Part 15 (1/2)

I'm sure the things are worth less than their packaging, but at this point I don't want to know. I'm bored, hot, cranky as h.e.l.l, and hungry for some serious man-lunch.

Burritos. Foot-long meat-stacked subs. The largest icy c.o.ke I can buy.

One whole large pizza and a side of wings. A burger, dripping mayo and bacon, and an extra large icy c.o.ke.

Anything. Everything.

I throw a lily pad like a Frisbee over a stack of boxes and smile when Jess gasps.

”Two points if that made contact!” I yell, trying to get a rise out of her.

”You wis.h.!.+”

I hear a small laugh as she whips the thing back over the boxes. It takes out one of my carefully stacked piles of frogs. ”Easy there. It's called aim,” I tease again. ”Are you starving like I'm starving?” I ask, wis.h.i.+ng she could come to lunch with me.

I don't bring it up because I know she won't. Can't.

”Eat this, why don't you?” Before I can defend myself, Jess whacks me straight in the forehead with a tape-wrapped ball of bubble wrap.

d.a.m.n, but the girl has a good arm.

”Missed completely,” I say but know I've been busted when I see a flash of her blonde hair ducking around the far side of some yet to be addressed boxes.

The ladybugs. Our future h.e.l.l project.

”Whatever you need to say in order to save your pride.” She's doing that irrepressible giggle that makes me unable not to smile. ”

Do you want me to hit you with another? Or are you done at one, you wimp,” she challenges again.

I can hear her scrunching papers and stretching tape around another ball bomb. I imagine she's about to whack me with half a box.

”This one might hurt,” she adds, confirming my suspicions. She's full-on laughing now.

”Stop. Truce. If you knock over these piles this project will take longer. I'm sorry I started it, but I'm antsy. You've been quiet too long. Let's talk about where I'm going to take you for our first weekend date. It's in two days. Preferences?”

”I'd rather throw things at you.” And she does. Pelts me with the giant wad of tape and paper. I catch it, but she doesn't emerge. I can hear her pouring plastic frogs into the wire baskets she's been using. ”I have no idea. You pick,” she says finally. All laughter has been erased from her voice. This makes me feel bad, sad...annoyed.

”Come on,” I plead. ”I'm not that terrible. You've spent every night at the rink with me for almost a whole week. I think it's been fun for you.” I hook four more frogs onto their lily pads. I'm getting faster at this. ”Hasn't it...been fun?”

”Fis.h.i.+ng for compliments, as usual. You are the neediest guy I've ever paid to date me,” she says.

”Funny. You're the most evasive girl I've ever known. Come on, answer,” I insist.

”Yes. It's been fun. I already told you that.”

”Good.”

We work in silence for a long moment. ”Did you decide?” she calls out. Her tone seems hopeful, but I detected a little anxiousness also.

”Hiking. A short trail. What works best for you? Sat.u.r.day or Sunday?”

”Sat.u.r.day please. Sunday is what my parents call *family day'. But mostly we do yard work, clean house or do laundry. Sometimes church. Sometimes movies. Does that work with your rink schedule?”

”I'm on at five. We'll make a day of it. The picnic lunch is on me. Your job is to locate some hiking gear. Bring a water bottle, sunscreen, all that. The trail is a bit rough but the view is worth it. What's your favorite food?” I ask and my stomach grumbles again at that thought.

”I like everything,” she says, but she sounds doubtful. ”Don't forget,” she adds, ”for official dates, you have to pick me up at my house and bring Mich.e.l.le and Corey. But on pain of death, stay in the car. My parents are getting viciously curious about you, Corey.”

I hate that she now sounds resigned, as though we just discussed some mandatory ch.o.r.e like toilet cleaning.

”Fine,” I grumble, feeling slighted. ”I'll have the car full of other people and distractions.” I'm getting sick of Corey and Mich.e.l.le being part of our equation. Our contract. Our new friends.h.i.+p.

My crush.

h.e.l.l. I just need to admit it. I've got it so bad for this girl that I'm jealous of any conversation, smile or time that Jess gives to my best friends. It's something that's making me feel crazy and it's gone way out of control. It's a crush I need to kill. But how?

Jess has turned out to be great on every level. Smart, perceptive, hard working and kind. And let's not leave out her soft skin, the hair she hides in those buns. The cinnamon-suns.h.i.+ne pie thing, and the way she lets me put my arms around her when Corey and Mich.e.l.le are looking.

The girl has cast some sort of spell on me. One I've been vowing daily, hourly, to ignore. So far I'm having no success with that. Worse, the boring toy building makes it easy to daydream...about her!

Just now I'd been thinking about the way she fits so perfectly under my chin and next to my heart when I pull her into a hug. The way she eats my nachos every night so carefully, but still manages to wind up with cheese on the corners of her mouth and all over her chin.

d.a.m.n...that alone is beyond hot. How am I supposed to just shut that cuteness down?

I figure my stupid imagination has allowed this crush to go way out of bounds. I know she's completely off limits. All I can do to keep under control is to remind myself of the night she was almost raped. Remember my part in it-what a chicken s.h.i.+t loser I'd been that night.

I'd only wanted to be her hero; instead I'd been-c.r.a.p! I'd been a complete failure. If I continue to entertain thoughts of me, being with Jess-as in-for real-then I'm a complete a.s.shole on every level. Worse, I will have failed her all over again. And I refuse to do that.

Wanting more from Jess, is pure selfishness. This has to be about her. I need to be satisfied with just being what she wants-what she needs-what she's asked me to be. I'm going to figure out a way to stop my reckless imagination from coming up with impossible scenarios where Jess and I become a real couple.

Impossible.

Anything else would hurt her-would cause her to remember. She doesn't deserve that kind of pain no matter what. And not from me.

I pull another pile of frogs over and snap them together, reminding myself of the stuff that seems to be working for both of us.

As in, I'm working for her. We have a contract that makes us both happy, I'm getting paid a s.h.i.+t-load of money, and we're both going to college on our own terms.

I toss down the latest frog-lily-pad-combo and pull out my wallet to look at the $448.00 Geekstuff.com paycheck simmering in there. I haven't put it in savings yet, but I will.

And then I'll ramp up being the best d.a.m.n pretend-boyfriend in the world. Whatever she wants. Jess deserves to get the guy she's hired on task and in focus. The girl had no paycheck handed to her today. And for the past two weeks she's worked as hard as me. Maybe harder. And all I've done is daydream about her and wish things were different. They aren't. So I'm going to deal with that and go with what's real. Period. Done with crush. And moving on.

”Hey, slacker. It's awfully quiet on frog island.” Another volleyball-sized cl.u.s.ter of paper and tape lands with a tape-sticking thwack near my feet and startles me out of my thoughts.

”Head back to trash planet. I need a basket trade out,” she commands.

”Coming boss-lady,” I say and empty the few frogs remaining in the large wire basket onto my worktable. I head around the wall of boxes that house Jess's unwrapping empire. For the tenth time that morning, I stop, frozen, and stare.

All of my latest vows, promises and new resolves melt away.

She's too cute. And I'm only human. Humans get crushes. It's how we're programmed.