Page 4 of My (Not So) Perfect Plan

I shove him in the chest. “Whatever. Yes. But I’m buying my own food. This is not like a date.”

He cocks his head and purses his lips in amusement, “Um, no, not like a date. That was not what I was… Nevermind.” He turns and leads the way out of the building and I’m left to scramble to catch up, cheeks flaming once again because Ionly belatedly realize how dumb I must have sounded. I mean, really, why the heck would I think he would he consider dating someone like me? It didn’t need to be said, but I had said it in this huge, loud way and now it was going to be soooo awkward. But I was hungry and I really didn’t relish the idea of eating a handful of chips for dinner all by myself somewhere on campus.

He opens the door on my side (whodathunk this guy was such a gentleman? Not me!) of his big black truck and holds my hand to help me climb inside. The sensation is heavenly but I am refusing to relive it or examine how it makes me feel because Not. A. Date. Remember? As soon as he turns the key in the ignition, his speakers rumble to life with country music. I am dying because I hate country, but I don’t want to say anything.

He turns the radio off, apologizing for the music with this little shamefaced smile. “Feel free to play something. I’ll listen to anything, but I just put in this speaker system so I like to use it.”

Sweet! I plug in my ipod and open my favorite list of 80s tunes. Then I turn up the speakers, looking over at him to see how high I should go. He smiles at me (in Regency times they would say it was ‘rakishly’ and my insides got all warm and quivery) and gives me the thumbs up sign a few times, like it needs to go louder. I can’t help but laugh and accommodate him. I have to start dancing, because that’s just what 80s music does to me. I can’t dance worth a darn to electronica, but get me some Rick Astley or Michael Jackson and I will tear it up.

I really don’t think there is anything more fun than to go barreling down the highway with the windows open blaring Jesse’s Girl, especially when there’s a hot guy in the seat next to you. He gets into with me and we miss our turn to the diner, which means making a u-turn, but it’s all cool because it just means more fun.

When he parks and turns off the truck, that happy feeling is still in place. I open my door, and suddenly he’s there helping me down and that same little zing has me smiling up at him like a love-struck idiot. He releases my hand and walks behind me into the diner.

I sit down at the booth the waitress shows us and he slides in across from me. I’m searching for a name for what I’m feeling because I’ve been so down recently and for the first time in a long time, I’m not. I slap my hand on the table as it comes to me and his eyes look up from the menu in surprise.

“Gratitude!” I snap my fingers.

“Huh?”

“That’s what I’m feeling,” I look at him and smile. It feels really good to smile because my gosh Ihavebeen a grouch recently. “Thank you.”

“What did I do?”

“You brought me here and let me play 80s music in your car.”

“Guess that makes you easily entertained,” he winks at me and grins at me wickedly. “You can come play 80s music in my car all night long, Rawrr.”

He even did the claws, and it’s so absurd, it actually makes me giggle. GIGGLE. I never giggle. I’ll say it again: Claire Brown NEVER giggles.

The fact that I just did makes me frown because it makes me think I’ve had overexposure to Evan and now I’m coming down with Evanitis, as evidenced by symptoms of happiness and giggling. Before long I would become one of his female zombie entourage that he randomly passed out hook ups to. And the idea of hooking up with Evan gives me shivers. Gah! What was wrong with me?

I pick up my menu and hide behind it because I need more barrier. Basically any barrier from Evan would be good, I was learning.

“So, 80s music, huh?” Evan asks.

Was there censure in his voice? I peek over the top of my menu at him. His eyes are laughing at me.

“What? It’s good music!”And I can actually dance to it.“I can dance if I want to.”

“What else do you listen to?”

“Classical.” I’ve chosen what I want so I set aside the menu and decide the conversation is safe enough to participate in. “And Rachel and I are in love with Ed Sheeran and Adele’s music. You?”

He shrugs his shoulders and sucks down some of the water the waitress brought. “Like I said, I’ll listen to anything.”

Silence falls between us and I don’t know what to say. I feel like I should say something, but I don’t know what. I twist my fingers together and then sag with relief when the waitress comes to get our order. Since my budget is limited by the amount of money I’ve made over the summer (money that is supposed to last all year), I ask for the most basic items on the menu - mozzarella sticks and a side salad.

After the waitress leaves, I don’t have a menu to hide behind anymore, so I play with my straw wrapper instead, wrapping it around my finger and then unwrapping it again.

“Did you get into any schools yet?” Evan’s deep rumble startles me and I jump.

“Not yet. I was a little behind in getting my applications.” Working at Clyde’s farm over the summer from morning to night had really cut into a lot of my summer plans. “You?”

“Yeah. Football scholarship to University of Dallas.”

“Cool. Not surprising. You’re good at football.”

His eyes reach mine like he’s surprised I said that.

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