Page 36 of The Love Interest
“The Olympics?” I say, a little too loudly. “That’s interesting.”
Natalie grins and grabs Trevor’s hand. “Yeah, Trevor’s a swimmer, and he’s one of the best in the country. Freestyle’s his specialty, which means he’s the fastest of the fast. He’s totally going to the Olympics. Actually, the school’s swimming carnival is coming up. It doesn’t count for anything, that’ssobeneath him, but he’s still going to swim.”
“Aw, babe,” he says, and he plants a firm kiss on her cheek. “I love it when you get all proud. But yeah, I mean, the carnival isn’t much, seeing as I’ve already qualified for nationals. Oh, and hey, just so you know, nationals are in DC this year, so you’re totally welcome to come and watch if you’d like. I’d like to get a little cheer squad going. Anyway, enough about me. Do you swim, Caden?”
“I prefer running. There’s less chance of drowning. Also, fewer old guys in Speedos.”
He chortles. “That’s very true. But you should get used to it, because like Nat said, the carnival is coming up. You can watch if you like—it’s all these girls do—but it’s more fun to be in it.”
Thank you, Trevor.A swimming carnival means one thing: an excuse to take my shirt off in front of Juliet.
Caden! This is—
So perfect, right?
Yep, it’s amazing. Make sure you say yes, but don’t seem overeager or anything.
“Yeah, um, that sounds great. It’s worth a shot, right?”
“Exactly! I like your attitude, man!”
Juliet moves for the first time since Dyl appeared. She tugs at the front of her shirt. “I wonder what he’s reading. He looks really into it.”
I stare at him. His head is bowed, and the book is open on his lap. His face is still, almost serene. I imagine a bomb going off behind him and him not even flinching. He turns a page. What’s he reading? What combination of words could be so damn entertaining? I want to walk over to him and straight-up ask. I imagine him looking up from his book and smiling at me.
Maybe I’ll see him tonight. Maybe I can ask him then.
That makes me smile.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
I can’t sleep. I’m on my bed with my blanket pulled up over my body, leaving my head and my bare shoulders exposed. My ceiling is white, and a massive crack runs from one end to the other. To pass the time, my eyes follow the seam as it twists and spirals across the plaster. Dad’s loud, honking snores vibrate through the entire house.
The noise is annoying, but that’s not what’s keeping me up. There are two possible explanations for my current insomnia: the first is that I’m in the middle of a fight for my life and that’s stressing me out. It makes sense. I can’t help but think that there must be more I can do to make Juliet like me. Every interaction with her is burned into my memory, each moment taken apart and scrutinized. Was I Nice enough? Did I charm her? Did she look at me and see a man she could spend the rest of her life with? Also, does she even want to meet her life partner right now? Or ever?
The other explanation is a little more confusing: Dyl. Even though I’m stressed about the contest, every now and then I think about him, or, more specifically, the prospect of him visiting me tonight, and I grin. I can’t help it. The nights he visited were two of the best nights of my life. Talking to him, I don’t feel so conflicted. He knows what I am, and I know what he is. We both know we’re on guard, and we both know we’re lying about things, so I don’t feel like I’m taking advantage of him. With me, he knows what he’s getting, yet he keeps coming back for more.
I hear a grunt, and I spin around and close my eyes. The roof groans and I hear a body slide up onto the tiles.
Footsteps thud across the shingles.
The window rattles.
I close my eyes tighter and curl into a small ball. But a grin has cracked my face. I know he can only see the back of my head, so smiling doesn’t matter. He’ll think I’m still asleep. He’s outside right now, waiting for me. I know what he’ll look like, and that’s making a weird giddy feeling swirl in my stomach.
The knock sounds again, louder this time.
I sit up and my eyes catch his for a second. His mouth is hanging open, a sign he’s still breathless from the climb up. I scratch the side of my head as I climb out of bed. This time I don’t bother getting dressed before I walk over to the window.
“Hey,” I say as I unlatch it. “You’re getting predictable.” I pull on my pants. Wait, he’s not looking at me. His eyes are on the window frame, and he’s digging his fingers into the wood, chipping off the brown varnish. Is it because I’m shirtless? Why doesn’t he want to look at me without my shirt on? I zip up my fly. “That’s not very Bad of you.” I pull a navy sweater over my head. Before he came over, I tried on a bunch of different sweaters, trying to find the right one. This one fits perfectly, pressing kind of tight against my body, showing a hint of my pecs and biceps.
He rolls his eyes. I climb out through the window and sit on my spot on the edge of the roof.
He sits down beside me. His long, thin hands are clasped together. “I’m sick of being Bad. It’s bullshit, man. This whole thing. Did you see me today, at school?”
“Of course I did. Everyone noticed. More important, Juliet definitely did. I was meaning to ask you, what were you reading? You seemed really into it.”
