I shrug. “I can wait a few more years. I’ll get there eventually. And there are some really good theatre schools in LA. USC, UCLA, Fullerton…”
The doorbell rings. It’s a little after eleven.
“Who the heck is that?” Nat growls.
“Maybe it’s Kyle,” I say, relieved there’s a distraction.
“He knows better than to interrupt girl time,” she says.
I really wish you hadn’t called me a slut. I can’t imagine Kyle ever doing that to Nat. Or Nat putting up with it if he did.
Lys and I follow Nat to the door. Her mom is already in bed and her brothers and sister are hanging out in the den. She stands on her tiptoes and looks out the peephole.
“Oh, brother,” she says.
I’m pretty sure Nat is the only teenager in the world who uses expressions like that.
She turns to me. “It’s your boyfriend.”
I catch the note of reproach in her voice and I shake my head, voice lowered. I promised them I wouldn’t see or call you.
“I swear to God I turned off my phone.”
The bell rings again.
Nat glances at me and I make a split-second decision. I grab Lys’s hand, pulling her into the hallway beside the door.
“Good girl,” Nat whispers.
The door opens and I watch you and Nat in the mirror on the opposite wall. You’re wearing a black leather jacket and your fedora, pulled low. I move away before you catch me looking.
“Hey. I need to talk to Grace,” you say.
“Um. We’re kinda busy right now,” Nat says. She keeps the door half shut, one hand on the knob. Like she might slam it in your face any second. I know she wants to.
“I need to talk to Grace,” you repeat, speaking slowly, as though Nat’s native tongue isn’t English.
“Look, I’m sure whatever it is can wait, like, twelve more hours—”
You sigh. “Natalie. I’ve had a really long day, so can we stop playing games? I want to see my fucking girlfriend. Please.”
I have to make sure you’re okay. You sound exhausted. Something must have happened. I walk down the hallway and come to the door.
“Hey,” I say.
You scowl at Nat before turning to me. “Can we talk for a minute? Out here?”
I look back at Nat, as if I need permission.
She purses her lips. “You’ve got ten minutes. Then we get her back.”
You don’t answer her. You just turn and start walking across her front lawn to where your Mustang is parked out front.
Nat turns to me. “Don’t think what he’s doing here is romantic—it’s possessive and controlling and rude.”
Lys nods. “Word.”
I sigh and slip on my Doc Martens. “I’ll be back in ten. Promise.”
I walk across the grass and immediately realize I should have put a sweatshirt on. It’s freezing out here. I can see my breath in the air.
You’re leaning against the hood of your car, arms crossed. A streetlight streams down on you like we’re onstage. The houses all around us have Christmas lights and blow-up Santas. It’d be kinda romantic if you didn’t look so pissed off.
“What’s wrong?” I say. “What happened?”
It’s been weird since that night in the mall parking lot. We’re not fighting, but things are tense between us.
“Nothing. I needed to see you. What was that shit with Natalie?”
“I promised her it would be just us girls tonight. Remember?”
“She didn’t have to be such a bitch.”
“She’s not a bitch,” I say, my voice hard. “She’s my best friend.”
“Look, I tried calling you, like, ten times, but it went straight to voice mail. There was no other way to get in touch with you.”
“Girl’s Night is sacred,” I say. “And you didn’t have to be such a dick to her.”
“She wasn’t going to let me see you!”
I stand there and just look at you until you roll your eyes and say, “Fine. I’m sorry.”
You notice me shivering and you shrug off your jacket and put it over my shoulders. It’s warm and smells like you.
You take my hands and pull me closer. “Don’t be mad. I love you.”
I keep hearing my best friends tell me to break up with you. The word slut plays through my mind, looping over and over. I take my hands out of yours.
“I told the girls what happened the other night—when I was at work.” I bite my lip. “They’re pretty pissed about it. That might have something to do with Natalie being less than welcoming.”
You stare at me. “Why are you talking about that shit with them? That’s private—it’s only our business.”
“Because it happened and even though we’ve made up or whatever, I’m still upset. You called me a slut, Gav. I can’t just forget that.”
“I didn’t mean it,” you say. “I told you that. I was angry.” You reach out and draw me closer. “Come on, don’t hold that against me forever.”
My eyes meet yours. “If you ever talk to me like that again, I’m gone. Okay?”
You swallow. “Yeah.”
You look so sad and repentant that I can’t help but cup your face in my hands and press my lips to yours.
“Are we good now?” you say, your eyes pleading.
“Yeah, we’re good.” I tilt your fedora back so I can see your eyes better. “Why are you even here?”
“I know you’re having a Girls Night and everything, but I was hoping I could steal you away—just for a couple hours. I’ll bring you back, promise.”
“Gav … I’m not gonna just leave them. We have very important girly things to do.”
You give me your sexy half smile. “You sure? My parents aren’t home, there’s mistletoe in the house … I even wrote you a sexy Christmas song.”
I lean forward and kiss your nose. “Don’t tempt me, you evil man.”
Your grip tightens and the little spark that was in your eyes disappears. “Grace, I’ve hardly seen you at all this week. It’s just a few hours. You see them every day at school—I’m sure they’ll understand.”
“I’m sure they won’t. I love you, but I have to go back in there, not least because it’s cold as balls out here.”
“Did you just say cold as balls?”
“I did.”
You shake your head, laugh softly. “Such a dirty mouth.”
Relief surges through me—that laugh means we’re not getting into a fight.
My lips turn up. “I think you know exactly how dirty my mouth is.”
There’s a scraping noise behind me and I turn just as Nat whisper-yells down from her bedroom.
“Time’s up!” she says.
You lift your finger and flip her off.
I hit your arm. “Gavin!”
And Natalie—good, pure, old-lady Natalie—she returns the gesture.
Then, as if to prove to her that you’ve won, you pull me against you, but instead of a crushing kiss, you softly kiss the corner of my mouth, the tip of my nose, my eyelids as they flutter shut. You whispersing bits of “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” Then you take your jacket and let go of me and I stumble back, drunk on you once more. The streetlight rains gold dust on you and with your film noir hat and leather jacket you look like a boy up to something delicious, something no good.
“From now on your weekends are mine except for very special circumstances,” you say. “And don’t put your phone on silent.”
“Don’t boss me around, Gavin Andrew Davis.”