Trouble From the Start Read online

  “How many times did you think about him during the movie?”

  He didn’t have to clarify who the he was. “A dozen, maybe more. I wasn’t really counting.”

  “However many minutes long the movie was, that’s how many times I thought of Katie.”

  Reaching across, I placed my hand over his. “I’m so sorry. I know you like her so much.”

  “I do, but the odd thing is, I just want her to be happy. I hope Colorado makes her happy, that he’s good to her.”

  “You’re really a good guy, Marc.”

  “What else can I do, you know?” He held up a finger. “But I’ll tell you . . . the first video game I create and program . . . you can bet it’s going to have a character named Colorado who is a lousy mercenary and gets his butt kicked all the time.”

  I laughed. “You can have some fun programming characters.”

  “You bet.”

  It was a couple of minutes before midnight when Marc pulled into the driveway. “Is that Fletcher?” he asked.

  He was sitting on the top steps just outside his apartment. “Yes.”

  “He’s not going to attack me, is he?”

  “No. He doesn’t care that I had a date.”

  “Like I said, his expression earlier said different.”

  “Trust me. You misread it.”

  Marc got out, came around, and opened the door for me. Taking my hand, he began walking toward the door. Just before we reached the shadows, before we were out of Fletcher’s line of sight, I stopped. Marc faced me.

  I nibbled on my lower lip, knew I had no right to ask, but heard myself say, “Will you do me a favor? Will you kiss me?”

  He was perfectly still, only his eyes shifting to the stairs. “You mean where he’ll see?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure he won’t come down and rip me apart?”

  I smiled. “I’m sure.”

  As Marc cupped my face in his hands and leaned in, I realized for the first time that he was my height. His lips touched mine. I moved in and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. The kiss was nice, pleasant. No fire, passion, or hunger. It was better than the one I’d experienced at band camp. Not as good as the ones Fletcher gave me.

  I thought it probably had nothing to do with technique. It had everything to do with chemistry—that unidentifiable element that wasn’t on any periodic table but made two people sitting in a movie theater together think about someone else.

  Marc drew back, smiled. “Thanks for tonight, Avery. I needed it. I had fun.”

  “Me too.” He walked me to the door. I slipped inside, peered into the dining room. No homework papers on the table for me to check.

  Mom popped out of the den. “How was it?”

  “Fun.”

  “He seemed really nice.”

  “He is. Listen, Fletcher is still up. I’m going to pop over and make sure he doesn’t have questions about his homework.”

  “Okay, I’m going to bed now that you’re home.” She gave me a hug. “See you tomorrow.”

  I went outside, crossed the driveway, and started up the stairs. Something about Fletcher seemed different, but I couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

  I’d almost reached him when he said, “Forty-five seconds, not bad.”

  “What?”

  “The kiss. Forty-five seconds.”

  “You were timing it?”

  “Yep.”

  Leaning forward a little bit, I could smell yeast, hops, barley. “Are you drunk?”

  “Yep.”

  Near the door, I could see two six-packs with empty bottles in every slot except one.

  “I cared about the environment,” he said. “For you.”

  I looked over just as he lifted a brown bottle to his mouth. I snatched it from his grasp, looked at the label, sniffed the contents. “How did you get this?”

  “Fake ID. Had it since I was sixteen, for clubs and stuff.”

  I noticed now that his words were slightly slurred. He was sprawled on the steps more than sitting on them. “My dad will explode if he finds out about this.”

  “He’s not the boss of me.”

  “He is if you’re living under his roof.”

  He pointed to the house. “That’s his roof.” He pointed to his apartment. “That’s . . . mine.”

  “Not really, no. Come on, you need to get inside.” Dropping the bottle into its designated slot, I picked up the six-packs, opened the door, and walked in. I set them on the small table and turned around. Fletcher hadn’t followed me in.

  I marched back out onto the landing. “Fletcher.”

  He swiveled his head around. “I should have known. You were dressed so nice. I should have figured you had a date.”

  “Fletcher, you need to get up and come inside.”

  “Don’t think I can walk. Need my bike.”

  “Yeah, I’m going to haul your bike up here so you can ride it into your apartment.” I crouched in front of him.

  “I like you in red,” he said, and touched the shoulder of my red lacy top. “And blue and puple . . . pup . . .”

  “Purple?”

  He gave me a goofy grin and nodded. “Yep. Every color.”

  “You are so drunk.”

  His head wobbled, which I took to be a yes. “Every . . . thing moves funny.”

  “It’s spinning?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m going to help you up and get you inside. Come on now.”

  I locked my arms around his chest. I pulled, he pushed. He grabbed the railing and pulled, too. Eventually he was standing, a lot of his weight on me. God, he was heavy.

  “I like that you’re tall,” he said.

  “I’m a giant.”

  “You’re willowy.” He grinned. “I bet you didn’t think I knew that word. I am not a novice at vocabulary.”

  I almost laughed. I wasn’t sure what he was trying to say exactly.

  We shuffled inside. I thought about depositing him on the couch, but we’d worked up enough momentum that I was able to get him to the bed. He flopped down on it.

  I tugged off his boots and his socks. He had such large feet. I didn’t know why I was surprised or why it seemed like such a personal thing to know. Something hit me in the face. His T-shirt. Somehow he’d managed to get it off, which left me staring at a very fine chest. I’d seen it before when he was playing in the pool with Tyler. But like his feet, it just seemed more intimate to see it now, when he was sprawled across the bed.

  He was struggling with his belt.

  “I’ll get the belt,” I told him. “The jeans stay on.”

  “’Kay.”

  I worked the belt through the loops and tossed it aside. I put a pillow beneath his head before flicking a sheet over him. I grabbed a glass, then went to the bathroom and filled it. When I came back out, I set it on the bedside table.

  “Come on, you need to sit up. You need to drink some water before I go.”

  I got him sitting up with a pillow behind his back. I handed him the water. “Drink it. All of it.”

  He drank half of it. I decided to give him a couple of minutes before I made him finish it. “Have you ever been drunk before?” I asked.

  Slowly he shook his head. “Never had beer before tonight.” He leaned toward me. “It’s not that good.”

  “Yet you kept drinking it.”

  He smiled, nodded. “Do you like him?”

  My stomach tightened. “You mean Marc? I do like him.”

  He nodded, shook his head, finished off the water. I got him some more. “He’s just a friend,” I felt compelled to say. Besides, he probably wasn’t going to remember any of this in the morning.

  “You kissed him,” he said.

  “You and I are friends. We kiss . . . kissed.”

  “Yeah. I like kissing you.”

  “I like kissing you, too.”

  He grinned again.

  “I think you’re going to feel terrible in the morning,�€