Part 13 (1/2)

”Up there, smack in the middle.” He flushes bright pink and rushes away.

Chapter Fifteen.

Gray It's impossible for me not to spot Jess. She's emerged through the rink's EXIT doors and seems unaware she's entered in the wrong direction.

”Would you look at her hair?” I pull in a quiet whistle. I've never seen it down. The s.h.i.+ne-the length-almost hits her waist.

The rink's horrible, seventies fluorescent lighting never flatters anyone, but Jess seems to be glowing under them. She looks around, and I can tell by the set of her shoulders that she's tense. Her hands are also gripped into tight fists. When she glances toward the open snack bar area where the tables are, I detect a hint of disappointment in her expression. She walks around each table as though searching for something and I realize that something is not me...she's too focused on the tables. What is she doing?

I guess I'm glad she hasn't noticed me. I'm holding two giant-sized cans of *Pico Nacho Cheese Sauce' like a dork. I also can't seem to shut my gaping mouth, which only opens wider now that I've caught sight of her profile as she draws closer, making a slow lap around yet another table.

I ditch the cans onto a table and step toward her.

”Holy c.r.a.p and double wow,” I say under my breath. I can't move. My chest tightens and I experience a brief moment of panic. She's put on some sort of makeup. Her already remarkable eyes seem lighter and twice as large even at this distance.

And her lips! ”d.a.m.n.”

I can hardly breathe as I hide myself behind one of the support pillars. Her lips have been transformed by some sort of intriguing lip-gloss or lipstick or whatever it is girls use in their attempts to freak out guys.

Yesterday, I thought I hated that junk...but now...I'm not so sure.

No. LipGloss is still the worst thing ever invented. I still hate it. I do. I do.

”You're losing it, dude. Calm down. You knew what she looked like well before tonight.” I decide on a new plan. I'll pretend I haven't seen her yet.

I quickly pick the cheese cans back up and head toward the half-door entrance into the snack bar. The snack bar will allow me three good feet of counter s.p.a.ce between me and her. Then, I'll call her over. Call my girlfriend over. Yeah. My girlfriend. My pretend, unbelievably beautiful, pretend girlfriend.

Pretend. Pretend. Pretend.

I close my mouth just in time and paste on my game face as she spots me and heads me off. She's trapped me on the front side of the counter.

Way. Too. Close. To. Her. LIPGLOSS.

”Hey,” she says.

”There you are.” I cover my choking voice with a small cough.

Uncertain of where to look and where not to look, I concentrate on her eyes. On what she's feeling. Not on how she looks-not on how she's made my heart feel like it's in a horse race.

Her expression is wary. Somewhat hunted and very nervous.

As much as I want to play this cool and tell her this night is going to go perfectly, I can't rea.s.sure her because I've never felt this freaked out in my entire life. I have no idea how to talk to this amazingly beautiful yet vulnerable looking version of Jess Jordan. She's right. I have no idea who she is at all.

”Was the place hard to find?” I ask, hoping she doesn't notice the cowardly squeak in my voice. I skirt past her and dump the giant cans of cheese onto the counter and duck behind it. My senses are instantly overwhelmed by how she smells. Something is different. Not cinnamon anymore, but...

”Easy. I had a map.” She follows me to the counter and leans on it. She's pretending to study the cans of cheese.

I do the same. It's like the drawing of the smiling cartoon green-chili-guy on the logo is the most curious and interesting thing we've ever encountered. When she leans forward, her hair curls against the counter top and I realize the new smell is coming off her hair. Some sort of amazing shampoo. I move my hands away from the glowing curls. Too tempting. They look really soft-and cool.

”Why were you looking over the tables so closely? Is something wrong with them?” I ask, breaking the awkward silence.

”I was hoping for a table where I could sit with my back to the wall.” She looks up with her mask in place. Her little sa.s.sy challenge smile is also on high. ”Since my back to the wall is not possible, tell me...where do you want me?”

Where do I want her? Where do I want her! If any other girl came to meet me looking like this, asking me where I wanted her-I would've let loose on the flirting. But I can't even go there. I'm trying to honor her request. Plus I don't want her to feel more uncomfortable than she already seems.

My gaze drops to her lips. AGAIN. I take a quick breath and look away, hoping she hasn't noticed. I have to cross my arms to resist the temptation I have to touch her hair again. Her face, or her small, nail bitten hands. I bite my bottom lip to keep myself from saying the cheesy lines flooding my brain.

”Hmm, where do I want you?” I manage. And just barely.

”What? You're acting really weird,” she snaps. ”Is this the wrong look, or outfit, or what? If so, I can make it out of here before the others show.”

”It's PEACHES,” I say, realizing too late, that I should not have said that out loud.

”What?” She raises an eyebrow.

”Do you smell faintly...like peaches?”

Or should I say you smell like peach cinnamon heaven?

”G.o.d. Yes, I-I think I do. I'm sorry.” She winces. A cute tinge of pink floods her cheeks. ”Kika lent me some make-up stuff and slathered me with one of her odd fruit lotions. It's bad, huh? My sister is all about fruit-scented products.”

”PIE,” I say, and pull in a huge breath. ”It's peach pie, isn't it? Like peaches with vanilla?”

”Uh...yeah. Guilty. But...is it really that bad?” She motions to her hair, then her face. ”I can wash some of this junk off. Kika's in eighth grade and...well, she said all this stuff-this outfit-would be good for hanging out.” Her mask is wiped away and now I feel terrible, because her expression looks panicked.

I pull myself together and try to say something sane to erase the crinkle of doubt and worry creasing her forehead.

”No. No! I love it. I mean-it's great. You-how beautiful you look. It threw me off. And, you have no idea how much I love peach pie, a-la-mode. Sorry...sue me, dock my pay, but d.a.m.n, girl. You've turned me into a stuttering fool.” I smile but cringe inwardly, knowing I've crossed over the edge of flirting with her again.

”Swear you aren't lying? I knew I'd mess this up by trying too hard. I'm paying you, yes. But don't blow smoke up my a.s.s if this is all wrong. I don't want to be humiliated here.”

”No! Honest. I simply had no idea it was possible for you to look more beautiful than you look...normally. So...I sort of lost it there. And it's not often a girl shows up smelling like my favorite food.”

She shoots me a sideways glare but appears to relax a little. ”Did you get those lines from slimy-ways-to-get-to-second-base-dot-com? Please.”

I laugh. ”How bout dorks-trying-to-talk-to-beautiful-pretend-girlfriends-dot-com?”

She laughs back. ”Odd apology accepted. Weird, horrible, ridiculous compliments are not. And...could you not call me beautiful?”

I shake my head and smile. ”The beautiful adjective is an informational fact. I'll say it if I mean it. And I'm sorry about the flirting. I'm nervous just like you are, so I'm bound to lapse. Forgive me?”

”I won't forgive you. Try harder. And I never said I was nervous.”

”Right...well...I am nervous,” I repeat, unashamed of the truth. ”Plus, I have to get into flirt-mode because I'm about to have to turn on all the charm in public. A little practice is a good thing.”

”Do you think this won't work? Tell me. Honestly.” The tremor in her voice makes my heart twist.