Chapter 4
Cole
ONE MINUTE I’M waking up, smug and satisfied, the next Lyddie, no Lydia, is crying all over the bedsheets. I did not see that coming, and I’m starting to think I’ve totally screwed up. No, I know I’ve screwed up. I slept with Josh’s little sister! Even if she weren’t on the other side of the bed crying, this would be bad. He can never know.
“Lydia,” I say tentatively. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Her tears stop instantly and she hops out of bed, rage all over her face. Then she realizes she’s only wearing her bra and underwear. Her cheeks pinken with embarrassment, and she yanks the sheet off the bed and wraps it around herself before focusing back on me. I quickly move my eyes up to her face, trying to act like I wasn’t just staring at her in her underwear. Another thing Josh must never know.
“You can’t be serious? What kind of asinine question is that?” She throws her hands up in the air, and the sheet slips. I purse my lips, determined not to laugh. She’s just so cute, all flustered and mad like this. Wow, I am a bad man. An anti-hero.
“I didn’t think it was an asinine question,” I tell her patiently. Then, because her chest is still heaving with indignation, and I can see tears welling in her eyes once more, I add, “I’m not going to tell Josh if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Somehow her eyes get even wider, and she puts her hand to her forehead as her mouth opens and closes silently in a fish’s gape.
“Lydia?” I’m honestly getting a little worried now. This is quite the reaction.
“I-I,” she begins, then sinks down onto the bed, all of the fight leaving her body. “I’m going to hell,” she whispers. With alarming force, the true cause of her angst hits me.
“No, no, no.” Now I’m the one hopping out of the bed. My nervous energy making me pace the length of this stupid hotel room. Flashes of the countless hours I spent at the Hamlin’s house over the years play across my mind. Bible verses hanging on the wall, prayers uttered before meals, Sunday mornings spent at church. She’s a Christian. Okay, I tell myself, that’s fine. So am I. In name, anyway. I’m a bit hazy on some of the doctrine itself, and I long ago decided the sex ban was a little archaic, but when asked about my faith I happily proclaim my status as a Protestant. But Lydia? I’m starting to think her faith might be more than a label. “You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, right?” I ask her, more than a hint of pleading in my voice. “Please tell me you’re not a v–” I break off, not even able to say it.
“A virgin?” Her voice squeaks. “Not anymore.” A fresh wave of tears overtakes her, and my legs give out. This is bad. I’m an idiot. How was I supposed to know though? She gave me no indication. In fact, she was the first one to try and get things started. And sure, then she tried to shut me down, like she’d proved that I had no chance with her, and that was that. I just didn’t let things go. What can I say? I’m a Jacobson, we don’t shy away from a challenge, and she challenged me. Did I have any other chance than to show her I had what it takes to– Oh geez, it all sounds so stupid in the early morning light. I slept with her to prove a point? I’m more than an idiot. I’m a complete jerk. A jerk who has no idea what to do or say next.
“Listen,” I finally say, “I’m sure you’re not going to hell.”
Lydia responds by tossing me a scathing look. “You’re sure, are you? Well, unless you’re some sort of priest, I don’t care about your opinion.”
I know she’s trying to put me down, but honestly, I’m just glad to see she’s gotten some of her spunk back.
My phone dings and even in my distress my eyes automatically flit to the screen. Our flight has been rescheduled for 9:20 this morning. We’ll have to leave for the airport soon.
“Listen,” I try again, “our flight’s been rescheduled. Why don’t we pack up and get to the airport? Have some breakfast? I’m sure this all won’t seem so bad once you’ve eaten, and we’re on our way to Vegas.”
Her face pales. She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head back and forth a few times. I get the feeling she’s trying to wish, or maybe pray, this whole situation away.
She opens her eyes one at a time, sighing when she sees me still standing there. “Fine,” she hisses, “we’ll go to the airport. But you listen here, Jacobson,” she steps forward, one hand shaking a finger at me, the other clutching the top of her sheet, “I don’t want to see or talk to you this weekend or ever again. Do you understand?”
I nod, even though clearly this can’t actually happen. Sure, this weekend we’re going to separate parties, so we might be able to avoid seeing each other. But in a month we’ll be going to the same wedding. A wedding where she’s a bridesmaid, and I’m a groomsman. I think of Josh and what he would say if he knew what had happened with me and his little sister.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her, “even if I have to walk you up the aisle, I will remain silent.”
Lydia’s mouth forms a line. “Good.” Without another word, she whirls around and stomps to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.