I tease. He must have done it when he took my phone to do the calendar exchange and put his number in.
BF: Best friends?
Me: If you say so.
I don’t know what possesses me but I change his name, coming to terms with what this is. It’s not like he’s going to know. Why can’t I date him? He is sweet and funny and I don’t know why the other girls at school are talking about staying away from the football players. I don’t think I could stay away from Owen if I tried. I’m pretty sure I did try and failed.
Boyfriend: While we’re on the topic of doing things to not kill each other, let’s not talk about you having sex with other men. Even if it’s just you messing with me. I mentally kicked about twenty dudes’ asses in my head.
Once again I laugh. I shouldn’t enjoy his streak of jealousy but I do. Probably because I saw how some of the girls were looking at him today. I can’t fault them. He does have a magical dimple.
Me: I think I can do that.
Boyfriend: Thanks Ace, get some R&R and eat something. I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early.
Me: Sweet dreams
I lie down on my bed. I’ve always been a homebody but right now I don’t want to be at home. I want to be with Owen. I could lie and read a book while he plays with my hair and watches a football game. I groan when I realize I just said the same shit my parents do on Sundays. It’s weird how you don’t know you want something until it’s there at the tips of your fingers. Have I been lying to myself? No, I just don’t think I’ve met someone like Owen before now.
Boyfriend: That’s all they’ve been since I first saw you.
I drop my phone down, rolling over to my side. Yeah, no way Owen is in the friend zone. Now I am the one wanting to stake my claim.
Me: Night, Boyfriend.
I send it with a winky face before putting my phone onto the charger. I don’t let myself check his response. I’m enjoying the excitement of it. I’ll have to wait until morning. Unlike today, I am really looking forward to school tomorrow.
12
Owen
“What do you want to make next? A stuffed animal or a wallet?” Ace asks as she ties another knot in the fleece blankets we are making for the children’s center of her dad’s hospital.
“Neither. They both sound complicated as fuck.” It’s been three weeks of sewing classes and while everyone else in the class is rocking it, I’m still struggling with threading the needle. I don’t understand why the eye has to be so fucking small. What is the point of that? The machine needles aren’t that small and, as a bonus, the machine needles have a threader built in. “Whatever we can make on the sewing machine. No more handstitching.”
“They all require handstitching.”
Ace’s fingers are like a miracle. I actually enjoy watching her sew. She practices something called embroidery at home where she creates pictures and shit with thread. It’s pretty damn cool. My hands are awesome at catching things, but not so deft at creating things. Ace, on the other hand, is a magician. She says she practices stitching for surgery. Being fast can be important if people are bleeding or leaking or whatever it is she has to stop by sewing flesh and ligaments and tissue together. Her fingers fly over the material, needle flashing, thread whipping in and out of sight. It’s soothing, like watching Youtube videos where they whisper. That kind of soothing. I could lie on the sofa for hours and just watch her work.
Unfortunately, she’s not letting me do that. Under the watchful eye of her mother, who is baking brownies in the kitchen just one center island away from us, Ace and I are assembling fleece blankets made by cutting tabs into the sides of the fabric and then tying those tabs together.
“You know, I could use one of these. They’re soft as hell.” I rub the fleece against my face and imagine tangling up under one of these babies with a naked Ace.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, nudging me under the table with her foot and throwing a glance over my shoulder to her mom.
“Like what?” I ask, all innocent.
Ace kicks me again, but this time I catch her foot and slip my finger along the hollow behind her ankle bone. She scrapes her teeth along her lower lip and I nearly bust a nut in my jeans. I set her foot down. “You win,” I whisper. I’ve got no defense against her. Just her breathing is sexy but whenever she does something with her lips, I’m toast. Done for. Just put me in the coffin and throw me in the pre-dug hole.