Find You in the Dark
Page 8

But I figured it was time to call him on his attitude. No sense in letting him think he could treat me like that and get away with it, no matter how much I dug his James Dean rebel without a cause shtick. “What is your problem? Have I unknowingly run over your puppy or something?” I bit back, crossing my arms over my chest, doing my best to act unaffected and maybe even mildly intimidating.
Yeah, that didn't work. Clayton snorted and I swear there was a hint of a smile. I held my hands up, palms out. “Hold the presses! Was that a facial expression other than annoyance and disdain?” I asked sarcastically. Clayton smirked at me, his lips turning up slightly. He actually seemed amused for once.
“Are you trying to tell me that my reigning title of Mr. Congeniality is in jeopardy?” He asked, openly smiling at me now. His face seemed to light up when he did that and my throat constricted painfully. If I thought he was hot before it was NOTHING compared to the way he looked when he smiled. I was a goner.
I relaxed a bit, taking a cue from his change in demeanor. Nice to feel like we weren't going to war at any moment, as much as I got into the verbal sparring thing. I flipped my bangs out of my eyes, trying to get a better look at him. He had gotten a haircut, much to my disappointment. His shaggy hair was much more manageable, and I found that I missed the curls around his ears and at the base of his neck. Maybe I was a stalker.
“Well, you aren't earning a reputation for your witty banter, Mr. Chatterbox.” I volleyed back. I hadn't realized we had stopped walking until I heard the chirp of a car lock being opened. We had stopped at a black BMW. My eyes widened some. “Your car?” I asked, looking inside the window at the sleek, leather interior. Clayton nodded, opening the door and tossing his bag onto the passenger seat. “Nice wheels.” I commented, not wanting to draw any attention to my crap mobile two rows over.
We fell into uncomfortable silence. Obviously, he wasn't interested in discussing his car. So I had no idea what to say next. I kicked a piece of gravel and drug my toe through the dust of the parking lot, making patterns with my shoe. “So did I kill your dog or what?” I asked, trying to continue our struggling conversation. I didn't want him to go. I wanted to keep him here, looking like that, you know without the cold anger in his eyes.
“No pet-icide that I know of.” He answered shortly, leaning against the BMW. I was relieved to see he wasn't making any moves to leave. So maybe he didn't hate my guts after all. “So why the attitude when I talk to you? I mean I get that I stole your guy card the other day but I honestly didn't mean to. But Paul is such a dick face and I hate how he mouths off like that. I was seriously only trying to help...” My words tapered off and I realized I was majorly rambling.
I looked at Clayton, who was staring straight ahead of him. That tightness had returned to his shoulders and I inexplicably wanted to rub them for him. After a few seconds, he finally spoke up. “I know you were just trying to be nice. I get what you were doing. I was just pissed, I guess. Or maybe embarrassed is more like it. You were there, I was mad, so I shot my mouth off at you. You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry.” He finally looked at me. And I was taken under by the intensity of his brown eyes. He looked at me like I was the only person in the world. It was a heady feeling.
I had to break the moment. I was scared my mouth was hanging open. And it felt like it was building to a point that I wasn't ready for. “Well, what about the first morning? You sorry for that too?” I asked jokingly. Clayton cocked his eyebrow at me. Damn he was sexy. “Um, no. You were the one who resembled a one woman wrecking ball. I didn't have a chance.” I chuckled. It was nice to know that Mr. Grumpy actually had a sense of humor.
I stuck out my hand and he looked at me as if I had grown three heads. “Let's start over. Hello, my name is Maggie Young. Seventeen year old self- confessed choc-o-holic and over all fabulous human being. Pleased to meet you.”
Clayton slowly reached out and clasped my hand in his. His handshake was firm and made those obnoxious butterflies in my stomach take flight at the feel of his warm skin against mine. His smile was wide and genuine, making his brown eyes sparkle. “Clayton Reed, though you can call me Clay. Seventeen year old senior and unabashed misanthrope.” He dropped my hand and stood there awkwardly.
“Misanthrope, huh? So you're a people hater? Well aren't you a barrel of fun.” I leaned against his car beside him. We were standing so close that our shoulders brushed against one another. I couldn't help but notice the tantalizing smell of his cologne; something citrusy and musky all at once. Clay moved away marginally so that no part of our bodies touched. I tried to squelch the disappointment. I secretly, and I hoped imperceptibly, sniffed myself. All clear, deodorant was still working.
“Can't say that fun is a word I would use to describe myself lately. Maybe at one time.” Clayton's words trailed off and he peaked at me through his lashes as if he were embarrassed for revealing anything remotely personal about himself. “It must have be hard to have to transfer your senior year of high school. I mean leaving your friends, girlfriend, whatever.” Wow, I wasn't subtle at all. I cringed at my obvious dig for information. I didn't want to be so blatantly eager, but I just couldn't help myself.
Clayton's small smile appeared again, letting me know he wasn't fooled by my conspicuous line of questioning. “It wasn't that big of a deal. No real friends to speak of. No girlfriend.” He smirked and then looked away. His answer made me sad though. How depressing to not have any friends, nothing to really tie you to a particular place.