Dean shakes his head and stuffs his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders in. The whole movement makes him lose about four inches so he’s not so freakishly tall anymore. I watch him kick the carpeted floor with a sneaker, and his hair falls forward until I can’t see much of his face.
We pass an awkward silence waiting for the people in front of us to order. I’m about to turn around to ask him what he’s doing this weekend, if he wants to go for a coffee or something inane like that.
I got distracted by his awesome manly jaw, and his nose with the little bump at the top, and the way his chin seems to jut out a little, and he orders his food and a coffee without me understanding the words, and I’m diving into my bag and trying to pull out my wallet while the cashier is giving me the stink eye for not being ready with the money already.
My heart trips up a beat in my chest as I fumble with my wallet in my hands, trying to get the zipper open so I can delve in and get some cash, when Dean grabs one of my hands, his hand warm and callused enough to give me goosebumps, all while getting money from his own wallet.
He looks down at me after paying, and states the obvious. “I said I wanted a book. Not for you to feed me.” His whole body jerks like he’s tased himself, and mashes his lips together, all while looking down at the floor. It’s infuriating that I can’t see his face. What’s going on in there?
We turn around to grab some seats, move towards Sera and Matty who’ve saved us a spot at a round table with four chairs. Dean sits next to Sera, with me on Dean’s other side and Chicken Little in between, whose legs are swinging so fast and hard, he’s hopping in his seat.
I watch stupidly as Dean leans into Sera, close, holy fuck, kissing close and whispers in her ear. My eyes get big and my mouth drops open. Sera’s looking at the table, an intent look on her face. When she looks up her eyes meet mine, until she focuses intensely on the table again. I don’t know what’s happening.
All I know is I’m throwing out signals better than a deaf person that I am free and available.
But nooooo, Dean looks like he wants my best friend. The best friend of mine who couldn’t get a guy if her life depended on it; even if a naked man was standing in front of her – she wouldn’t believe that the hard-on was for her.
You’d have to be fucking stupid not to see that Dean, the fucking Viking I had dibs on, wants to get in Sera’s pants.
I’m electrocuted with shock, and can’t get my tongue unglued from my mouth. Absently, I feel my whole purse vibrate, and get my phone out without it going to voicemail.
It’s my mom.
Could this day get any worse?
Chapter 5
I don’t want to answer the phone. Hell, I don’t need to answer the phone right now. There’s a hot guy sitting next to me, and yeah, while I don’t have his full attention right now, I’m about to. But then, Mom’s just going to keep calling, and calling, and calling…
I make the hard decision and decide to pick up the phone – not before securing a position far away from the table, wandering through book aisles beside the Starbucks.
“Hello?” I say, heart thumping hard enough like I ran up a flight of stairs. I really don’t want to be dealing with my mom’s hysterics right now.
Really really.
I’d volunteer for a root canal without novocaine, or hey, I’d even sit through a hundred animated movies Sera has put on her bucket-list for us to watch. I’d suffer social ostracization – that might not even be a word – but I’d do it, be a leper to humanity if it meant I could somehow convince my mom to stop calling me to complain about her life – especially after she ruined ours.
“Cara, how come you don’t answer when I call you?” Welcome to Italian 101 – mothers guilt trip like nobody’s business.
I grit my teeth, and smile at a cute guy who just passed me by. I don’t turn around and let him look his fill of my ass. Some people just aren’t as considerate.
“Yeah, Mom, I purposely look down at my Caller ID and ignore your phone calls whenever it’s you.” Busted. “’Cause that makes sense. I’m busy, Mom. All the freaking time. I don’t do it on purpose.” Fuck yeah, I do.
Mom humphs into the phone with so much drama, it’s like I’ve cut off a limb and she’s lying there bleeding, complaining to me how much it hurts on the phone, instead of calling 9-1-1.
Miiiiiiii.
“Sometimes, I think you do, Katarina. Sometimes, I think you do. You like to blame me for what happened, even after all this time.”
I inhale a quick breath through my nose and almost end up sneezing. Jesus, this curse of mine won’t even let me be a complete badass bitch without ridiculing me.