Boys Like You

“That’s not gonna happen,” I muttered.

“No, it’s not, and I’m sorry it didn’t turn out that way. But I believe that the events of that night also set into motion the things that will define you. The things that will make you into the man I know you can be.”

My cell pinged, but this time it was a call.

“You should answer that,” he said quietly.

When he was gone, I glan

ced down, jerking forward when I saw who it was. Monroe.

I clenched my jaw as a wave of anger rolled over me. After Sunday, I’d thought…hell, I don’t know what I had thought. But I sure didn’t think she’d act as if I didn’t exist. Maybe she had figured out what everyone else already knew. That I was bad news.

The phone pinged for several more seconds and then stopped. I waited for a few minutes and then checked my voicemail, but there was nothing.

Tossing it, I sank back into the sofa, rested my head, and gazed up at the ceiling. I kept clenching and unclenching my hands, hating the heaviness inside me. But I had no idea how to lighten the load, and despite what my dad said, I wasn’t so sure I deserved it.

I’m not sure how long I was there, alone with all that darkness. It could have been minutes, but judging by the gloom outside, I was guessing it had been at least an hour. My mom poked her head in, a smile on her face.

“There’s a girl here for you, Nathan.”

“Yeah?” I angled my head so that I could look at her. “Tell me it’s not Rachel.” My mom wasn’t exactly a fan of Rachel. Hadn’t been ever since tenth grade when she’d come home from work early and found Rachel and me in bed. Naked and in the middle of getting busy.

Even so, at this point I was willing to bet Mom would let us go at it wherever the hell we wanted to, if that would make me happy. She just wanted to see me smile again.

“It’s not Rachel. It’s a really pretty girl with long dark hair. She says her name is Monroe and that you were expecting her.” She paused, her forehead wrinkling. “Who is she?”

Huh.

“Mrs. Blackwell’s granddaughter.” I saw the look in my mom’s eyes. “Hey, don’t get all excited. First off, she’s only here for the summer, and secondly, we’re not exactly friends.”

I scowled. She’d made it more than clear that I was nothing.

“Tell her I’m not home.” I added.

“I can’t.” Mom pushed back her long, blond hair and walked over to me, nudging my knee with hers as she rolled back on her feet. “She knows you’re here. If you want to blow her off, you’re going to have to do that yourself.”

“Awesome,” I said, jumping up to my feet.

My mom was on the small side, about Monroe’s height, and she had to stretch to reach me. She kissed my cheeks and whispered, “You’re welcome.”

I watched her leave through the patio doors that led to the back garden. My dad was out there, and I guessed she was trying to give me some space to deal with the “pretty girl” who’d come to see me.

Did I want to see Monroe? Did I have a choice?

“Screw it,” I muttered and headed toward the front door.

I smelled that summer scent that was all Monroe before I hit the foyer, and for a second, I let it wash over me.

“Pussy,” I said under my breath.

So she smelled good. She was still the prickliest, most complicated girl I’d ever met, and just because kissing her had pretty much been the highlight of my pathetic summer, it wasn’t like it had meant anything to her. She’d blown me off.

But I was curious as to why she had come to see me, and I guess it was that curiosity that pushed me forward. Or maybe I just wanted to see her.

She leaned against the wall beside the front door, her hair long and free—the way I liked it. Her shoulders were bare and so were her legs, and I took a good long look before meeting her eyes.

For a few seconds, there were no words. Hell, I barely breathed. That’s the kind of power that sat in the depths of those clear eyes.