair of cotton workout shorts. My running shoes are over by the window.
Today I don’t stretch. I don’t take it easy. I run full out and I don’t stop even when I start to feel sick to my stomach and everything blurs like I’m trying to look through water. I push myself harder, pounding the pavement like I’ve got a point to prove to my legs.
I don’t think about where I’m headed until I’m standing at the door, my hands steadied on my hips for support, wheezing like an asthmatic. Sweat gathers in heavy droplets on the end of my nose and steadily drips down my neck.
Wiping my face with the bottom of my shirt, I look up and see that Cole’s silver truck is in the driveway so I know that he’s home. I take a deep breath and lift my hand. I’m not a hundred percent that I’m going to go through with it until my finger actually depresses the doorbell.
I hear some minor shuffling beyond the door and muffled voices. Someone laughs. Daniel Kearns swings the door wide. He’s shirtless, carrying a bowl of popcorn under one arm.
“Hey there,” Daniel says, rearing his head back. He’s surprised to see me but not in a bad way.
“H-hey,” I say, still catching my breath and rubbing my sweaty cheek against my shoulder.
He steps back from the doorway to let me inside. “If you’re looking for Cole, he’s back in his room.”
I step over a pile of discarded gym bags. The hall opens up into one large room with a slanted ceiling and wide bay windows. Right now, the back blinds are drawn shut, casting the room in inky shadows. The entire place reeks of stale pizza and the cheaply made coffee table is littered with empty amber beer bottles. Adam’s prized bong collection is lined up on a shelf above the TV. Typical.