Page 27 of Better Than the Movies
He glared at me without saying a word. Just stood there and eyeballed me, as if his powerful stare were going to make me shrink and start throwing money at him. I’d been working at Dick’s Used Books for three years, and I could pretty much look at a person entering the store and know if they were going to try to haggle or not.
I stared back, with a smile, of course, and waited for him to grow tired of his Big Man games. A solid twenty seconds went by before he finally said, “I don’t need two copies. I guess I’ll take your offer.”
Yes, I knew that you would.
I was ringing up his credit when the bell on the front door tinkled.
“Good morning,” I said, not looking up from the cash register.
“Can you tell me where your fart books are?”
I looked up, and there was Wes, looking as serious as a heartattack, and Jeff the Old swung his gaze in Wes’s direction.
“Excuse me?” I had to distort my face to keep from laughing. I wasn’t going to smile at his childishness. Not in front of a customer, at least.
Wes was wearing basketball shorts and aSURELY NOT EVERYBODY WAS KUNG FU FIGHTINGhoodie, his dark hair sticking up in the front like he’d showered and rubbed his hand over it instead of using a brush. I wasn’t sure when he’d gotten so long and lean and ropy, but honestly, it was a good look.
If you were into guys like Wes.
“Yourfartbooks. Hello?” He said it with great impatience, like I was the one acting strangely for just staring at him. “I need some relief, ma’am. Where are the books on gastrointestinal emergencies?”
I handed Old Jeff his money and receipt. “Thank you very much—have a great day.”
He muttered and put the money in his wallet before leaving the store. I glanced at Wes and shook my head. “What is wrong with you?
He shrugged. “I’m funny?”
“No, I don’t think that’s it. Why are you here?”
“Because I like books and…” He turned around and looked at the store behind him. “Records.”
“Is that so? What’s your favorite record?”
He pointed at the album I’d just bought from Old Jeff. “That one. Engelbert Humperdinck.”
“Really.”
“Yep. No one raps quite like the Dink. I could listen to that Engelbert—or, as I like to call him, Big E—spit rhymes all day long.”
“Seriously, why are you here?”
He stepped closer to the counter. “I needed to talk to you, and your stepmom said you were here.”
Stepmom.It’d be normal for me to think of Helena like that, and to call her that, but for some reason, I never could. It was either “my dad and Helena,” or “my dad’s wife.” I’d lived with her for years now, but she was still just Helena to me.
“What’s up?”
“Michael texted me this morning.”
“He did?” My mouth dropped wide open, and I let out a squeal that should’ve embarrassed me but didn’t because it was just Wes. I tiny-clapped and said, “What did he say? Did he mention me? What’d he say?”
He grinned and shook his head at me like I was an over-sugared toddler. “So a bunch of us are going to the game tonight.”
“Would this be aballgame?” I turned the pricing gun to three dollars and started labeling the clearance books. I had told Joss I’d go dress shopping that night, mainly because I needed to create an opening to mention the party before she heard about the barf incident at school on Monday. If I could appease her on the dress, she might not give me too much grief about the party.
“Basketball, dipshit.”
“How would I know that?”
