Page 28 of Bad Boys Don’t Date Clumsy Girls

Chapter Eleven

My pulse beats like I’m jogging to the shelter instead of walking a leisurely quarter mile. Dylan remained elusive for the rest of the week. Unfortunately, I can’t get the size of his anatomy out of my mind. How can I look at him without turning seven shades of red?

Sam kicked Sushi Guy to the curb and went on a first date with Barista Boy last night, so I spent a quiet Friday night at home. I still can’t believe how quiet it was. I actually sat on the couch and watched a movie with no arguments breaking out. Mom wasn’t home when I got home from school, and she didn’t come home before her shift at the convenience store at 11:00 pm. Grandma stayed in the basement all night, and Joel worked. If I’d known it would be so tolerable, I would have invited Bek over. Who am I kidding? I haven’t had a friend over in years because it’s too embarrassing when Mom and Grandma start in on each other.

Standing on the corner, waiting for the light to change so I can cross the street to the shelter, I watch as Dylan pulls into the parking lot on his motorcycle. He coasts to the far back corner of the lot and parks his bike behind the dumpster. No wonder I hadn’t realized he was already there last weekend.

My heart flutters as I cross the street. My eyes are locked on the front door of the shelter, where Dylan disappeared, trying to figure out what I’ll say when I return his shirt. Should I make a big deal about how much I appreciated him going out of his way to help? Should I tell him I like his smell? No, I definitely shouldn’t tell him that. I should probably play it off as no big deal and just hand him his shirt with a grunt or something. That’s what he would do.

I’m so focused on the shelter door that I don’t see the curb directly in front of me. My toe jams into the concrete and sends me crashing to the sidewalk. Pain sears across my palms and my knees sting. When I climb to my feet, I’m sad to see a small tear in my jeans on the left knee. My favorite pair! I study my palms. Dirt and bits of gravel are embedded in the flesh, and little points of blood well up. I growl in frustration. I always seem to have road rash somewhere on my body.

Luckily, Dylan is already inside and didn’t see me fall. I’ll just stop in the bathroom and wash the dirt and blood off my hands before I do anything else.

But, as I approach the door, it swings open and Dylan steps out, holding it for me. “Have a nice fall?”

Of course, my cheeks warm. I avoid making eye contact as I walk into the lobby and head straight to the bathroom.

When I come out, he’s no longer in the lobby, so I walk back to the employees-only area to store my stuff. Like last weekend, Dylan stands in front of the bulletin board, reading the notices and safety rules. He always looks like he doesn’t care about anything. Somehow his stance goes beyond relaxed to appear apathetic. How does he do that? My nerves are on edge from embarrassment; I feel like I’ll jump out of my skin with the slightest provocation. I tug Dylan’s shirt from my bag and shove it at him.

After all the planning on the walk here, all I end up saying is, “Thanks.”

“You know, you should consider having a change of clothes with you at all times.” He chuckles as he stores his shirt in a locker.

“I usually do,” I mumble. I hated having to admit that to him. He probably already thinks I’m a major loser.

“Really? You mean, that was true? When you told Mrs. Jensen that?”

I clench my fists. If he laughs anymore, I might start to cry. I’ve been entertaining people with my clumsiness my whole life, but his laughter somehow hurts so much more. I want to shout at him to stop laughing. To tell him how much it hurts that he finds my pain and embarrassment funny. But the words are a ball of burning anguish in my chest. He’d probably just laugh more. But there’s also the possibility that if I yell at him, he’ll yell back. And that scares me most of all.

“You literally carry around spare clothes?” He points to the locker I just shoved my bag in. “Do you have some in there now?”

I turn away before he sees the shine in my eyes. But I turned the wrong way and must do a 180 in order to go outside to the dogs.

“Whoa, are you crying?” Dylan jogs to catch up to me.

Knowing he’s noticed makes it worse. Not only do the tears refuse to recede, my face and neck get blotchy too. Ignoring him, I push through the gate to patio A, but Dylan is on my heels.

“Ava, stop!” Dylan grabs my arm pulling me to a stop, but I refuse to look at him. My emotions are swirling out of control and now panic blooms as well. I want to flee. He tries to step in front of me, but I turn away. He tries again, but I shift more. “Come on, Ava. Stop!”

He steps in front of me, and I slam my eyes closed.

Dylan’s warm hands wrap around my shoulders, but his grip is gentle. When he speaks, it sounds like he’s hunched so that he’s level with me, but I can’t open my eyes. If I saw humor in his gaze, I would lose it completely.

“Look, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

His tone is sincere. My eyes pop open in surprise. His shoulders are slumped so he can be eye-to-eye with me. He rubs my shoulders in a comforting gesture. “Oh, Ava, I’m so sorry.

The heartfelt apology surprises me so much that I pull away from him. He wilts with disappointment, and for some reason, I feel guilty. Traitorous heart.

“It’s fine,” I croak. My throat is raw with the effort of holding my tears in check. Of course, it isn’t fine, but this is the first time anyone has felt bad for upsetting me and I don’t know how to react. “Let’s get to work.”

I march to kennel A, glancing at the tag to confirm that Chip is still housed inside. I open the door and out he bursts at full speed. I walk to kennel B and open it. A new dog prances out, catching me by surprise. I glance at the tag and see that Belle has been replaced by Yakko. Apparently, the staff has chosen the Animaniacs as the next name inspirations. I would laugh if I wasn’t still so emotionally raw.

Dylan grabs the broom and starts to sweep kennel A, so I wheel the mop bucket over to the spigot to fill it up. While the water fills, I look around. Something isn’t right.

“Where are the dogs?” I ask?

Dylan steps out of the kennel, broom in hand. “What do you mean?”

---