Awkward. Page 17

  “What’s gotten into you? There’s nothing here saying it’s you. You’re some anonymous blogger on the internet. It could be anyone. The Allie I know would shake this off! What else is bothering you?”

  “Nothing,” I snap, and then immediately apologize. After a breath, I continue. “I guess it’s just everything else. The whole business with Jack—we left things okay this morning, but it was still weird.”

  “Probably because you chose a suicidal mission down the side of Jack’s building instead of joining him for breakfast like a normal person.”

  I wince. “Yeah, I see that now. Also, there’s someone besides you who knows this blog post came from me.”

  Aimee’s eyes flash up at mine. “You didn’t tell me? Who did you tell about the blog before you told me, your most trusted friend?”

  “Long story. Remember the girl named Caroline I was telling you about? The one who I thought would be perfect for Jack?”

  “The one who turned out to be a lesbian?”

  “Yeah, her. Apparently, she saw the article last night and recognized me. We’d talked about books and blogs, so I guess she had a hint.”

  “So?” Aimee shrugs. “Do you trust her?”

  “I suppose. But what if Jack somehow sees it?”

  “I don’t know that it’d be so terrible.” Aimee frowns, glancing at the list. “There’s nothing mean here. It’s pretty complimentary toward him if you ask me.”

  “You think?”

  Aimee stares at me like my brain contains rocks. “Uh, yeah, girlfriend. Have you read it?”

  “Fine!” I throw my hands up. “But I made the list last night while I was emotional. I don’t think it stands true today.”

  Aimee scans it over and lets me peek at the screen over her shoulder. “Looks good to me,” she says. “If the worst you have on him is that his super sexy motorcycle hair is annoying, it’s fine.”

  “I get it, I get it.” I cradle my face in my hands. “I’m so pathetic.”

  “Hey. You are not pathetic. This is cute, and it wouldn’t be so popular if women everywhere couldn’t relate to it. The comments you’re getting? They’re really nice. And supportive. Except the one which asks about the size of Jack’s—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I wave her off. “I saw that one. What are the others saying?”

  “Let’s see here, I’ll read them to you.” She clears her throat, then speaks in a loud and clear voice. “Go for it, girl. Sounds like he’ll be lucky to have you. You’re cute.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “An anonymous reader got that from the article?”

  “You have a unique style,” Aimee says. “It is cute. Oh, then there’s this one: Sounds like you already know what you have to do! Your answer is clear, now go get him. And don’t forget to come back and tell us all about it.”

  “Mm-hmm,” I murmur. “That’d go well. You know, if I did go after Jack, and if I did write about it. I’m sure he’d love that.”

  “Don’t identify either of you. Don’t go into all the details. You can’t start a story like this and not finish it.”

  “I can’t go after Jack now. He ignored my note and didn’t offer any explanation this morning. It’s best if we just pretend it never happened.”

  Aimee shifts uncomfortably. “I’ll admit that part sends mixed signals.”

  “Right? I was waiting in his bed for him. He must have slept on the couch.”

  “What if he didn’t see the note?”

  “He did. He came into the room, presumably to check on me, and walked all the way across to close the window. The Post-It note was bright orange and half the size of his pillow. If he so much as glanced in my direction, he couldn’t have missed it. Then, this morning, it had disappeared without a trace.”

  “Fine.” Aimee grits her teeth. “Well, how do you feel about it?”

  “I feel fine!” My voice is a bit false in the cheeriness, but it’s the best I can do for today. “I feel fine. I got into this stupid game with him to try and teach him to date. We both got a little confused.”

  “Which is understandable, seeing as you’re both super hot, super smart people with smoking chemistry.”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t thinking that.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Jack wants to find a woman he can marry. I’m not that woman. So, there’s no sense going further. It’ll just end in heartbreak.”

  “Why can’t you be that woman?”

  I hesitate in my response, picturing for a moment what that might look like. Me and Jack living under the same roof, maybe a couple of kids. His condo, or maybe a house somewhere way, way down the line. We both like dogs, so maybe throw in a dog.

  Then, the truth of everything hits me. Jack’s job interview in Florida. The way his mother looks at me as their dog sitter, and not even as their son’s friend. The way Jack asked for my help to find him a woman suitable for himself.

  “If Jack wanted to date me, he should’ve just asked me,” I tell Aimee. “He asked me to help him find other women. That’s what I’m going to do.”

  Aimee must sense the determination in my voice because she doesn’t argue. Pointing toward the bleachers, we leave the track and climb up the metal stands to stretch out and catch some of the last summer rays.

  “You know,” Aimee says after a few minutes. “I think you should go for the blog. It’s something to do for you to keep your mind off this. It’s like therapy, but cheaper.”

  I tilt my head, pondering on it for a moment. “Maybe.”

  “If you write a blog on romance, though, you’re going to have to go on some dates.”

  “I don’t want to go out on dates.”

  “Why not? For fun, for research, or whatever. Maybe you’ll meet someone.”

  “I don’t need to meet anyone. I have you, and now I have Caroline, too.”

  “Jack,” Aimee adds pointedly. “Don’t forget Jack.”

  “My friend,” I confirm. “Yes, I have Jack as a friend.”

  “So? If you’re not interested in Jack, let me set you up. I know just the man.”

  “Why are you so prepared to set me up?”

  “Come on, this isn’t a surprise. We were talking about him the other day!”

  “Mr. Cooper?”

  “The one and only. I know you said you don’t date co-workers, but a coffee date isn’t committing to life together, is it?”

  “Aimee—”

  “He’s hot, you’re hot. He’s good at math, you like to read. You both love kids. Come on! It’s a match made in heaven.”

  I stand, shaking my head. “Not interested.”

  “Fine.” Aimee stands next to me. “But I think it’s because you’re hung up on Jack. I get that you’re his best friend and all, but guess what? You’re my best friend, and I don’t like to see you hurt. If he’s not interested, or if you’re not interested, you have to move on.”

  “What are you suggesting? That I cut ties with Jack?”

  “Maybe tone down the one-on-one time with him.”

  “But—”

  “Look at your relationship with him. Most friends—yes, even the best of friends—don’t have sleepovers once a week. Do you and I have dinner and sleepovers four times a month?” She shrugs. “It’s no wonder you’re feeling a little confused about your relationship.”

  “He’s like a brother to me.”

  “Most siblings don’t have sleepovers once a week after they’re out of the house.”

  I hesitate, unwilling to see the logic in her argument. It’s there, we both know it is. Aimee reaches out and offers a sympathetic squeeze to my shoulder.

  “I’m just trying to watch out for you,” she says, apology scrawled across her face. “You’re my friend, too.”

  With the conversation drawing to an end, we begin the walk toward our cars.

  “Well, thanks for meeting me,” I say when I reach my vehicle. “It was good to clear my head.”

  “Didn’t think I’d be at school a second b
efore I had to,” she says with a wide grin, leaning against the front hood. “But it was worth it. And hey—before you delete that post, read some of the comments—will you? Just maybe skip over the one about the size of—”

  “Got it,” I interrupt. “I promise.”

  It’s a quick drive home from school, and I spend most of it in a haze, watching the world pass through my rearview mirror. I park, tuck myself inside my yellow-walled apartment that everyone at the stupid club seems to hate, and cozy up on my bed.

  My heart pounds as I flick on the computer and navigate to the blog post. There’s over five thousand views already, and the comments have crept to one hundred and twenty-seven.

  A few of them are mean old trolls telling me to get a life, but the vast majority of them, as Aimee pointed out, are positive. I hadn’t intended the article to be funny, or honest, or even an article at all, but more people than I expected seem to identify with it.

  There are several casting their vote for the pro and con list—most of them telling me to go for the guy—but the most common thread of all is the one encouraging me to keep writing. To create another post. To tell the readers what I’ve decided. To post again next week.

  After reading every last comment, including the one requesting a detailed measurement of Jack’s most private part, I can’t help the little bubble of hope that’s blooming in my chest.

  Reaching for my phone, I hit dial.

  “Caroline!” I say once she answers. I listen to a few moments of her exclaiming over the success of the blog before she lets me edge in another word. “If I were thinking of writing a follow up post, what would you like to read about?”

  Chapter 22

  JACK DARCY

  “So? If you’re not interested in Jack,” Aimee says, as I somewhat accidentally eavesdrop on her conversation with Allie. “Let me set you up with someone else. I know just the man.”

  “Why are you so prepared to set me up?”

  “Come on, this isn’t a surprise. We were talking about him the other day!”

  “Mr. Cooper?”

  “The one and only. I know you said you don’t date co-workers, but a coffee date isn’t committing to life together, is it?”

  “Aimee—” Allie begins to argue, giving me hope.

  “He’s hot, you’re hot. He’s good at math, you like to read. You both love kids. Come on! It’s a match made in heaven.”

  I don’t think I like Allie’s friend all that much anymore. I also feel like an idiot. Not only am I eavesdropping on a conversation between two women, but I’m standing beneath the bleachers like a high school dork. Then again, that’s fitting. I’m one of those kids who grew into their looks...or so my mother likes to tell me. I was not the popular kid in school, but that’s probably a surprise to no one.

  The thing is, I left my house just minutes after Allie ran out of there. I had to set the record straight. She flounced out of my place without giving me a solid chance to explain, or to figure out why she was acting so skittish. Sure, we’d kissed, but something else must be bothering her because she acted like a paranoid squirrel trying to climb out my window, and I have a feeling it wasn’t the kiss that’d put her over the edge.

  On my drive to her house, I’d noticed Allie’s car at the school and realized she must’ve headed to work for a few hours instead of going home. So, I’d parked, then recognized her on the track with Aimee and walked over to say hello.

  The problem was that they hadn’t seen me, and by the time they’d started stretching on the bleachers, it was too late to announce myself. The result was an accidentally overheard conversation. My only hope was to back away slowly and to never let Allie know I had come.

  “Hey, man, how’s it going? Do you work here?”

  A voice interrupts my thinking, and I turn to find a well-dressed, if somewhat shaggy-looking sort of man. “Actually, no, I just came to say hi to my friend.” I gesture weakly toward the pair of ladies. “I was just leaving.”

  “Ah, nice. I’m just moving my stuff in for tomorrow. I’m the new guy around here, so I wasn’t sure if we just hadn’t met yet.” He flashes me a quick smile, but at the last second, he freezes. “Right? We haven’t met?”

  “Nope.” I give the new guy a smile, wondering if this is the math teacher Aimee had just referenced. “What do you teach?”

  “Math, actually. I know, you wouldn’t guess it.” He thumbs at his outfit. “So, you know Ms. Jenkins and Ms. Miller?”

  “Just friends,” I tell him, forcing my expression to stay neutral. “We grew up with one another. She’s like a sister to me.”

  The new teacher frowns. “Just friends?”

  “Yep.”

  “I was thinking of asking her out for coffee. I normally don’t date co-workers,” he says with a hesitation, “but she seems different, you know?”

  “I know,” I say, my voice quiet and raspy.

  “You’re sure?” He frowns deeper, and I can tell he can’t quite believe me. “The last thing I want to do is step on anyone’s toes.”

  “Positive,” I say. “You have my, uh, blessing.”

  The math teacher extends a hand. “Mr. Cooper,” he says, as he shakes mine. “Call me Cooper. Hopefully, I’ll be seeing you around.”

  “Hopefully,” I say through gritted teeth.

  As the handshake concludes, I give one last glance toward the bleachers, but Aimee and Allie have headed inside, completely oblivious to the conversation happening behind them.

  Stepping through the gate, I return to my bike and notice another motorcycle parked nearby. It hadn’t been there before. That’s when I look back and spot the new teacher’s ruffled hairstyle.

  Motorcycle hair. Allie always tells me she loves it. I had hoped she meant mine, but apparently, I was wrong.

  Damn the math teacher and his motorcycle hair.

  Allie should be mine. I can feel it in my bones, in my soul, in my very deepest place. We belong together.

  I can’t find it in me to blame Mr. Cooper. It’s impossible not to notice Allie Jenkins, and he’s just doing what any man would do. Or, what any man should do, including myself.

  As I think back over the last few days, however, I can find one moment that continuously points to the start of this mess; the moment when everything changed. The moment one person orchestrated an attempt to draw us apart.

  And I think it’s time I pay her a visit.

  Chapter 23

  JACK DARCY

  “What the hell were you thinking setting me up on that date?”

  “Jack, language. Do not swear at your mother.”

  “Sorry.” I apologize, take a few breaths, and pull the dainty mug of coffee closer to me. “It was a disaster.”

  “A disaster?” My mother freezes, her hand on a matching mug. “What did you say to Delilah?”

  Though it’s Sunday morning before ten o’clock, my mother is up and dressed in an impeccable white dress and high heels, the paper folded before her. Allie would never wear heels before noon on a Sunday. Sundays are for lounging, she’d say.

  “Delilah?” I ask, my voice rising. “Do you think this is about Delilah?”

  “Jack—”

  “Seriously, mother. Don’t lie to me. You can’t possibly believe that she’d be a good fit for me.”

  My mother’s nails click in an annoying tap-tap-tap against the glass as she visibly debates telling me the truth. It’s all over her face, and so is the moment when she decides it’s not worth lying about. “Her family runs the club.”

  “So?”

  “So? Jack, they’ve been around for ages. Her family has class, they run in our same circles, they have careers that matter, and they—”

  “Careers that matter?” I give a half-snort. “Delilah’s never worked a day in her life.”

  “Not all women choose to work,” my mother argues. “Some prefer to...” she struggles, knowing this argument goes against everything she believes in. It’s the exact same reason she’s n
ever considered Allie a great match for me. She doesn’t consider Allie’s profession a career, no matter how many times I’ve tried to change her mind. She’s focused on the pedigree.

  “Some prefer to spend daddy’s money.” I finish her sentence and level my gaze. “Just say it, mother. You’ve never been a good liar. They’re rich, they’ve got status, and you want in on it. You’ve got the degree, the last name, and you want me to cozy up with their family for you.”

  “Jack Darcy!”

  “Guess what?” I wait long enough for her to respond, but she never does. “Someday, when you’re very old, when you and dad are gone, I will be left here alone with Delilah as my only family. Is that what you want?”

  “How dare you speak to me like that!”

  “I notice you’re not disagreeing,” I say, my words cutting. “Feel free to tell me I’m wrong.”

  My mother uncrosses her legs, peers into her coffee mug, and then gives a shake of her head. “You’ve always been a stubborn boy.”

  “Sorry, mom, but I’m all grown up. Then again, you might not have noticed. I’m not sure you notice much at all if you thought I’d be interested in Delilah.”

  “I don’t think what I did was wrong.” My mother’s voice increases in decibel which, in and of itself, is rare. To make my mother yell means she has to care about something. And she rarely cares about anyone other than herself enough to yell. “Look at the divorce rate these days. It’s astronomical anyway. Love only gets you so much, after all. Now Delilah comes from a good family, good careers, good standing in the community. She needs a husband, and you need a wife. Am I so far off base?”

  “It’s an arranged marriage.”

  “I’m not sure that’s so horrible.” My mother’s voice turns gravelly. “Parents can see things their children can’t. Long term problems. Young people they...” She waves her hand around, searching for the words. “They fall in love and become infatuated and unreasonable.”

  “Do you think I’m an unreasonable man?”

  “Of course not, Jack—”

  “I’m one of the best surgeons in the state. Do you think I can’t make my own decisions?”