The Nice Guy Next Door (When In Waverly 1)

What am I saying? Lo doesn’t need me. She’s probably doing homework and eating Cheetos. He’s onto me, though. He continues walking toward me with a smirk on his face.

“What was it you said? ‘I have to tell you what happened when you were hopped up on the happy juice?’ That’s right, isn’t it?” he taunts me.

I shake my head, trying to get him to stop. Based on that look on his face, I no longer want to know what happened. Absolutely under no circumstance do I want him to tell me what awkward situation I put us in. He opens his mouth to tell me, but I reach up and cover his mouth with my hand. And gosh-dang-it, his lips are pillowy soft under my hand.

I feel his mouth curve into a smile as he reaches and wraps his hand around my wrist to pull my hand down. “It’s fine,” he says, and I want to cover my ears with my hands and sing la la la like a kid arguing with their friend on the elementary school playground. I can’t, though. He won’t relinquish his hold on my wrist.

“I believe, while you were hopped up on the happy juice, you confessed your undeniable attraction to me. There was a mention of my hot bod—your words, not mine. Wouldn’t want you to think I have an over-inflated ego,” he says with an arrogant smirk.

He’s having way too much fun rubbing this all in my face. I’ve never wanted to crawl into a hole and hide as badly as I do right now. This moment will forever go down in history as the most embarrassing moment of my life. Even more so than when that hairdresser butchered my hair in the fourth grade, and my playground boyfriend broke up with me in front of everyone because my hair was so atrocious. Man, kids are brutal.

I brave another glance at his face, and I’m surprised by what I see. There is no mocking or disgust in his expression, but rather a look of pure delight and, dare I say it, hope. It sends a feeling of thrill coursing through my veins. But seeing desire in his eyes shouldn’t excite me like this, should it?

I promised myself that I would never give myself to a man in that way. I cannot set myself or him up for heartbreak. The only thing I can give Jameson is friendship. I know that he believes in true love—he’s watched his grandparents live it out—and I don’t want to shatter that illusion for him. If he wants a whirlwind romance, I’ll try my best to support him, but I can’t be that for him.

“Oh my gosh, did I really say that? That’s crazy. I mean, I’m sure there are women out there who find you attractive, but not me,” I say with a forced laugh, trying to convince him that this relationship is strictly platonic. He crosses his arms, and his biceps are about to rip the sleeves of his uniform shirt. “Nope, definitely not.”

He glances off into the distance and shakes his head. He doesn’t believe me for one second. I can see the moment he decides to let it go, though, because he looks disappointed. I hate that I’ve put that look on his face. It’s better this way. I can’t lead him on and let him think that something is eventually going to come from this.

In a perfect world, I would tell him that yes, I find you insanely attractive.I want to have baby after baby with you. I practically drool every time I see you. You in your uniform is my new secret fantasy. But this world is messed up, and there are too many variables that could creep in and wreak havoc on my heart. Nothing is worth that risk.

It’s 2 AM, and I can’t sleep. I’ve tried everything in my arsenal: melatonin, Sleepytime tea, meditating (I, admittedly, don’t really know how to meditate, so that was a huge waste of time), and counting sheep. Lo has been asleep for hours. Bless her and her carefree youth.

I’m using this time to write some more in my novel. My heroine has been holding back her feelings for our hero for so long. She’s head-over-heels crazy in love with him, but she’s not ready to admit her feelings quite yet. She decides to give my hero a shot, though. He’s going to take her dancing and completely sweep her off her feet so that she forgets why she was ever afraid in the first place.

Tears are pouring down my face as my fingers type the words, and I wish that life could be like a romance novel where two people can always find a way to be together. Where nothing is ever too big to keep them apart. Where you never have to wonder if the other person is going to destroy your fragile heart.