“I haven’t forgotten. Have you?”
I nod at her. “Touché, pussycat.”
In truth, I had. From the time I’d looked up into Trick’s eyes, I hadn’t thought of Brent one time. And that can’t be a good sign. Brent has never made me feel what this guy has in three minutes.
“Meh,” she says, waving her hand dismissively as she sips her own beer. “Don’t give it a second thought. Looking at him is kinda like staring at the sun. You see spots and you’re dizzy for a while, but then it goes away.”
I wonder to myself if I really want it to go away. I can’t ever remember a guy making me feel this way.
I can’t stop myself from looking into the crowd again. I scan the endless ocean of hats until my gaze stops on one dark head. The hair is longish and has a slight wave to it. I know without having to see his face that it’s Trick. It just seems right that he’d be the only guy in the place not wearing a cowboy hat.
Almost like he can feel my eyes or my thoughts on him, Trick turns around. His gaze locks with mine like there isn’t a room full of people between us. We stare at each other for a few seconds and then, real slow, he grins.
Good God, he has dimples! I might die!
Right on cue, my cheeks get hot. Here we go again.
His grin widens into a smile and he winks at me. I’m pretty sure my toes are numb. I watch him turn away. Before his head completely disappears, I consider what Jenna said. Maybe I should go and ask for the treat…
I jump when I feel fingers at my neck, brushing my hair back. “You looking for me?”
I recognize the voice. It’s Brent. I sigh. It’s not right that I should feel a little disappointed. But I do. The time for me to be reckless has past. The door of opportunity has officially been closed. By Brent.
I turn on my stool. I smile up into the face of Brent Thomason, my quasi-boyfriend.
Brent is no slob in the looks department. His sandy hair has that purposefully messy look and his dark brown eyes have an exotic tilt I’ve always found very appealing. But even as I stare into them, I’m picturing smoky greenish-gray ones.
“Were you looking for me?” he asks again.
I dodge the question, playfully poking him in the chest. “You’re late!”
“I can’t be too perfect. Gotta keep a girl like you on her toes.” He kisses the tip of my nose and then brushes my lips with his.
“Did you get the ‘Vette running?” I ask, leaning back.
“No. That’s why I’m late. I just talked to the guy that was supposed to take a look at it for me. Since I couldn’t even get it here, he agreed to look at it tomorrow night instead. I’ll get it out there even if I have to have it towed,” he growls in determination.
As usual, I find Brent’s passion about his car a little bit of a turn on. One of my father’s obsessions is vintage cars. We have a garage full of them and I know enough about them to talk like I’ve got some sense.
“Out where?”
He shrugs. “Eh, some sort of field thing. You know how country people are.”
I feel my frown, but can’t stop it. I know Brent doesn’t really mean anything by the comment, but it still bothers me. Unlike most of my friends, I know what life without money looks like, feels like. Granted, it was a long time ago, but some things a girl never forgets.
Sexy eyes drift through my mind…
“I want to get that thing running so I can drive you around and show you off. I mean, drive it around and show it off.” He grins at me. I grin back. The sad thing is, I think he had it right the first time.
Other books by Chelsea M. Cameron:
Nocturnal (Book One in The Noctalis Chronicles)
Nightmare (Book Two in The Noctalis Chronicles)
Whisper (Book One in The Whisper Trilogy)
Coming Christmas 2012: Silence, Book Two in The Whisper Trilogy.
Find Chelsea online at: leftandwrite7.blogspot.com or contact her:
[email protected]
For my parents, especially Dad. I hope you’re proud of me.
For my friends, who are my escape from the imaginary and realize there is a world outside my head, even if they have to drag me into it.
For all my online friends. You make me feel like I’m not alone when I’m sitting alone at my computer. You mean more to me than I can say. I adore all your virtual faces.
For all the book bloggers who have been so supportive of this story from the beginning. You overwhelm me with your expectations. I will try my best to meet them.
For all the authors who have helped me along my indie journey. Your support and friendship is worth more than hitting a million best seller lists.
For my beta reader, my soul twin. I heart your face.
For my editor, who gave me confidence in this story. I hope you aren’t sick of me yet
For all my musical inspirations, especially The Head and the Heart, The Civil Wars and Taylor Swift. You’ll probably never be aware of this, but you’ve given me enough inspiration to last a lifetime.
And lastly, for you, whoever you are, reading this. I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey you took with Hunter and Taylor. Thank you for being a part of my dream.
About the author
Chelsea M. Cameron is a YA/NA writer from Maine. Lover of things random and ridiculous, Jane Austen/Charlotte and Emily Bronte Fangirl, red velvet cake enthusiast, obsessive tea drinker, vegetarian, former cheerleader and world's worst video gamer. When not writing, she enjoys watching infomercials, singing in the car and tweeting. She has a degree in journalism from the University of Maine, Orono that she promptly abandoned to write about the people in her own head. More often than not, these people turn out to be just as weird as she is.
My Favorite Mistake is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2012 Chelsea M. Cameron
Ten
Monday morning I woke up a little excited. It was my first day at the library in the afternoon, and I was nervous, but happy to be having some money coming in. I would cut off my hand before asking my mother to spot me some. She had enough worries without me being a mooch.
I took out my retainer and glanced over at Hunter. He was on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, as if he was blocking them from the sun. His other arm was slung over the side of his bed. Somehow his sheets always managed to cover what they needed to cover. Except...
I shoved my face under the covers. I did not just see that. I peeked out again. Yup. Hunter Jr. was awake and standing at attention. Oh. My. God. I faced the wall, unable to look at it anymore. He moaned, rolling over. I stayed as still as I could, but suddenly, I got a fit of the giggles. I stuffed my blanket in my mouth, but it didn't help. Hunter sighed and moved again. I really, really didn't want him to wake up.
The giggling continued. I was in deep and there was no end in sight.
“What's so funny?” His voice made me jump, killing all hope I had of pretending I was asleep. I froze anyway, hoping he'd think I was having a nightmare or something.
“I can still hear you laughing,” he said, and I heard him grabbing his boxers. How could he get them on over...
“Why don't you come over here and give me a hand instead of giggling like a twelve-year-old,” he said, somehow getting the boxers on.
“Why don't you just take care of it yourself? That's probably what you usually do.”
“That's what you think.”
He walked out of the room and shut the door. The giggles finally took over and I was lost. Something about man bits was just hilarious. My fit continued until I had tears on my face. I lay in bed after it was over, gasping and trying to regain my composure.
It was only seven, but there was no way I was going to be able to sleep. I might as well get up and do some homework. I needed to wash my face and brush my teeth, but I wasn't going near the bathroom once I knew Hunter was out of it.
I parked myself in the living room with my textbooks, a bowl of cereal and a cup of black coffee. I heard the shower turn off and glued my eyes to my book.
“Shower's free,” he said, behind me.
I made a noncommittal sound and pretended I was absolutely fascinated with my French textbook. I heard him walking closer and I kept my head facing away. “You come any closer with that and I'll break it off. Got it?”
“You're feisty this early in the morning. I like it. Watcha reading?” He leaned over my shoulder, his damp skin inches from my face.
“Go away, Hunter. Seriously.”
“Fine, fine.” He shuffled back to the bedroom, and I went back to my homework.
An hour later Darah stumbled toward the coffeepot.
“What are you doing up so early?” she said.
“Couldn't sleep.”
“Was that you laughing like a psycho earlier?”
“Yeah, sorry. I didn't wake you up, did I?”
“Meh,” she said, gripping the coffee cup and taking a deep sip. “I wake up if Renee breathes too loudly. Not your fault. So,” she said, shoving some of my books aside so she could sit next to me, “what was all the giggling about?”
“It's nothing,” I said, the giggles threatening to come up again. “Just something I was thinking about.”