Chapter 18 #2
Noah rolls his eyes, and Sahar smiles down at him. He, Sahar, and Harper have been friends since grade school, and while he takes being Sahar’s coach very seriously, he’s a good friend to all of us.
“Someone tell the ice queen she’s being dramatic,” he replies.
Nic throws a piece of chocolate at his head, and it ricochets off the couch arm and hits Sahar. “Ow!”
“Sorry. Line of fire.” Nic looks back at the TV, where Noah has settled on the horror movie he and Sahar wanted. “How do we manage to do this every week? Next year, we need a system in place for this.”
Austin, who is lying near Nic’s feet across the length of the room, closer to the TV than he probably should be, nods sarcastically. “Okay, Nic. We’ll keep a document with all our movie recommendations, and we’ll randomize it for the four or five movie nights we have next year.”
Nic kicks him lightly.
“And you know what?” Austin continues. “I’m the injured party here. I should be on the couch.”
“Why do we do this here again?” Noah chimes in, sitting up. “Austin’s apartment could easily fit all of us, and we wouldn’t have to listen to him whine like a baby.”
“Shut up,” Austin responds, whining harder.
Sahar elbows Noah in the ribs hard, and he bends over, cursing. “It’s tradition. This apartment is sacred.”
“More like haunted,” Austin mumbles.
Nic shoots up, abandoning her blankets to rip the remote from Noah.
“Everyone shut the hell up. Our apartment is perfect because Delilah is blessed with the ability to find interesting and pretty décor for cheap or free. Let’s figure out a number system so someone picks before Delilah’s loverboy shows up. ”
We’re all momentarily speechless. Nic rarely talks that much.
Finally, I say, “While I think we can stop with the nicknames, I agree that we need to figure this out and everyone needs to be on their best behavior.” I stare pointedly between Austin, Sahar, and Noah; the former two look away, and the latter appears offended at the idea that he might embarrass me.
“You don’t have to worry about me. If you’ll remember, he was my doubles partner first,” Austin says haughtily.
“I’m only weird about it because he’s doing Delilah,” Sahar adds.
Austin opens his mouth to respond, disgusted, but there’s a knock at the door before he can speak. I stand straighter, taking one last cursory scan around the living room and adjusting my shirt.
When I open the door, Matteo stands there, absolutely devastating, his hair out of sorts, like his hand has been a steady presence through it.
His beard is trimmed, and he’s wearing a Stratosphere shirt and sweatpants, a bag of trail mix and three small lavender-colored flowers in his hand.
I wonder if, somehow, he’s realized it’s my favorite color.
He takes in my outfit, and I’m suddenly embarrassed by my thrifted gray cotton shorts and my disturbingly faded Sabertooths football cropped T-shirt.
Holding out his bounty, he declares, “I know you told me not to bring anything, but my mom always said not to go to anyone’s house empty-handed.
” His eyes shift up to meet mine, and I read the earnestness in them.
“Also, this building is not safe,” he says worriedly.
“Someone left a rock to hold the door open.”
I shrug. “Eh, it’s a nice neighborhood.” Matteo looks mildly horrified, and I laugh, taking the bag of trail mix and the flowers, gently putting the stems between my thumb and forefinger. “And thank you. They’re beautiful.”
Matteo’s eyes flick over to the group of people who have gone quiet watching us. Even Austin sticks his head around the hallway wall, a dumb smile on his face.
“Come in,” I say, ushering him inside. I set the bag on the coffee table and gesture around the room.
“You know everyone. Couch is full, but you can share with Austin or me.” I point to the pile of blankets Austin is crawling back to in front of the coffee table and my little area off to the side of the L.
Matteo says his hellos while I put the three flowers on my bedside table, scarcely containing my smile when I realize it’s the first time I’ve ever gotten flowers. When I come back into the living room, he’s settling into my area.
“Matteo, do you have a preference for what we watch?” Noah asks.
Matteo nods at the TV, where the horror choice still sits, ready to be played. “I’m fine with this if that’s what you all agreed on.”
Sahar and Noah high five, and he says, “That’s three votes. This movie wins.”
Nic groans, reluctantly pressing play, and I flick the lights off, snuggling under the blankets, careful not to get too close to Matteo.
The movie starts the way they always do—with a happy family.
I whisper commentary to Matteo, things like, “There’s no way that’s their baby,” and “I bet the husband is the first one to go.” The first time I lean in, my hand lands right beside his, our pinkies touching.
When he doesn’t move away, I keep it there.
Either he also likes to talk through movies or he’s humoring me. He leans in more, his lips nearly pressing to my ear when he whispers things like, “Creepy creaky barn with rusty hooks, I’m sure that won’t come up again,” and “Oh! You were right about the husband.”
The room laughs at things that are meant to be scary, and by the halfway mark, the right side of my body is pressed to Matteo’s left, his arm resting on the floor behind me.
At one point, when it does get scary and grotesque, I have to turn away, my forehead resting against his neck. He tenses for a moment, then wraps his arm around me, pulling me close.
A minute or so later, he whispers, “That part is over. You can watch now.” But instead of looking at the TV, my eyes find his. I know I need to pull away, know that it’s going to make things more complicated and difficult later if I don’t stop, but I can’t bring myself to care.
I like him. So much. I’m the obstacle in our path, and I’m flailing.
He was right—if my siblings want to get jobs, who am I to stop them? It would take some of the financial stress off my plate. I’d feel fine if my only income came from singles and my sponsorship because they could cover the rest. Getting deep in the Aussie mixed doubles draw wouldn’t matter.
Keeping things professional and safe wouldn’t matter.
My eyelids flutter shut, and I lean in, brushing his lips. Just as it turns into a kiss, my friends begin yelling at the screen and we jump apart.
“The sheriff? You have to be kidding me,” someone, I think Sahar, yells.
“That’s bullshit,” Noah agrees.
“I’m so confused. I thought he was dead,” Austin chimes in.
“He’s clearly a zombie,” Matteo deadpans. It’s silent for a moment, questioning glances tossed around before the room breaks out into laughter.
I giggle, shocked that he ever believed he wasn’t good at making friends. When our gazes clash again, he gives me a full, real smile, and I’m certain I’ve won in all the ways that matter.