Breathe, Annie, Breathe
Page 33
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He holds up a hand. “Let me just get this out. I’m so sorry, Annie. I’ve felt like shit since that day. I feel like, I dunno, I used you or something.”
“You didn’t. It’s fine,” I say, even though it’s not.
He stretches his leg out and flexes his ankle. Then he speaks quietly, “I’ve thought a lot about you since we kissed…Honestly, I’ve thought a lot about you since the moment we met—”
“You didn’t call,” I say bluntly.
He nods sheepishly. “I wanted to ask you out. I couldn’t stop thinking about you—you don’t know how many times I started to text you but didn’t push send…I figured you were madder than a wet hen that I didn’t call, but my brother said I’m the last thing you need right now…It sucks what happened to your boyfriend.”
I look up at him. People usually say “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” and I get so sick of hearing that. It’s nice hearing Jeremiah tell the truth: it sucks. That’s all there is to it. Living with a hole in my life blows.
We finish our food, then he takes my paper plate and sets it on the little, wobbly table with his iced tea glass and newspaper. He looks at me sideways. “So if I were to call you—”
“You already did call me, remember? You woke me up at the ass crack of dawn and somehow convinced me to come check on you and your foot.”
He grins. “But if I called you for real…”
I clutch the swing, thinking of what happened on the banks of the Little Duck, how Jeremiah’s lips and hands set me on fire. But he waited an entire month to give me this speech. What if he waits another month before calling me again? Not to mention he’s into extremes and has that big scar along his jaw. That’s the last thing I need right now. I need white bread. I need vanilla. I don’t need a guy who hurts himself running on an injured ankle.
Speaking of extremes, I’ve seen Jeremiah naked, but this is only, like, the fifth conversation I’ve ever had with him. And the first real one. He is the weirdest guy I’ve ever met.
Jeremiah scooches closer on the swing, and with a finger and thumb, he lifts my strawberry blond braid and brings it to his lips. Does my hair smell like onions from the Roadhouse? He shyly presses his forehead to mine and his warm breath sends tingles down my neck. God, he smells good, like cologne and boy and the sun.
God, he’s making a move on me. I’m not ready for this with anybody. Plus, we’re not even alone. His little sister and dog are buzzing around. Not to mention his mom has a bunch of church ladies over. I press a restraining hand to his chest. “I can’t do this right now.”
“So I shouldn’t call you then?”
“You already did, genius.”
“But for real…”
I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know if I want to get close to somebody ever again. “Maybe. I don’t even know you. I need time…”
He searches my eyes, then nods. “Fair enough.” He wobbles to his feet and grabs the crutches leaning against the house. “C’mon. Let’s go play some Ping-Pong.”
•••
I serve.
Jeremiah hits the Ping-Pong ball back toward me. I bite into my lower lip, working to concentrate. I slap it to him, and he rears back and wallops the ball. I lunge to the right but I miss. The ball rockets off the table and into a corner of the basement.
“Yesssss.” Jeremiah does the Rocky pose. “Another point for me.”
“Goddammit,” I mutter. Jeremiah’s playing Ping-Pong, standing perfectly balanced on one foot, yet he’s still beating me. This is stupid. He’s going to hurt himself worse. I tried to talk him out of playing, but he’s too thickheaded.
I dig the ball out from under a dusty shelf and throw it back to him. He catches it with one hand. He leans his head back and tosses the ball up to serve, and the basement door squeaks open and feet pound down the stairs. Jeremiah rushes to set his paddle down and grab his crutches.
“Don’t mention we were playing!” he whispers to me.
His little sister appears along with a very sophisticated looking girl with long black hair and freckles, wearing diamond studs, short khaki shorts, and a cute tank top. Wow, she’s pretty. Is she here to see him?
“See, I told you,” Jennifer says to the girl.
She raises her eyebrows at me, then turns to Jeremiah. I start to worry that she’s pissed at me for being here with him, but then a sly grin pops on her face when she notices the Ping-Pong ball rolling around on the floor.
“You didn’t. It’s fine,” I say, even though it’s not.
He stretches his leg out and flexes his ankle. Then he speaks quietly, “I’ve thought a lot about you since we kissed…Honestly, I’ve thought a lot about you since the moment we met—”
“You didn’t call,” I say bluntly.
He nods sheepishly. “I wanted to ask you out. I couldn’t stop thinking about you—you don’t know how many times I started to text you but didn’t push send…I figured you were madder than a wet hen that I didn’t call, but my brother said I’m the last thing you need right now…It sucks what happened to your boyfriend.”
I look up at him. People usually say “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” and I get so sick of hearing that. It’s nice hearing Jeremiah tell the truth: it sucks. That’s all there is to it. Living with a hole in my life blows.
We finish our food, then he takes my paper plate and sets it on the little, wobbly table with his iced tea glass and newspaper. He looks at me sideways. “So if I were to call you—”
“You already did call me, remember? You woke me up at the ass crack of dawn and somehow convinced me to come check on you and your foot.”
He grins. “But if I called you for real…”
I clutch the swing, thinking of what happened on the banks of the Little Duck, how Jeremiah’s lips and hands set me on fire. But he waited an entire month to give me this speech. What if he waits another month before calling me again? Not to mention he’s into extremes and has that big scar along his jaw. That’s the last thing I need right now. I need white bread. I need vanilla. I don’t need a guy who hurts himself running on an injured ankle.
Speaking of extremes, I’ve seen Jeremiah naked, but this is only, like, the fifth conversation I’ve ever had with him. And the first real one. He is the weirdest guy I’ve ever met.
Jeremiah scooches closer on the swing, and with a finger and thumb, he lifts my strawberry blond braid and brings it to his lips. Does my hair smell like onions from the Roadhouse? He shyly presses his forehead to mine and his warm breath sends tingles down my neck. God, he smells good, like cologne and boy and the sun.
God, he’s making a move on me. I’m not ready for this with anybody. Plus, we’re not even alone. His little sister and dog are buzzing around. Not to mention his mom has a bunch of church ladies over. I press a restraining hand to his chest. “I can’t do this right now.”
“So I shouldn’t call you then?”
“You already did, genius.”
“But for real…”
I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know if I want to get close to somebody ever again. “Maybe. I don’t even know you. I need time…”
He searches my eyes, then nods. “Fair enough.” He wobbles to his feet and grabs the crutches leaning against the house. “C’mon. Let’s go play some Ping-Pong.”
•••
I serve.
Jeremiah hits the Ping-Pong ball back toward me. I bite into my lower lip, working to concentrate. I slap it to him, and he rears back and wallops the ball. I lunge to the right but I miss. The ball rockets off the table and into a corner of the basement.
“Yesssss.” Jeremiah does the Rocky pose. “Another point for me.”
“Goddammit,” I mutter. Jeremiah’s playing Ping-Pong, standing perfectly balanced on one foot, yet he’s still beating me. This is stupid. He’s going to hurt himself worse. I tried to talk him out of playing, but he’s too thickheaded.
I dig the ball out from under a dusty shelf and throw it back to him. He catches it with one hand. He leans his head back and tosses the ball up to serve, and the basement door squeaks open and feet pound down the stairs. Jeremiah rushes to set his paddle down and grab his crutches.
“Don’t mention we were playing!” he whispers to me.
His little sister appears along with a very sophisticated looking girl with long black hair and freckles, wearing diamond studs, short khaki shorts, and a cute tank top. Wow, she’s pretty. Is she here to see him?
“See, I told you,” Jennifer says to the girl.
She raises her eyebrows at me, then turns to Jeremiah. I start to worry that she’s pissed at me for being here with him, but then a sly grin pops on her face when she notices the Ping-Pong ball rolling around on the floor.
