Page 48 of Told You So
Nick’s brow furrows. “So, what, you’ve already got it in your head that it won’t work? Instead of trying, you’re going keep surrounding yourself with douchebags, like the one in the bar the other night?”
“Just because you don’t know Ryan, doesn’t mean he’s a douchebag, Nick. Stop assuming you knowme.” His judgement only magnifies the years of narrowed looks and snide comments he’s made. That my parents have made. That all Nick’s friends have always made. They don’t know me, and I’m tired of everyone assuming that they do.
Nick shakes his head and groans. “God, this is so dysfunctional,” he says with a laugh. “And I thought I was always the level-headed one. Yet here I am, trying toconvinceyou to, what, go out with me?” He laughs and leans back on the couch. “I didn’t see this coming.”
Nick’s words are like a prick to my heart and my ego. Does he even know what dysfunction looks like?
“Then let me spare you the hassle of worrying aboutanysort of dysfunctional relationship with me,” I say and open the front door. “Let’s just focus on being partners and getting through this with our sanity intact, shall we?” I don’t bother looking back at him as I shut the door behind me. He’s right, this is dysfunctional and I have enough of that in my life, I don’t need Nick thrown in the mix, too.
Twenty-Four
Nick
“Let’s see which one of you can tell me the difference between modern and postmodern architecture in two sentences or less.” Professor Murray glances around the room expectantly. A few people raise their hands, but he calls on Bethany.
“All right, Miss Fairchild, why don’t you take a stab at it.”
She taps her pen against her notepad, a tick I’ve noticed since our first class together. “Uh, well,” she starts, clearly searching her memory for the answer. “Modern architecture was dominant after World War II through the 20th century, and incorporated new construction technologies, like reinforced steel and glass.Postmodern architecture expanded the movement, introducing a more high-tech aspect.”
“And,” Professor Murray drawls, “what do you mean by high-tech, exactly?”
I’m not sure why Bethany always seems to look like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car when the professor singles her out, but she does. You’d think after four years of lectures and classes she’d be over it by now. She always knows the answers, even if she has to think about them for a second first.
“Uh,” she starts again, tapping her pen more fervently, “architecture wasn’t just about the exterior, but the interior too—the steel and glass and concrete all became a major part of interior design in postmodernism, not something ugly that was meant to be hidden. At least in larger buildings. It was more ‘outside of the box’ design, so to speak.”
“And the year of this transition to postmodernism?” he quizzes her.
I see a twinkle in her eye this time. “It’s a gray area, Professor Murray. We’re not exactly sure. It’s a bridge more than anewera of design.”
I’m not sure if it’s amusement I see playing on the professor’s features or surprise. Maybe a little of both. He nods then addresses the rest of the class. “Who can tell me which major architects played a role in thisbridgeMiss Fairchild speaks of?”
Hands go up, but I can’t look away from Bethany. She stares down at her notes, doodling and no longer paying attention. Half the time it’s like she’s not even present in class. Like she doesn’t even want to be in here, but I know how important her grade is to her, even if she doesn’t seem to show it all the time.
She glances at me from the corner of her eye. When she finds me watching her, she blinks and looks away, but I can’t.
All I can think about is last night and how it felt to have her in my apartment and in my arms—to feel her warmth and how real she is when she’s always seemed so far out of reach.
I’m not sure if it was calling her dysfunctional or simply the tug and pull of being in the same room, but I saw something in her—a pain and anger that gave me pause.
Bethany is a whirlwind, to say the least, and I’m not sure what sort of mess I’d be getting myself into if something did happen between us, more than just a kiss, but I think I actually hurt her feelings last night, and I can’t live with that.
Knowing I will have Wednesday nights and Saturdays to make it up to her over the next few weeks makes me feel a little better. Despite her walls, I’m not ready to give up on her completely. That desperation in her, the quietness mixed with the passion and fury that I sometimes see, is enough to hook me in, wanting to know more. Wanting toseemore of the real Bethany. Needing too so that I’ll really know what it is about her that I can’t seem to live without, if anything at all.
She glances at me again, and I know I’ve been staring way too long. I should be more embarrassed than I am. Her eyes linger on me for a few more seconds, and I purse my lips and nod some sort of awkward greeting, the only thing I can think to do as I sit up in my seat. I have no idea how I’m going to get through the next few weeks, but I better figure it out.
I arrive in Saratoga Falls after my last class of the day, with a half hour to spare before I need to be at my parents’ for dinner. So, I decide to visit Mac. She’s more removed from the Bethany situation than Sam is, and I could use her advice. Even if I think I know what I want, I also know I’m walking a fine line between possible stupidity and liberation after years of pent up curiosity.
When I walk into Cal’s Auto, the doorbell dings but Colton and Mac barely notice me as they engage in an animated conversation at her desk.
“I know she’s a pain, but you’re the best guy for the job. You could run circles around Bobby with this one.” Her perfectly straight, dark hair brushes against the middle of her back as she turns to look at me. “I’ll be right with—” Her face lights up when she sees me, and I know instantly that it was the right decision to come here.
With exaggerated adoration, she clasps her hands against her heart, her green eyes smiling. “Oh, my love, where have you been all my life?” Mac steps out from behind her desk and hurries over to me, high heels clacking against the tile, and she throws her arms around my neck and kisses my cheek. Her lips are glossy, as usual.
“Gross,” I mutter.
“Oh, you love it.” Mac wipes away the sticky remnants.
“Hey now,” Colton mutters, but his blue eyes twinkle with amusement.
