I blinked at her blankly for a full half minute before I cottoned on. She was talking about Paul. Paul, my boyfriend, was the sweet boy. Of course.
“Ava and her boyfriend weren’t kissing,” I said dully, wondering how everyone’s eyes had suddenly stopped working at the same time. “And Paul’s not jealous. Paul and I both know exactly where we stand, Mama.” He might have been the one person in town I could say that about. “But thanks for the sweet tea.”
Later that night, though, after I’d thrown on jeans and an old Licking Thicket Bovines T-shirt, and Paul and I had parked outside the Iveys’ house, I started to wonder if maybe I was wrong about Paul, too, because he was acting decidedly odd.
“Your hair looks fine, schnookie lumps,” I said as he tweaked it in the passenger’s side fold-down mirror for the four-hundredth time on our drive over.
Paul shot me a glare, adjusted his glasses, and flipped the visor up. “Some of us just want to look half-decent, showing up to a virtual stranger’s house, okay?”
“Why do you care?” I demanded. “All the Iveys are at the Melt, so we’re using my mom’s spare key and running into an empty house for five minutes to use the printer. And you’ve already hooked me, My Little Paul. I don’t need to be seduced.”
“Didn’t I warn you what would happen if you called me that again?” He got out of the car and slammed the door shut way harder than necessary.
“Okay, what’s got you all upset?” I demanded. I grabbed the messenger bag with my laptop inside it and followed him toward the front porch. “My mom’s in love with you, you took most of the hot water for your shower, and I told you we could get whatever you wanted on the pizza later. I’m the best boyfriend you’ve never had.”
Paul ignored me. He straightened his shirt and knocked on the door, running his hand over his hair one more time.
I ran up the steps behind him. “I told you, Mom said there’s no one—” But the door opened suddenly and Malachi was there, looking hotter than ever in tight-fitting black jeans, a Ramones shirt, and bare feet.
Fuck.
My very first thought was that I probably looked like a blond scarecrow with my threadbare shirt and product-free hair. I started doing the same awkward combing thing Paul had done.
My second thought was that Paul, that motherfucker, had psychically known somehow.
“Evening,” Paul said. He looked over Mal’s shoulder. “How’s Ava?”
“Sick,” Mal said shortly, but his blue eyes locked on me, and I would swear his cheeks flushed slightly. “She was vomiting rainbows a few minutes ago, but she’s resting now.”
“Poor thing. Have you tried giving her mint tea?” Paul shouldered past Mal, stalking into the Iveys’ entryway like he owned the place.
“Uh.” Mal blinked, trying to keep an eye on Paul and me at the same time. “No?”
“Opened a window for fresh air? Done acupressure? Nothing?” Paul shook his head derisively while Mal stared at him blankly.
“Paul?” Ava called weakly from the couch, her surprise evident. “Is that you?”
“Yeah. Hey, you.” Paul stepped into the living room and immediately switched to a soothing tone that was just as bizarrely un-Paul-like as his snappy one. He moved a half-full mug of milky tea aside with a disgusted look and perched his ass on the coffee table directly across from Ava. “I kinda wondered if you’d be up to the awards thing tonight. You seemed a little tired at the Lope this afternoon, and I hoped you’d get some rest.”
Mal and I stared at each other for half a second, shocked by this strange realignment, then both of us moved at once. Mal plunked down on the sofa by Ava’s feet like a guard dog, and I moved to stand at Paul’s side like the faithful faux-boyfriend I was.
Ava really did look a little pale. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy tail, and her eyes looked bleary. I resisted the urge to pull my T-shirt over my mouth so I didn’t catch whatever she had.
“Sorry to bother you, Ava, but my parents have strange opinions about office supplies, and my mom called your mom to see—”
“I know. It’s fine, Brooks,” she said wearily. “Printer’s in the basement. You know where you’re going.” She waved a hand toward the back hall and whimpered slightly.
“Right. Come on, Paul.”
But Paul didn’t move from his spot except to grab Ava’s hand—or, more accurately, her wrist. It looked like he was taking her pulse or something.
“Paul, um… honey bunch… did you take a first aid class? How did I not know this?” I laughed nervously.
Paul ignored me and pushed his glasses up higher. “What you need is ginger ale and cranberry juice, Ava. Best thing to settle your stomach. Do you have any?” He looked to Malachi for the answer, and Mal’s eyes went wide.