it to my side. The rest of me wanted to dodge the dark look. I glanced around at the empty booths: butterfly table, cowboy boot table, Liberace table. I wished I could see the grill from here. I wondered how close our food was to being ready. Anything to distract him. And me.
"He's not your type," John said.
I looked back at John. "Of course he's my type. I won't make it to thirty, either."
He stared at me for a few seconds more, then blinked. "Not Eric. I meant Will."
"Will! Billingsley? Where are you getting this? McDonald's?"
He breathed deeply. Deeply enough that I thought he might have been holding his breath while he waited for my response. His shoulders lowered, and he seemed to relax a little. "Okay, maybe there wasn't anything going on between you two at McDonald's—"
"He pulled my hair, John."
"—but I wanted to make sure you knew what a nice guy he is."
"And therefore not my type, huh?" God, how whore-like did John think I was? "I could try an experiment with a nice guy. I could teach him a thing or two."
His shoulders tensed again. "He's a nice guy, and he would fall in love with you, and you would break his heart."
I leaned forward until my boobs sat on the table like a set of oversize salt and pepper shakers. The tit table. "Just as well. I prefer boys to teach me rather than the other way around."
His dark look flicked to my boobs ever so briefly. Then his eyes met mine again. "It's spring break. School's out." He sipped his coffee like an adult.
I sipped my own coffee and studied him. The stubborn set to his jaw. The way he glanced toward the windows every few seconds to check for danger.
I knew what he was thinking. He wasn't really jealous, but it came out that way. We were a boy and a girl riding around at night together, and he didn't have any other distractions. He didn't want to date me. He was just interested in me, for lack of anything better to do. Because he was lonely. And because I'd given him a jump start the first night at the bridge by reminding him of the dead girl. There ought to be a Hallmark card for this.
"I would never date Will, even if he wasn't a nice guy," I said truthfully. "It was fun to flirt with him, but everyone knows he's like that with everybody. He makes people feel good about themselves. He's also one of those drama club types who says very funny things very loudly with large gestures, like he wants people to look at him."
John's brow knitted. "You're describing yourself."
"What?"
"That's why you don't like him."
"I'm not describing myself."
He smiled. "Don't tell me you don't want people to look at you. And you probably have lots of friends. You're charismatic."
"Charismatic," I acknowledged, "and kind of a bitch. I don't have any friends because I've pissed them all off. I stand people up."
His brow knitted again. "Why?"
"Oh.. .Boys ask me on dates, or girls ask me on girl outings. And it sounds like fun, and I want to go. But then, when it comes right down to it, I can't go through with it. I hate plans. I feel..." I searched for the word. "Handcuffed." I shuddered.
"Handcuffed to the plan?"
"To the other person."
"How do you date Eric, then?"
"We don't date."
"Right." John nodded. "You just screw." Okay, that was too far. "John—" He opened his hands on the table. "How are you ever going to have a relationship?" "I guess I'll be alone."
I could almost see the wheels turning behind his dark eyes, processing this information, looking for a hole in the theory. "You've shown up in time for my shift both nights so far," he pointed out.
"Yeah, and it's taken a couple of years off my life."
"You planned to go to Miami for spring break."
I smiled sweetly at him. "Thanks for bringing that up. Yeah, I planned to go, which involved meeting the bus at a certain time. But I didn't plan to hang out with a certain person or do a certain thing once I got there. I was wide open."
He forgot and rubbed his hand on the short hair at the back of his head.
"He's not your type," John said.
I looked back at John. "Of course he's my type. I won't make it to thirty, either."
He stared at me for a few seconds more, then blinked. "Not Eric. I meant Will."
"Will! Billingsley? Where are you getting this? McDonald's?"
He breathed deeply. Deeply enough that I thought he might have been holding his breath while he waited for my response. His shoulders lowered, and he seemed to relax a little. "Okay, maybe there wasn't anything going on between you two at McDonald's—"
"He pulled my hair, John."
"—but I wanted to make sure you knew what a nice guy he is."
"And therefore not my type, huh?" God, how whore-like did John think I was? "I could try an experiment with a nice guy. I could teach him a thing or two."
His shoulders tensed again. "He's a nice guy, and he would fall in love with you, and you would break his heart."
I leaned forward until my boobs sat on the table like a set of oversize salt and pepper shakers. The tit table. "Just as well. I prefer boys to teach me rather than the other way around."
His dark look flicked to my boobs ever so briefly. Then his eyes met mine again. "It's spring break. School's out." He sipped his coffee like an adult.
I sipped my own coffee and studied him. The stubborn set to his jaw. The way he glanced toward the windows every few seconds to check for danger.
I knew what he was thinking. He wasn't really jealous, but it came out that way. We were a boy and a girl riding around at night together, and he didn't have any other distractions. He didn't want to date me. He was just interested in me, for lack of anything better to do. Because he was lonely. And because I'd given him a jump start the first night at the bridge by reminding him of the dead girl. There ought to be a Hallmark card for this.
"I would never date Will, even if he wasn't a nice guy," I said truthfully. "It was fun to flirt with him, but everyone knows he's like that with everybody. He makes people feel good about themselves. He's also one of those drama club types who says very funny things very loudly with large gestures, like he wants people to look at him."
John's brow knitted. "You're describing yourself."
"What?"
"That's why you don't like him."
"I'm not describing myself."
He smiled. "Don't tell me you don't want people to look at you. And you probably have lots of friends. You're charismatic."
"Charismatic," I acknowledged, "and kind of a bitch. I don't have any friends because I've pissed them all off. I stand people up."
His brow knitted again. "Why?"
"Oh.. .Boys ask me on dates, or girls ask me on girl outings. And it sounds like fun, and I want to go. But then, when it comes right down to it, I can't go through with it. I hate plans. I feel..." I searched for the word. "Handcuffed." I shuddered.
"Handcuffed to the plan?"
"To the other person."
"How do you date Eric, then?"
"We don't date."
"Right." John nodded. "You just screw." Okay, that was too far. "John—" He opened his hands on the table. "How are you ever going to have a relationship?" "I guess I'll be alone."
I could almost see the wheels turning behind his dark eyes, processing this information, looking for a hole in the theory. "You've shown up in time for my shift both nights so far," he pointed out.
"Yeah, and it's taken a couple of years off my life."
"You planned to go to Miami for spring break."
I smiled sweetly at him. "Thanks for bringing that up. Yeah, I planned to go, which involved meeting the bus at a certain time. But I didn't plan to hang out with a certain person or do a certain thing once I got there. I was wide open."
He forgot and rubbed his hand on the short hair at the back of his head.
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