“What are you talking about?”
“Listen, coming from a girl who has slept with a ton of different guys and has envisioned Channing Tatum for most of those guys, I can tell the difference between when a person is thinking about you and when they are thinking about someone else. Look at the way he’s staring at you.”
I glanced over at Tristan to find his stare, once again, on me. Did he really think about me when we were together?
And if it were true that he did, why did the idea of that make me so happy? I shook my head back and forth, not wanting to really face the fact of what was happening between Tristan and me. “So what’s the deal with you and Matty? How’s that going?”
“Terrible.” She sighed, slamming her hand against her face. “I need to break things off with him.”
“What? Why?”
“Because like a loser I went ahead and fell in love with him.”
My eyes lit up. “You’re in love.”
“I know, it’s awful. I drink every night to try to forget about it. Now shut up and let’s go back to talking about Tristan’s wood.”
I smiled and after a few hours and about a hundred dirty comments, Faye and I picked out the colors for each and every room in his house.
Chapter Twenty-One
Elizabeth
A few days passed before Sam called me up on Friday to ask if I was interested in hanging out with him. I’d figured he had forgotten he said he would show me around town months before, but I guessed some people were just a little slower getting around to things. On Friday night he pulled up to my house in his family’s work truck. I watched him from the living room window as he hopped out of his truck and fixed his bowtie. He started stepping toward the house, and then he paused and stepped backward. This went on for about five more rounds before he finally made it up the porch, where he debated knocking or not.
Tristan leaned behind me and studied Sam’s movements. “Ohh, you got a hot date tonight? Is that why you’re wearing that cute little dress?” For the past few days, Tristan had been staying in our guest room since his house was being painted. That night we’d been going over my ideas for his house and I’d been showing him different boards I’d created with ideas for the space. He seemed less than interested, but I was just happy to be doing what I loved once again.
“It’s not a date,” I said. “Sam just wanted to show me around Meadows Creek a bit, to get me out of the house.” Tristan cocked an eyebrow. “What? What’s wrong with that?” I asked.
“You do know that he thinks this is a date, right?”
“What?” I stood up a tad. “No, he doesn’t. He just doesn’t want me sitting around the house.” Tristan gave me a bullshit-it’s-totally-a-date look. “Shut up, Tris.”
“All I’m saying is I doubt Stalker Sam knows that it’s not a date.”
“What does that mean? What do you mean Stalker Sam?” I asked, my voice timid. Tristan gave me a wicked grin and started walking away. “Tristan! What do you mean Stalker Sam?!”
“Ever since he moved into town he has a history of coming on a little strong sometimes, that’s all. I’d watch him follow girls around in town when I would be out running. Did he say where he was taking you?”
“Yes, and it’s not really a place where dates happen, so I think you’re wrong.”
“The town hall meeting?”
“Exactly!” I said, pleased with the idea. “The town hall meeting isn’t a place you take someone you think you’re going on a date with.” Tristan’s lips pressed together as if he was trying to hold in a chuckle. “Stop it,” I argued. There was one knock on the door. “He doesn’t really think this is a date, does he?”
“I bet ten dollars Stalker Sam leans over to you during Sherriff Johnson’s speech about the town fair and asks you if you want to go down to the barn house where there’s always a fish fry, dancing, and karaoke after the town meeting.”
“You don’t want to pay me ten dollars.”
“You’re right, I don’t. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m going to win the bet,” he joked cockily. “Stalker Sam is going to woo you.”
Knock number two.
“Stop calling him Stalker Sam!” I whispered, feeling my heartbeats increase. “He’s not going to ask me to the barn house.”
“You bet money on it?” he said, holding his hand out.
I shook his hand. “Fine. Ten dollars that this isn’t a date.”
“Ah, easiest money I ever made, Lizzie.”
The nickname left his mouth as if it was effortless. When I pulled my hand back from his, I tried not to show how much the simple nickname affected me.
Knock number three.
“What’s wrong?”
“You called me Lizzie.” His eyebrows furrowed with confusion. “It’s just…no one called me that except for Steven.”