Blake shrugged and said nothing. His mother chimed in and answered for him. “We still haven’t decided yet. Blake has so many talents.”
I snorted out loud. The thought of Blake being considered good at anything besides football was hilarious. My snort earned me harsh looks from both Debbie and my father, and I quickly apologized. Blake smirked at me from across the table, juvenile and oddly playful even though I had just laughed at him. I ignored the quick start of surprise.
The pizza arrived, pulling the attention away from me. We ate in silence for the most part as any conversation seemed somewhat forced. Halfway through the meal, Blake nudged my foot. I looked at him and with a clenched jaw, kicked him back. He smiled, indicating I clearly hadn’t hurt him. In another few minutes, he did it again, knocking against me with his foot. I ignored him, but he did it again, so this time I kicked him hard, really hard. He let out a surprised yelp, but I looked innocently down at my food.
Debbie looked at him, concerned. “What’s wrong, Blake?”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing as he answered, “Hit my foot by accident.”
I gave him a victorious smirk, knowing it was childish but feeling giddy anyway. As we left the restaurant, Blake grabbed my arm and pulled me close to him, our faces an inch apart. I had been unprepared for his touch, so my body flushed at his sudden tight grip. With a controlling, dominant look in his eyes and an almost seductive smile, he said, “Careful, kid. Next time I’ll kick you back.”
He let go of me and walked to the car, but I stood there like an idiot, my skin hot where his hand had touched me. Shaking my head, I told myself to snap out of it as I walked to the car. The ride home was even tenser than the trip out, and I was so much more aware of the short distance between our bodies. After feeling such a small fraction of his domineering allure, I strained to stare out the window and not at him. That small space seemed a puny protection against the tumult stirring within me.
I escaped to my room as soon as we got home, wanting to be alone, and sat at my desk, which held a clutter of papers and my computer. I pulled my calendar from the wall and traced the glossy surface with my finger as I slowly counted the days until school started. Six days, I thought, encouraging myself. You only have to deal with him for six more days.
I was exhausted and dressed quickly for bed, but as I lay down, my mind found sudden energy. Thoughts ran through my head on a loop, and while I tried to think of other things, everything circled back around to Blake. His eyes had been so intense and electric when he’d grabbed me, his touch tenderly rough. I yearned to be that close to him again. An unspoken promise floated between our tense bodies, unmoving and unknowing. I had to continually dismiss these images and thoughts from my head, partially admitting that my deep dislike for Blake was a thin veil for my illogical temptation. I let out a deep sigh and thought, It’s going to be a really long six days.
***
The next morning, I dragged myself downstairs for breakfast, exhausted. I had barely slept the night before, and I was miserable. I sat down at the table where Dad was flipping through the newspaper while Debbie cooked breakfast. I usually cooked for him, so watching her cook was weird.
Debbie turned to me with a bright smile. “How do you like your eggs?”
The thought of food made me nauseous. “I’m good with some juice, thanks.”
Dad looked at me over his paper. “Not hungry? That’s not like you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I responded sarcastically, and he laughed and sipped his coffee.
I drank my juice and looked at my phone, opening a text from my best friend, Maggie. Can I come over? Totally need to chat, the text read. I sent her a quick reply and asked, “Dad, can Maggie come over?”
My father didn’t look up from his paper. “Sure, honey.”
I got up from the table and put my empty glass in the sink. I kissed Dad’s forehead before bounding upstairs, saying a quick goodbye to him before he headed off to work. I hung out in my room, flipping through a book until Maggie showed up. I heard the doorbell ring and ran excitedly downstairs to open the door.
Maggie, her red, curly hair framing her sweet, freckled face, walked in, chattering about something that happened at the coffee shop where she worked. We laughed as we climbed the stairs, and I saw Blake leave his room as we went into mine.
“Morning, ladies,” he said in a gruff voice. His eyes looked tired, and he was still dressed in his pajamas even though it was noon.
As I closed the bedroom door behind us, Maggie looked at me and said, “So you have to tell me what it’s like living with Blake Anderson.”
I shrugged, unsure how to describe it. “I don’t know, Maggie. It’s only been a day…kind of hard to tell.”