Boys Like You

I could pour on the charm. Smile a certain way and lean against the car. Stare into her eyes like she was the most important girl in the world. I knew what girls liked, and I also knew what I could get away with. But I didn’t think any of that would work with this particular girl. Her bullshit meter seemed to be sharp.

So I waited. And I hoped she couldn’t tell that I was basically shitting my pants at the thought of going in there by myself.

“You’re weird,” she said softly.

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?” I smirked.

She shook her head, but there was a slight smile around the corner of her mouth, and for some reason, it felt good to know I’d put it there.

I stepped back, and she opened her door.

We headed up Fraser to the corner and waited for the light to change. When it did, I grabbed her hand—an automatic thing—and was surprised that she let me.

I was also really surprised at how small and soft her hand was. She didn’t have those fake four-inch things that Rachel and a lot of her girlfriends had. Shit, you could poke a guy’s eyes out if you weren’t careful. And I didn’t want to think about how many times I’d had to listen to Rachel and her friends bitch about breaking one of them.

In the grand scheme of things, I didn’t care about something as stupid as fake nails, and I was willing to bet most of my buddies didn’t either.

But her hand didn’t stay in mine for long, and by the time we reached the entrance, I reluctantly gave in to her gentle tugs and released her.

She followed me to the elevators, and I punched the fifth floor as if I had every right to. As if I’d done it a thousand times before, when I’d only been up there once and that had been a disaster.

Monroe didn’t say anything, she just followed me inside the elevator, and I wished her hand was still in mine because honestly, the urge to bolt was bad.

I thought of Rachel and how she had refused to come with me that first time, three months ago. She’d pulled out the big guns, had cried until her mascara made raccoon tracks down her cheeks, and she’d managed to make me feel worse than I already did. So I went without her, and it had turned out pretty much the way she thought it would.

It had sucked. If she knew I was here now, I’m sure she’d hit me in the shoulder and call me a loser.

But she wasn’t. I glanced down at my empty hand, and I was still staring down when the elevator doors slid open.

The first thing I saw was the nurse’s station. The second? Taylor’s fierce scowl and her wild, blond hair.

“Who the hell is that?” she pointed at Monroe.

“You don’t need to be such a bitch, Taylor. This is Monroe. She’s just a…a friend.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “So she’s your ride?” I knew she was thinking about Rachel, and judging by the nasty look she gave Monroe, she thought there was a whole lot more going on between us.

“Yeah,” I answered, a little pissed at her attitude. “What else would she be?”

Monroe muttered something under her breath, and I guess I was glad I didn’t hear it, because I had the feeling it wasn’t nice. “I’ll be waiting over there,” she pointed toward a tired-looking lounge just past the nurse’s station. “You know, when you need your ride home.”

Shit. She was pissed too. Seemed as if I was on a roll.

“Monroe,” I said softly.

“Forget it, Nathan. Go and do whatever it is you need to do, but I’m not sticking around all night.”

I watched her cross over to the lounge. Watched her sit on the sofa, a faded brown one that looked like it was leather but I knew was cold, slippery vinyl. She ignored me, grabbed a magazine, and turned the other way, making me feel like an even bigger shit.

“Are you coming?” Taylor grabbed my arm. “They’ll be back soon, and if you get caught, my ass will be toast, and I don’t even want to know what he’ll do to yours.”

Taylor led me down the hall even though she didn’t need to. I remembered the way. I saw it in my nightmares.

He was still in the same room, and as we walked by the nurse’s station, Taylor waved to them, which was a good thing, because I was pretty sure they wouldn’t let me in on my own.

When we reached 514, Taylor paused and shoved her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. She looked tired, and the heavy black crap she put around her eyes didn’t do much to help. A year younger than Trevor and I, she was like a kid sister to me.

“I’ll let you,” she mumbled and glanced down the hall before clearing her throat, “have some time.”