Page 22 of Dreaming About the Boy Next Door

“About that,” he murmured. “I think I came across harsher than I meant to yesterday.”

My insides tensed, and I fought to remain casual. Calm. “I have to say, you’re playing it cool a lot easier than I thought. It’s almost like it truly didn’t happen.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

His words didn’t make sense until they did. “You thoughtthathurt my feelings? You know what, fine.” I turned to face him head-on, forcing my eyes on his and not letting them wander anywhere else. It was easier to look him in the eye now than I expected, easy to force a level voice. “You’re right, it was a good first kiss. I wasn’t sure what to expect of my first kiss, and it was good. You’re really good at kissing.”Too good. “But, for the sake of being transparent and being on the same page, let’s be clear that it didn’t mean anything to me either.Iusedyou, remember? That was all it was to me. And you didn’t hurt my feelings.”

The words were the only armor I had, a shield to deflect what could’ve been an awkward conversation with these bizarre feelings left in pieces. Better to nip it in the bud now.

For a moment, we looked at each other in silence. Monday night, he’d been close like this, but it’d been too dark for me to fully discern the finer details of him. Like how he had a tan freckle underneath his left eye, right below his waterline, or how the bridge of his nose curved ever so slightly to one side. His eyebrows were darker than his golden hair, the same color as his lashes.

“I’m thinking about asking Cindy LaVore to homecoming,” he said, unflinching. “You wouldn’t care?”

“Why would I?” My voice was a challenge. “When have I ever cared about your love life?”

I held my breath while waiting for his answer, my lungs aching after a stretch of silence. Twelve inches between us,maybe. One second of a sudden movement would be all that it’d take.

No. My thoughts were a tangle, but my moral compass wasn’t. It was strong enough to remind me that this wasn’t a good thing, andIwas strong enough to listen. Barely.

Ultimately, it wasn’t even me who pulled away first. Reed straightened from his leaning position. Without warning, he took my pasta bowl from me and flipped on the faucet, pumping a dollop of soap into the ceramic. He washed the bowl without a word, head tilted down as he worked, hair slipping a little into his eyes. I stared at him with my throat tight, curling my toes.

Once clean, he picked up the dish towel draped across the oven handle and dried the bowl off. “You’re pretty good at playing it cool, too, you know.”

If only I was as good at pretending as him. If only the kiss meant as little to me as it did to him. I took the bowl from him and carried it to the appropriate cabinet, and without looking at him directly—because I had a feeling the look in my eyes would give something away—I gestured down the hallway. “Come on, let’s go look at the things on Mom’s list. I’ll show you the basement first.”

“This is Josh. He’s five-foot-nine, has brown hair, likes to listen to rap music and country—which are two opposite ends of the spectrum, so I’m impressed—and he has two dogs.Two. You’ve always loved dogs.”

“Josh sounds lovely,” I responded, not turning around from my locker, not looking at whatever photo was no doubt on her phone screen. I knew exactly where her thought process was, too, and didn’t miss a beat. Instead, I loaded up my English and Science books. “Does Josh have thin lips?”

“I don’t think so. Look for yourself.”

The way Rachel rattled off characteristics of thisJoshhad me assuming she was reading from her phone. At least, I assumed that until I looked over and found a five-foot-nine boy standing beside her.

In her rapid-fire list, Rachel had left out one thing: Josh was the owner of the world’s deepest dimples. They indented into his cheek even when he wasn’t smiling. Like right now, even though his lips weren’t curved, the dimples were visible. He looked well-mannered. Friendly.

Maybe a wee bit uncomfortable.

“Uh, hi, Josh,” I said slowly, turning my wide-eyed gaze to Rachel.

“We have last period together. We got to chatting, I asked him if he was single, he said yes, and here we are.” Rachel leaned around to inspect his face. “His lips are average-sized, I’d say, wouldn’t you?”

I smacked Rachel, but the poor guy quirked his average-sized mouth into a small smile. “Thanks. I pride myself in my ordinary lips.”

Whoa. His voice wasbeautiful. It was low but velvety smooth, like he was trying to record a podcast or something. Maybe he was a podcast host. If he wasn’t, he should be.

“My introductions have already been had, but I’m Josh.”

He extended a hand to me like we weren’t in the high school hallway, the gesture reeking of a middle-age business meeting. Still, I slid my hand into his. “My name’s Ava.”

“I know,” he said, and then sucked in a breath. “That sounded creepy as soon as I said it. I mean, I know because you run Brentwood Babble. Which someone told me the other day, so it’s not like I knew of you long. And…” He drew in a breath through his teeth. “I’m rambling. Sorry.”

“I’m a rambler too,” I told him, shutting my locker. “But it’s nice to meet a fan.”

“Iama fan. It’s like I’m talking to Gossip Girl in the flesh.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You’ve seenGossip Girl?”

“I’ll shamelessly use the excuse that mysisterwatched, and I happened to be in the room for every episode.”

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