The Heartbreaker I Adore (When In Waverly 2)

“I really am. Take care of me.” That wins me a chuckle from her. She nudges me into my Jeep, and then she steps up onto the running board so she can reach my face. She squeezes a tiny amount of the cream onto her finger and rubs it onto my face. When she’s finished, she boops my nose. I love a good nose boop.

“And that’s the last time I’ll be smearing goop on your face tonight,” she exclaims as she hops down from the side of my Jeep. “Hopefully you aren’t allergic to this one.”

“Do you think I could be?” What’s the likelihood of that happening? With my luck, I’d guess it's highly likely.

“Go home, Seth,” she laughs.

“Okay, but will you text me when I should take another dose?” I joke.

She just rolls her eyes, lets out a breathy laugh, and gets in her car. “You can do this. I believe in you, Seth Miller,” she says. She sticks her arm out of the window and waves her fingers at me before driving away. I really feel like an allergic reaction should have earned me a hug.

My face is completely back to normal the next morning, but my heart is in shambles. I don’t know what to do with all of these feelings coursing through me for a girl I can’t have. And I can’t even talk to my best friends about it. I don’t want to put Jameson in an awkward position, and well, it’s obvious why Colby’s out of the question.

I call my dad. We’ve always been close, so he seems like a good third option. He’s been out of the dating game for so long—thirty-five years, to be exact—that I’m not sure how much help he’ll really be. He’s probably forgotten what it’s like out there, trying to find someone willing to put up with all of your nonsense for the rest of their life. It’s hard!

“Yello,” he says when he answers his phone. He has always answered the phone like that, so as a kid, I thought you were supposed to say yellow—as in the color—when answering. I am embarrassed that it took me until I was about nine years old to realize that’s not the case.

“Hey, Dad. You got a minute?”

“I always have a minute for you.”

“Cool, cool, cool…” I say before I pause. I didn’t think through what I was going to say before calling. I’ve never talked about women or relationships with my dad, other than that painful birds-and-bees discussion he tortured me with when I was thirteen. A shiver runs up my spine thinking about it. What do I say now?

“Everything okay, Seth?” he asks.

“Umm, sort of. What would you do if you were crazy about someone who is off-limits to you, and you’ve tried to not have feelings for her, but you can’t help it? I mean, she’s everywhere, Dad. And I find myself gravitating to her almost as if my feet have a mind of their own.”

“Why is she off-limits?”

“I’m apparently not good enough for a certain someone’s little sister,” I answer.

“Hmm. Is this ‘certain someone’ a friend of yours?” Dad asks. I don’t know how, but Dad always knows everything going on with me.

“Yeah,” I say. It would be so much easier if it wasn’t a friend. I wouldn’t care so much what he said, if we weren’t so close. But I do care what Colby thinks, and I want to respect his wishes. But what about Hannah’s wishes?

“Talk to him about it, but also remember who you date and who his sister dates is ultimately not his decision. You’re all adults now, and you get to make decisions for yourself.”

“But he’s my friend, Dad.”

“Then you have to decide if she’s potentially worth your friendship, but I’d be willing to bet this friend would get over it quickly,” he says. He must not realize the friend we’re talking about is Colby, because Colby has never gotten over anything quickly. The man can hold a grudge longer than anyone else I know.

We get off the phone, and I ponder all of the possible outcomes that could come from either pursuing Hannah or letting her go. None of the likely ones are ideal.