Page 19 of My (Not So) Perfect Plan

“I am not a nerd, or a dweeb, or whatever. I happen to be detail oriented with a career track that will bring me order and success. Just because you were always popular doesn’t mean the rest of us are lame and pathetic,” I say, crossing my arms over my waist.

“I wasn’t! Didn’t you just hear the part where I said I was a dweeb?”

“Nobody thought that!”

“Yeah, they did. Especially the Bruschiani twins. They were the bane of my existence until they moved away in sixth grade.”

“I swear, it’s like we are living in a parallel reality. My memories of you are nothing like that.”

“What were they like?” There’s a note in his voice that has me suspicious.

“Uh uh. No dice. I see what you’re doing there, Carmichael. You can save your ego stroking for the privacy of your own room. So that’s what you are compensating for with the truck?”

“Probably. I don’t know. I kind of just said that to get under your skin. I got a big truck because it’s badA,” he chuckles.

“Ugh. You jerk!” I go to smack him in the arm again, but he catches my hand instead.

“Be nice! You’re going to leave my delicate skin with bruises,” he says in a falsetto.

I take my hand back feeling kind of guilty. How did I end up comfortable enough with him to be smacking him on the arm?

“Hey,” he strokes a finger down my cheek and I’m startled enough to look at him. “I was just joking. You’re not actually gonna hurt me. I mean, come on. Look at these guns.” He raises the sleeve of his shirt, flexes and then kisses his bicep.

I groan and open my door to jump out of the truck.

“I take it back,” I said right before I closed the door. “You were a total dweeb, weren’t you.”

“Get me a coke!” he hollers back, laughter in his voice.

We get back to his house an hour after we left. Evan seems to be in much better spirits. I’d like to take credit for that,but I’m sure it was just the hamburger or the fact that he’s not stuck in the house.

I climb out of the truck and get his crutches out of the back, wondering how we are going to get him out without him injuring his leg.

“Should I get your mom or something? You want your crutches now?” I ask. “How are you planning on getting down with hurting your leg?”

He smirks at me, grabs hold of the handles and lowers himself down like a gymnast onto his good foot. It actually looked really easy and completely safe. And I feel quite foolish. I shove his crutches into his chest.

“What do you need my help for again?” I ask. He just laughs. I hover, ready to help him get his balance again if the steps up to the front door prove to be a danger, and then follow him into the house. It’s cool and quiet, and just a little bit sterile.

“Hey, mom, we’re here,” Evan hollers, moving into the living room on his crutches.

“Why don’t you come get a snack in the kitchen before you start PT?” she says, sticking her head around the corner of the living room.

Evan scowls. “Mom, we’re not twelve.”

I wave my hand at her. “Hi, Mrs. Carmichael. I would actually love a snack. It smells like brownies in here. Did you bake?”

Mrs. Carmichael’s face lights up. “I did! Come on in and have a brownie.”

She disappears around the corner and Evan narrows his eyes at me, attempting to look angry and managing to just lookadorably handsome instead. I laugh and nod in the direction of the kitchen, placing a hand at his back.

“Shall we, Mr. Grouchy Pants?”

“So we moved him down to the guest bedroom since the stairs became a problem,” his mother explains, guiding me into a bedroom. Evan is behind me and I swear I can hear him laughing at my discomfort. Because, hello, I’m in a guy’s bedroom. The room is huge, set up more like a suite than a bed-room with a walk-in closet and a walk-in bathroom. There also happens to be a physical therapy table set up in here too which I totally ignore.

“Oh, gosh, um. That’s not at all necessary,” I say. “We can just do the exercises in the living room or whatever.”Basically anywhere except his bedroom.

“Nonsense. The PT table is set up in here. And all the other equipment he’ll need can stay in here too.” Over her shoulder, Evan has turned his back and is doing a fake-make out session with his hands rubbing up on his own shoulders.

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