Juliana Stone - Boys Like You

“Hey,” I said, clearing my throat because suddenly there was a frog the size of a baseball lodged in my throat.

God, you smell good.

“Hey yourself,” she replied as she reversed the car into a three-point turn. Once she had maneuvered the vehicle back down the driveway and turned right onto the road, she cleared her throat. “And just so you know? This isn’t a date or anything. I don’t date boys like you.”

Okay, that got my attention, hard and fast. I glanced at her. I let my eyes roll over the mint-green halter top that did nothing to hide the curves this girl had. Her legs were smooth, trim, and athletic, and from where I was sitting, the white skirt she had on was on the short side. Hell yeah, was it ever. Her toes were painted green to match the halter top, her feet slipped into casual sandals.

At least the girl was practical when it came to shoes. Good to know. The last time I had taken Rachel to a music festival in the neighboring parish, she’d worn these four-inch platform things that (a) looked ugly as shit, and (b) hurt her feet so badly that I had to listen to her complain for freaking hours.

Shit. When Rachel and I had first started dating, it was all about being together—just hanging out at my place and getting to know each other. But the last year was more about how we looked when we were out together, and that got pretty old after a while. I wasn’t sure what had changed, but there had been a time when Rachel was a lot of fun.

Or maybe it was me who had changed.

I pushed all thoughts of Rachel away and snuck a peek at Monroe.

Her hair was a mess of inky-black waves, and those eyes were as interesting as I remembered—so light they appeared almost clear—and her mouth…

Bingo.

This might not be a date, but she sure as hell was dressed for one.

My gaze rested there, on that perfect, lush, and glossy mouth, for a heartbeat—maybe longer. No girl put on that glossy shit and let her hair down unless she wanted to look good. And smell good.

I smiled.

She scowled and arched an eyebrow.

“A guy like me?” I settled back in my seat, indicating that she turn left. This would be good, I thought. “Should I be insulted?” I continued, thinking that I kinda sorta was.

“Don’t take it personally, Romeo, but you’re not my type,” she said, a hint of rasp in her voice, as if there was something caught in her throat. Words, maybe?

“You have a type?”

“Don’t you?” she shot back.

I shrugged but didn’t answer.

“I’ll bet your type is tall, blond, and tanned, but then, what do I know?”

That annoyed me. Mostly because she was right. But hey, in my defense, Rachel was a good time in addition to being real easy on the eyes, and she rocked a string bikini like no one’s business. At least she used to. Hell, I’m sure she still did, it’s just not something I noticed anymore.

She still wanted to drink and smoke weed and party, and I didn’t. Not with her and not with anyone else.

“And you think this because…” I glared at her.

She made another weird sound, and I noticed that she gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, eyes straight ahead on the road.

Shit. This was going to make me look bad. I could lie but that really wasn’t my thing.

“Yeah, at the moment, I do.”

“At the moment?” She laughed and muttered, “Unreal.”

“It’s not what it sounds like,” I retorted, pissed off that she’d managed to piss me off minutes into our non-date.

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“Look, I don’t know what your story is, and I really don’t care. In case you forgot, it was your grandmother who arranged this little whatever the hell it is, not me. So get over yourself.”

“Whatever,” she muttered.

“Besides,” I continued, feeling a wave of heat rush through me, one that was full of anger. “You’re right about one thing.”

She slowed down as we approached the city limits. “Oh yeah, Romeo, what’s that?”

“I do have a type, and you’re not it.”

“Ouch,” she replied sarcastically, eyes on the road ahead.

“I can’t imagine with that attitude you’d be anyone’s type.”

She had no comeback for that one, and I exhaled, sinking into my seat as I stared out the window. I thought that maybe it was going to be the longest afternoon of my life.

We reached the festival grounds about five minutes later. After Monroe refused to take money off me for parking, we headed into the Peach Festival, one that I hadn’t attended since I was, like, twelve.

As we headed into the main area, I remembered why. It was for kids. I looked around and sighed. Old people and kids. Lots of old people and kids.

There was a midway near the back. I could see the Ferris wheel from where we stood, and game alley was set up just in front. Between us and the midway was a huge number of arts and craft booths, and beyond that were food stands.

“You want something to eat?” I grumbled, wanting nothing more than to end this thing as quickly as I could. I figured if I shoved some food into her and toured the grounds quickly, we could call it a night and be done with it.

“Sure,” she said. “In a bit. I want to look at the craft booths, if that’s all right?”

I glanced down at her sharply, but she stared straight ahead. It was then that I realized a few things. She was small next to me, probably five-four, while I was a couple of inches over six feet and still growing. With her pale skin, pale eyes, and dark hair, she really was the opposite of Rachel or any other girl I’d ever dated.

There was something about her though. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I thought that maybe if I wasn’t so screwed up and she wasn’t such a bitch, she could be someone I’d be interested in.

Maybe.

“Oh, look,” she pointed toward a booth. “Rag dolls.”

I groaned and followed her into the craft center.

Maybe not.

Monroe

“You’re right about one thing. I do have a type, and you’re not it.”

Ouchie.

Or at least it would be an ouchie if I cared. Which I didn’t. Not really. I was used to people backing away from me. It was usually in response to me opening my mouth and saying something nasty, which was easy enough to do when your parents were just grateful that you spoke at all.

I knew I’d been a bitch in the past, just as I’d been right now. I just couldn’t seem to help myself.

And sure, my therapist told me it was my way of keeping my distance—of avoiding contact, but whatever. For the most part, I preferred to be alone, which was why this whole festival thing was stupid.

I grabbed my peach sundae and chose a seat as far away from anyone as I could. I didn’t do crowds real well, so for the hundredth time, I asked myself why I had let Gram manipulate me into this evening with Nathan.

Nathan followed and slid into the chair opposite me and smiled at some girl who shouted at him from the cotton candy stand.

I filled my mouth with way too much sugar and glanced over to the girl who held hands with a boy as they walked by. Her eyes lingered on me for several seconds, and then she whispered something into her boyfriend’s ear. He turned, nodded at Nathan, and then stared at me for so long I raised an eyebrow and stared right back.

He smiled.

She yanked on her boyfriend’s arm and pulled him toward the midway, but not before she got her bitch on, raised her eyebrows in return, and flipped me a mental bird.

I smirked and shoved another spoonful of sundae into my mouth. I wanted her to know that her attitude didn’t bother me.

But it did. And that was something new too. What the hell?

“Why are you here?” Nathan asked as he scooped a good amount of peaches and whipped cream into his mouth.

“Um, because Gram made me?”

His blue eyes settled on me, and there was nowhere to hide. He sat back in his chair and studied me intently, his eyes so clear they reminded me of the summer sky. For a moment, I forgot that I didn’t like him.

He grinned, and I glanced down at my dessert, exhaling hard as a rush of heat rolled through me.

“That’s not what I meant. Why are you here in Louisiana with your grandmother?”

Panic hit me—it froze everything inside me—but then I did what I always did. I deflected.

“Why was your driver’s license suspended?”

His smile disappeared, and his eyes narrowed in a way that told me everything. His shoulders hunched forward and he frowned.

“Is this what we’re going to do? Play a stupid game?” He paused and then pushed his sundae away.

I watched him in silence, and though the last thing I wanted to do was eat, I shoved another spoonful of the melting crap into my mouth. At least this way, I couldn’t open it and make things worse.

Another shout of “Hey Nate,” slid between us, but he didn’t bother to look up—he just stared down at the table like it was the most interesting thing in the world. I forced myself to swallow the ice cream—it was either that or puke—and then I pushed my bowl away as well.

I was about to apologize, something I didn’t do much of these days, but when I opened my mouth to speak, he glanced up, and the words I was about to say, two simple little words, I’m sorry, died in my throat.

Nathan Everets looked exactly the way I felt most of the time. He looked haunted. Sort of…broken.

He pushed a long strand of hair off his face, his eyes never leaving mine. “I can’t drive because I was involved in an accident three months ago. A bad one.”

“Oh,” I managed to get out. “Look, you don’t have to…” Shit, I didn’t want to do this with him. I didn’t want him to share with me, because then he’d expect me to share back, and there was no way in hell I wanted anyone to know anything about me. Period.

I couldn’t talk about Malcolm. I couldn’t.

“I left a party with my best friend, Trevor, and our girlfriends.”

And yet I was helpless to stop him. Helpless to look anywhere other than into his eyes, because for some reason, the pain that I saw there let me know I wasn’t the only one…

I wasn’t the only one who hated herself.

Nathan shook his head, and that piece of hair fell back across his cheek. I found myself focusing on it, watching as it lifted in the slight breeze and tickled the edge of his nose.

“I don’t remember driving. I don’t remember getting into the car.” He leaned forward now, his voice louder. Angrier. “That’s how incredibly stupid I was. Me. The guy who was supposed to stay sober. Clean.”

“I drove Trevor’s car down State Route 9, and somewhere between the party and the old Dixon farm, I wrapped it around a hydro pole.”

He kept clenching and unclenching his fist.

“I only broke my left pinky finger, if you can believe it, and other than a few bruises and cuts from flying glass, I was good to go. The girls were okay too, a few minor scratches but nothing serious. We were all knocked out, but Trevor…” His voice trailed off and he finally glanced away.

It was then that I realized I’d been holding my breath.

“You don’t, you don’t have to…I don’t want to know,” I whispered. And suddenly I didn’t. I didn’t want to know anything about Nathan Everets and this Trevor guy.

He shoved away from the table suddenly. “Let’s get out of here.”

I followed Nathan through the crowd, half running to keep up with him, but then maybe he was trying to get away from me. He finally stopped near the edge of the midway, and the sounds, the laughter was so loud that I turned away and faced craft alley.

We were surrounded by families, by teenagers and kids who were having a blast. They were laughing and shouting, and why shouldn’t they? What was not to like? If you were into peaches, that is. There was every kind of dessert imaginable, rides and games, and over on the other side, I saw a stage with instruments, drums and guitars. So there was entertainment too.

There was everything that most normal people needed to have a good time. Except I wasn’t normal, and the more smiling faces I saw, the angrier I got.

It wasn’t fair.

“I wish they would shut up.”

“Huh?” Nathan glanced down at me, his hands shoved into his pockets, his expression blank.

“Everyone.” I gestured toward the Ferris wheel. “Everything. It’s too loud.”