Just Friends(48)

“How many roommates do you have?” I ask, taking a sip of my lemonade.

“None.” He looks at me.

I stare at the hue of his mauve lips. I wish mine were that color naturally. I rub my lips together self-consciously. I see him notice.

“Oh. Cool,” I manage. “That’s nice, then. Living alone. Having your own space.”

Am I usually this bad at conversation?

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “It’s okay.”

I nod to show I’ve heard him, then swivel my head to Sonia, who needs something more sophisticated than bumpers if she wants to hit more than a single pin. The people around us “ooo” and “aww” in sympathy as the ball discards itself into the gutter yet again.

“Will you live in it?” he pipes up, now looking at me like he’s desperate for me to share something. Or maybe I’m imagining that he is.

“The cottage?” I repeat as I figure out how much to share with him.

“Mm-hmm,” he confirms.

“No,” I snap. “No, I’m leaving in September.”

He looks at the scoreboard again and I wonder if he heard me.

“Why?” He returns his ivy-speckled eyes to me.

“Consulting job got deferred, remember?” I did tell him this, right?

“Yeah, but…” He pauses, seeming to think for a second. “Now you have the cottage. Why not stay?”

Why would he want me to stay? Especially when it’s directly across the street from him? The depraved part of me starts reading into his words like they’ll provide what I so desperately want.

“There’s not much left for me in Seabrook,” I reply.

He stares at me.

A beat.

Two.

So long that I map every section of his irises where it looks like bombs of bluish iridescent shimmer have exploded between pools of sage green. I stare at how the two colors swirl together until I’ve forgotten what we were talking about.

A waitress comes to offer refills. I hand her my empty cup. I don’t remember tasting a single drop of the strawberry lemonade.

“Would you like anything to drink?” the waitress asks him, blinking a couple times when he turns around to look at her.

“A water would be great, please,” he says, voice kind. I get a glimpse of his dimple as he turns back to face me, smile washing from his face like the last suds from a car wash being rinsed away.

“Will you excuse me for a moment?” he says.

“Oh, yeah. Of course.”

He stands to greet everyone, and it’s in this moment that I realize he hasn’t spoken to anyone else here. Even though he’s our manager. And this is his event. He sat next to me immediately and showed no interest in joining a different conversation.

I watch with interest as he greets Grom, dapping him up and smacking him on the back like guys do. Sonia and Luna smile at him excitedly, and they all usher him over to grab a ball as they enter his name on the screen beneath mine.

He walks up to the lane with his long legs, rears the ball back, and releases it. It flies down the middle in a perfect line. Strike. They all cheer for him, and he spins around, smiling sheepishly. My lungs constrict at the sight of his dimple. He was great at football; I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he is still athletic.

To my shock, he walks back over to me, resuming his spot on the torn leather seat. “So, that Calvin guy from earlier…” he starts, brushing his chin in thought. “You guys going on a date while you’re here?”

“Hah.” I snort. “He’s the one with my number, so we’ll see.”

The question was interesting though. Would I go on a date with him if he asked? In college I would’ve turned him away without a second thought. No matter how attractive. I was dead set on chasing my independence, not stopping for a moment to hand my heart over to a boy just for him to drop it when he got bored.

But now? The independence I chased wouldn’t arrive until September, no matter how fast I ran. Lottie was gone. My friends were across the country. Nothing looked like I thought it would. So, why not do something else out of the ordinary? At this point, I didn’t think anything could be as scary as my actual life. The one that existed without Lottie in it. I felt like I was in a horror movie. A boy taking me out and then dropping me would be an interesting side plot at best.

“But, yeah. I think I will if he asks.” I reach for my cup, forgetting that I handed it to the waitress for a refill, and put my hand under my thigh instead.

He’s silent for a second, looking up at the scoreboard. “He’s not worth your time,” he says, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

I become aware of my heart beating as I try to decode what he’s implying. Especially coming from him. Someone who didn’t think I was worth his time after an entire lifetime spent together.

“You would know about that, wouldn’t you.” It flies out before my mouth has a chance to meet with my brain. I watch it land, shoulders flinching as if I’ve physically thrown something at him. I dig my fingers into the underside of my thigh where he can’t see my hands.

“Someone not being worth my time, or me not being worth yours?” he asks, staring at me like my answer will provide his next breath.

His energy is so concentrated on me, I forget there are people surrounding us, drinking, eating, having fun to the beat of pop music. My ears pick up the thud of dropping bowling balls and muffled cheering as if from a hundred miles away. My eyes only see Declan, like the light stops illuminating all else once it reaches the periphery of his solemn face.