Punk Love

I slid into the passenger seat and buckled up.

“Hi.” His voice was flat. Bored. Like he was a cab driver tasked with the job of driving me all the way across the country.

“If you say so,” I answered maturely. Which was not the logical response for “hi”.

He shot me a WTF look.

I briefly thought about how we were so…dishonest. Closed off. There was a level of immaturity I strangely liked about how we interacted.

There was something to be said about two people who were desperate not to show each other how much they liked one another in order not to lose face or get hurt, but still wanted to take a chance on love.

Alex started driving. I sent a silent prayer to the universe that my neighbors, some of them girls my age, would see us.

Me, just chilling with this hot, rich guy who looked like Ragnar Lothbrok’s psycho brother. No big deal. Nothing to see here.

“You were late,” I pointed out, fighting the urge to twist my fingers together in my lap.

“No shit.” He yawned, flicking the blinker, not bothering to look at me.

“You couldn’t text?”

“I could’ve.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Was on a phone call.”

“You’re being a jerk.”

“I know,” he admitted, sounding sincere for a fraction of a second, his voice still hard, but not rude. “It’s a habit. Bear with me.”

Why? I wanted to ask.

Have you ever gone on a date before? Another question I couldn’t allow to tumble past my lips.

I wasn’t even sure it was a date to begin with. Maybe he truly needed to get drumsticks and had some sort of crippling social anxiety that prevented him from going into stores without a companion or something.

“Whatever.” I popped a Mentos into my mouth.

“Didn’t you say you’re vegan?” He scowled, finally awarding me with some attention.

“I am,” I hissed, confused. My breath all minty and wintery and inviting. Freaked out, I wondered if he had some kind of sixth sense or laser-vision that showed him there was still milk coating my teeth.

Maybe he’d installed secret cameras in my house.

Or maybe I just read too many pulp fiction thrillers and needed to take a (vegan) chill pill.

“Mentos,” he said slowly, methodically, “has beeswax and carmine, which comes from insects. It is therefore not vegan.”

I practically puked the Mentos back into my hand, rolled the window down and tossed it out. Then I rubbed my tongue with my hand (always a good look). Not because I wanted to show my devotion to being vegan, but because beeswax sounded gross as fuck.

“Holy hell, I just had a mental image of myself chewing on a cockroach. What kind of crap do they put into our food when we aren’t looking?”

“Don’t you ever read the labels?” Alex smirked.

I turned to stare at him like he just fell from a parallel universe straight into the car seat.

“No, Alex, I don’t. First, because life is too short. Second, because I don’t really want to know. And third, because I can’t even pronounce seventy-five percent of the ingredients in the stuff I eat.”

“You should read labels. It’s fascinating.”

“What else do you find fascinating?” I wondered.

“People who think they’re vegan, but they’re not.”

He was so lucky he was hot, because I was starting to dislike him. For real.

I decided to change the subject. If I wanted to feel dumb, I would walk straight into my math class.

“How was your week?” I asked, opting for a safe topic.

“It was fine. Had back-to-back rehearsals. Which reminds me, Ryan is a shit bass player. I don’t know why we’re still keeping him. I think Tom feels sorry for him. Especially since he moved to your shitty-ass town.”

He managed to insult me and my friend and my town when I’d simply asked him about his week.

At this point his assholeness was basically a talent. Something to be cherished and developed. Was there an asshole Olympics? He could bring the country so many gold medals.

“He’s good,” I disagreed on principle. “I’ve heard him myself. Plus, it doesn’t matter, does it?” I crossed my arms over my chest, smirking. As things stood right now, Ryan was a genuine, real friend of mine, while Alex was a guy who was (maybe) going to do dirty things to me and (definitely) going to break my heart. My loyalties still laid firmly at Ryan’s feet. “It’s not like you’re doing this for a living.”

“No, but I like to be good at everything I do.” Alex’s tone turned especially frosty.

“Well, you’re not good with punctuality, that’s for damn sure, and your manners could use a few tweaks, too.” I shrugged. “So, maybe start there.”

Something wonderful happened after I said this.

Alex laughed.

Actually laughed.

And that was when I found out he had adorable dimples.

My heart hiccupped in my chest.

I was so screwed.

So, so, sososo screwed.

The most screwed virgin on planet Earth, possibly.