Chapter 18 Donovan
So—we going, or what?”
Adam grabs a pile of towels and starts mopping up the milk.
All I can think about is running after Carrie, grabbing her by the elbow, leading her back into the moment we were enjoying when my friend walked in.
My lips are on fire. My head is spinning.
That kiss was insane. Trust me, I’ve had a lot of tongues in my mouth. This one tasted different.
“Don?”
I jerk my head up. “Yessir?”
Adam laughs. He’s not stupid—he knows something happened and that I’m playing it all back in my mind. And yeah, it’s the uncut version.
“Mall.” He waves a hand in front of my face. “Still wanna go? Do you still wanna go on your date?”
I hesitate.
What should I do? I feel lost. If Carrie had thrown me a bone before she left, shot me a look, given me a sign—any kind of sign—I would already be on the phone to Cheyenne, gearing myself up to cancel.
I could’ve taken Carrie on the date instead.
But she didn’t say anything. All she did was turn around and practically trip over herself to get out, like being caught against me was the most embarrassing thing ever.
I’m a little pissed, honestly. I hate how she just ditched me like that.
She left me to handle all these feelings alone.
I spilled milk for her, for Christ’s sake!
“You’re finally starting to get it, huh?” Adam swings the trash can shut. “You guys sure are slow…”
“ ‘You guys’, meaning…?”
“You and Lane.”
I frown. “This is nothing like Lois and Lane, dude. Me and Carrie, we’re just friends.”
“Just friends?” He snickers.
“Yeah. Or semi-friends, anyway. That was actually what I liked about her. We could hang out and it was no big deal.”
“ ‘Was’? So, I’m guessing things have changed?”
Yes? I mean—no?
“Honestly? I have no idea.” I sigh. “What should I do about tonight?”
“I mean, do you actually wanna go?”
“Maybe… I’m confused. I can’t tell whether the Carrie thing is just physical, or…
” I clench my fist. “This is so fucking annoying! Did you see how she just ran away like that? Like, ‘Okay, Donny—you got this, see you tomorrow’?” I shake my head.
“She doesn’t give a fuck. Maybe I should see how things work out with Cheyenne first.”
“I don’t know what to say, man.” Adam shrugs helplessly. “I do know you can’t date this other girl just to prove a point to yourself, though.”
And that’s pretty much what I would be doing. Adam knows his shit. He’s the only virgin I know who actually turns down easy sex.
I rake a hand through my hair. “Man. My life was so much easier when I was just picking up girls, doing my thing.”
“Why change that, then?”
Don’t go there, Adam…
“And don’t give me your usual bullshit, Don,” he warns.
The big scary secret I’ve been keeping for so long suddenly doesn’t seem like such a big deal after all. And if I’m going to tell anyone, it’s Adam—he gives the best advice.
In a few quick sentences, I bring him up to speed, and it’s insane how good I feel once I’ve got it off my chest—all that weight I’ve been carrying since summer suddenly floating away.
He stares at me in silence for a while.
“Man, I gotta tell you. You’ve handled this like a pro. It’s too bad you didn’t come to me earlier—I would’ve told you what an amazing job you’re doing.” He punches my arm. “Instead of feeling sorry for yourself, you bounced back. Now you just have to set things straight with your sis.”
I shake my head. “Amelia is still pissed at me. She’s not ready to forgive.”
“She doesn’t know how hard you’ve been working on yourself since you found out what happened, though. I’m betting she’s going to really appreciate that.” He smiles at me. “Give her some space, and she’ll realize it was all just teenage bullshit. What’s done is done.”
“Would you bet money on it?” I flash him a smile.
“Call it fifty.”
“Somebody’s feeling confident.” I laugh.
I turn on the faucet and start washing my hands.
“So, what’s the plan for tonight, my friend?”
I watch the water flow down the drain, weighing up my options.
“Let’s skip the mall.”
“Good answer.”
“I already have a date outfit.”
He jerks his head up. “You sure?”
“I think better on a full stomach,” I say, toweling off my hands.
He shakes his head. “It’s your call, man. Can’t wait to hear how it works out for you.”
I flash him a thumbs-up.
“I’m gonna go take a nap—I’m on the midnight shift tonight.” He smiles. “I guess this is where I say something supportive, so—have fun tonight, okay? And don’t be a dick, Cheyenne seems like a catch.”
I’M PARKED A BLOCK AWAY from the restaurant, but I can’t get out of the car—my hands are locked to the steering wheel. It took every drop of self-restraint I have not to text Carrie. I literally had to bury my phone deep in my pocket to stop myself.
She was the one who pushed me into this in the first place, I remind myself. I’m seeing this through. I’ve got so many questions, and she’s not giving me any answers—so why the hell not?
It takes me three tries to get my seat belt unfastened, and before I know it, I’m out on the sidewalk, my feet dragging as I slope up the street.
Along the way, I bump into Cheyenne.
“Seems like we’re in sync.” She smiles, pulling me in for a quick hug.
Her fragrance makes my stomach turn, and I do my best to hide it.
She links an arm through mine. “I’m starving.”
“Same.”
I fall into step with her as we push open the door to the restaurant, and just as I’m pulling out her chair, Carrie’s approving nod flashes before my eyes, and I smile to myself.
“How was your day?” Cheyenne asks, fiddling with the cutlery.
“Good. Some homework. Lots of practice.”
All kinds of practice.
“I don’t know how you do it.”
I’m expecting something more, but she falls silent. I watch her smooth out the tablecloth—she’s fidgety, I notice. She even reminds me of Carrie a little with those glasses, but… less cute. Oh fuck off! Carrie this, Carrie that… Enough already.
“This place looks nice,” she says, reaching for the saltshaker.
The way she keeps messing with stuff is driving me crazy.
Come on, Donovan. Focus.
“They do amazing milkshakes,” I say brightly.
Suddenly, Carrie’s milk hack pops into my mind, and no matter how hard I try to imagine screwing Cheyenne right here on the table between us, no matter how perfect the setting—there’s no spark.
“I’m lactose intolerant.”
My mouth falls open.
There goes the spilled-milk strategy. Is this a sign?
I sift through the safe topics I ran through with Carrie earlier, and I’m wondering whether to start a conversation about the latest blockbuster or global politics, when our server arrives just in time to save my sorry ass.
I make a point of asking her a million questions about the food. Anything to delay the inevitable.
When finally she drifts off to the kitchen, I’m bereft.
I turn back to Cheyenne.
“I saw your first game, by the way.” She smiles. “It was incredible. The way you snagged that ball just before halftime… Especially considering how wide open that guy was.”
I don’t know what’s more impressive—the fact that she’s managed to string more than one sentence together, or the way she remembers our first scrimmage.
“You’re into basketball?”
“My dad’s a huge NBA fan. He’s all about the Warriors. I was basically raised on replays.”
Come on, dude. She threw you a ball. Grab it.
“I love basketball, too.”
No shit. Fuck, I am failing so hard right now.
In my defense, my mind is totally elsewhere. It’s like my mouth can’t do its thing—it’s still busy processing the memory of Carrie’s tongue rolling against mine. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about my talk with Adam, either.
No matter how hard I try to get into the moment with Cheyenne, the truth is I don’t want to be here.
Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to bail on this messed-up date, though I was looking forward to having dinner with her—or I think I was, at least. Now I realize I only agreed to it to prove to myself that there’s nothing here.
I don’t want to spend my evening with this girl, I realize. I can’t do this.
“… after college?”
Wait—what? She just asked a question, and I have no idea what it was.
“What did you say?”
“What are your plans for after college? NBA?”
“That’s the dream! First, I need to crush this season so I get drafted high.”
“I believe in you.” She smiles.
She’s pretty, I realize. And chill. She doesn’t bully me the way Carrie does, and she doesn’t shoot me dirty looks the way Carrie does, either. Stop it!
The server slides our plates down just as my phone pings.
Cheyenne smooths her napkin over her lap. “Got a ride?”
“I’m off duty tonight.”
I tuck my phone into my jacket pocket, stab at a potato, and lean in for a bite.
My phone buzzes again. I know I should just ignore it, but when it throbs a third time, I can’t resist. I place my fork down.
What if it’s Carrie? I want it to be her so bad.
If it is, all my problems disappear. I glance down.
Urgh. Two messages from Lane, one from Lewis.
SUPERLANE: Some girl just puked in Adam’s car.
I suppress a smile. We take it in turns to work Saturday nights, ferrying students from campus to downtown. Tonight is Adam’s shift, and it’s the second time he’s had to deal with a Situation.
SUPERLANE: I’m with Lois and the guys at the Java. Carrie’s here too, btw. She’s nice!
I frown. I didn’t know she had plans to head out with them tonight—that’s not like her. I’m basically the only person she hangs out with, especially in the evening.
“Everything okay?” Cheyenne looks worried.
“My buddy Lane has a problem with his car.”
My fingers are flying.
DONOVAN: Watch out for her.
I send the message off. I feel uneasy, knowing she’s out there in a bar full of guys. I scroll down to Lewis’s message.
LEWIS: You’re dead to me. I didn’t know you were on a date tonight! Absolute disgrace, dude.