Boyfriend Material Read online

  “Oh.” I had to admit that was reasonable. I didn’t particularly like being the subject of people’s conversations, but I liked them staring less. At least he hadn’t told them about juvie. “Thanks.”

  A male voice called from downstairs, “Anyone home? I bring offerings of Indian food in hopes of currying your favor.”

  Ethan rolled his eyes. “Ready for my dad?”

  We trotted downstairs.

  Benson—call me Ben, kid—Monroe was even taller than Ethan. I was glad of Ethan’s warning because the first thing his dad did was shake my hand while saying, “Nice smile, Wyatt,” and of course my mouth had been flatlined as a heart attack.

  “Dad.” Ethan put a hand on his father’s shoulder.

  Ben patted my arm. “Sorry, kid. Orthodontist humor.”

  I tried to curl the corners of my lips but since a smile was the farthest thing from what I was feeling, I think I just came off looking psycho.

  Ethan pulled plates out of a cabinet and put them around the take out containers on the kitchen table. “You can inspect his teeth later.” He winked at me.

  I wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. I found napkins and brought them to the table so I could whisper in his ear, “Are you serious?”

  “Well, not like a dental exam or anything. But he looks at teeth like other people look at eyes, I guess.”

  I’d never had Indian food but it smelled like the entire spice cabinet had been set on fire. The whole thing was turning into a test I hadn’t been allowed to study for.

  “Okay.” Ethan’s dad joined us at the table and started opening containers. “We’ve got some samosas, shrimp vindaloo, tandoori chicken, saag paneer and chicken tikka masala. Along with garlic naan. Hope you packed your industrial strength toothbrush, Wyatt.”

  “More orthodontist humor?” I asked.

  “He catches on fast.” Ben gave me a familiar-looking smile.

  “Got me through calculus,” Ethan said.

  “What would you like to drink, Wyatt?” Jenna called from the refrigerator.

  I supposed several large glasses of wine would be too much to hope for. “Water is fine with me, ma’am.”

  “You boys have plans?” Ben scooped out something from each container onto his plate.

  Ethan took one of the bread discs and some of the sauce covered chicken. “Can I borrow the Lexus?”

  “Haha. No. Funny guy,” Ben added to me.

  “We were talking about a movie but we haven’t decided.” Ethan slid one of the water glasses his mom had brought in front of me.

  “I suppose I could stay awake long enough to make it through the seven o’clock show. What about you, Jen?” Ethan’s dad put a dramatic hand over his heart. “Unless we weren’t invited.”

  Between Ethan and his dad, dinner conversation wouldn’t be an issue. Feeling Jenna’s eyes on me, I took a napkin and placed it on my thigh while I studied the dishes.

  The shrimp looked like regular shrimp, though I was more used to the battered kind they had about once a semester in the dining hall. I took two and a round of bread.

  “The paneer is like cottage cheese,” Jenna told me. “With spinach.”

  I could probably handle that. I scooped some out.

  Ethan and his dad used the bread to eat, scooping up the food, but Jenna used a knife and fork. I thought I’d look like less of an idiot that way, and I could try smaller bites.

  After my first bite of shrimp I wouldn’t have to worry about tasting anything ever again. I chewed and swallowed as fast as I could but there was nothing but scorched territory left in my mouth. I knew it was hopeless, but I gulped some water.

  That made sure the spices were carried to any part of my mouth that wasn’t already on fire. Yay.

  I managed a few bites of the bread and a fork full of the cheese stuff, but between feeling Ethan’s mom watch me and the burn in my mouth, I didn’t have much appetite.

  When Ethan asked if I wanted to go out for a while, I wanted to kiss his socked feet in gratitude. I could have handled even a party full of strangers if it meant no Indian food and no Jenna Monroe studying me like a specimen slide.

  He took me to a Sonic and we sat at one of the drive-in slots. My strawberry shake was a slice of heaven.

  “Sorry.” Ethan handed me the burger I’d ordered too. “I didn’t know you didn’t like Indian food. I would have warned my dad.”

  “I didn’t know either.” The shake was finally cooling off my mouth. “Is your mom always that quiet?”

  “She can hold her own if she wants to.” Ethan sucked on his Oreo shake. “They’ll both be at work tomorrow so we’ll have the house to ourselves. No car, though.”

  It seemed like a reasonable trade.

  “We can still make a movie if you want,” Ethan said after I’d inhaled the burger.

  “This is good.” It wasn’t the beach or a mountain view, only the night sky and the light from the gas station across the street. Plus, it had Ethan. But I liked it. I remembered what he’d said to me last night. “I’m happy.”

  I was right at that moment then. He squeezed my hand with his shake-chilled fingers. Maybe we could sleep in the car. That would have made me happy longer.

  Chapter 11

  I didn’t make the sleep-in-the-car request. It was kind of cold, and his parents would probably notice. We hung up our coats and took off our shoes in the entry-laundry room.

  “Hey. Did you take my bag upstairs? I left it here.” It was after ten when we got back so I kept my voice low.

  “No.”

  “My backpack is here.” I squeezed it, reassuring myself that my laptop was still in it.

  “Huh. Maybe Mom brought it up.”

  On the kitchen island, there were fresh baked scones in the basket I had brought, covered with one of the towels. A note on them said, “Help yourselves. The lemon curd is delicious. Thank you, Wyatt.”

  We headed for the stairs, but there were lights on in the living room. Ethan’s mom was watching the local news in a chair next to their Christmas tree. It was the only one on the block that was multicolored instead of all white lights.

  “How was the movie?”

  “Fine,” Ethan said.

  I supposed it was nicer than saying he took me out for food because I’d hated dinner.

  “Thank you for the scones, ma’am.” I could call Ethan’s dad Ben, but somehow his mom’s name stuck when I tried.

  “Thank you for the lemon curd, Wyatt.”

  I swallowed. “You’re welcome.”

  “We’re going up. Night, Mom.”

  “Good night. Ethan, could you do a load of towels for me tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Can you leave me a note?”

  Ethan closed the door as soon as we were in his room. My duffle bag wasn’t on his bed. Or in the closet or anywhere else. I knew I’d taken it out of the car. It still had his Christmas present in it.

  Ethan straightened from his search of the closet. “She wouldn’t. Hang on.” He ducked out the door.

  After a couple of minutes I decided I must have left the bag in the car. After all, my back pack had been hanging in the back hall right where I’d left it. His mom didn’t seem like she’d hide my stuff for a joke. His dad maybe.

  I went back down the stairs and Ethan’s angry voice froze me on the bottom step.

  “What difference does it make? Like we can’t while you’re at work? What do you think I’m doing at school?”

  His mom’s answer was too low for me to hear.

  Ethan came through loud and clear. “You said when I was eighteen I could. And I’m practically nineteen.”

  His mom got some volume. “That was Blake. We knew who he was.”

  “You think you know
Wyatt? You only know some bullsh-crap Blake told you to get back at me.”

  My legs didn’t work and I sat on the steps. I had a pretty good idea what crap Ethan was talking about.

  “You told us it was true.”

  Wow. His mom could seriously project when she wanted, I noticed. Loud enough to hear over the way the blood was pounding in my head, even with it between my knees.

  So his parents knew about me and juvie. It was the truth. No one to blame but me there. What I couldn’t wrap my head around was that Ethan would let me think they didn’t. Let me—no, insist on me coming here when his parents thought I was what? Here to steal the Lexus or just their son? My strawberry shake came rushing back into my throat.

  “But it wasn’t his fault. He was only fourteen when it happened. Fifteen when he went in. He doesn’t even have a record now.” Ethan went on defending me. You’d think it would be nice to have a boyfriend who was loyal like that, but knowing what he’d kept from me, just to get me here, made me sick.

  I got to my feet and started for the front door. No wait. Backpack, computer, shoes. Kitchen.

  I had to sit on the bench under the coats to get my boots on. I wasn’t sure if my legs were shaking more or my hands.

  Ethan found me there.

  I guess my hands were the worst because I shot to my feet in anger and my legs worked just fine. Goddamn him.

  He’d set me up. Worse than Tanner and his crew on their little joyride that had landed me in juvie. At least with them, I’d known they really didn’t give a shit about me.

  Ethan had made me believe in something else.

  I forced my hands into the pocket of my hoodie.

  “Where are you going?”

  Fuck him and his perfectly reasonable question. “Somewhere else.”

  “How?”

  “Walk.” My hands were tight fists.

  “I fucked up.”

  “You think?” I hated that I was trapped here. This place with its curving roads full of fancy houses. This little room where I couldn’t even yell like I wanted to. I hated—”Why the fuck didn’t you tell me they knew? Oh wait. It was easier.”

  He flinched. Score. “I’m sorry. I really wanted you to be here. I missed you so much at Thanksgiving. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

  It was only two years of my life. “Maybe to you it’s not but it is to me. And obviously it is to your mom. So you just blurted it out?”

  “No. I wouldn’t do that to you. Please don’t—Blake told them at the football game on Thanksgiving. I spent the whole weekend calming them down. But they still said you could come. They wanted—”

  “Don’t lie to me, Ethan. Not now.” Great. Now I hated the sound of my own voice, all shaky with emotion.

  “Okay. They—Mom accepts that you’re here. She just wanted you to sleep in the guest room. Because that’s her line in the sand or whatever. God, I’m going to kill Blake if he comes near me—us—again.”

  “Blake may be an asshole but this isn’t his fault. At least he told the truth.”

  “I didn’t lie to you.”

  Son of a bitch. How did Ethan get to come off sounding so insulted?

  “No, you just pretended it didn’t happen. I was locked up, Ethan. I drove a stolen car full of stolen goods. I knew what I was doing. Sorry that doesn’t fit your version of things, but I can’t change it to make things easier. Not even for you.” I tightened my jaw against how much it hurt that he couldn’t understand. “No matter what.”

  He looked down, throat bobbing on a swallow.

  I felt it in my throat too. Behind the anger, a great big ball of fear. That it was too much, too far.

  But we couldn’t—I couldn’t—keep letting myself think that this was real if he couldn’t accept all of me. Not just my eyes and hair, but what I’d done. Who I was because of it.

  “Tell me I’m wrong.” I really wanted him to. “Tell me it wouldn’t be easier without me.”

  He was quiet. UnEthanlike. I knew only too well silence was an answer. I pulled on my coat.

  That got him talking. “So that’s it? You quit?” He looked at me and then away. “I’ll tell you this. It’s hard as hell loving someone who’s waiting—no, looking—for a reason to push you away. I don’t get why you want to be miserable when I just want you to be happy.” He looked at me then and his eyes were wet. “I really fucking hate feeling like this. I’m done. The guest room is the door left from mine.”

  And Ethan, the most persistent fucker I’d ever met, just turned and walked out.

  Chapter 12

  I’d spent two years locked up and a lifetime in a town I hated. I wasn’t going to stay here making Ethan miserable and with Mrs. Monroe acting like I was going to run off with her jewelry.

  It took a lot of digging but my phone finally told me if I walked two miles, I could get a bus to a train station, a train to Philadelphia, and then...

  I’d figure out where I was going after I got that far. Maybe Uncle Owen wanted some of his house repainted or his oil changed in exchange for letting me stay.

  My duffle bag was on the bed in the guest room, battered navy nylon on a lacy white bedspread. There’s your last clue, Reese. Or did you need an anvil on your head too?

  I left Ethan’s present there. It was a heavyweight, long-sleeved Henley made out of fabric that looked like it had been put through a waffle iron but was actually soft. I’d picked the dark-gold one, thinking he’d look pretty jumpable in it. Christine had taken me to Macy’s, and I’d been freaked out at the price until Christine produced a pile of coupons at the register and got it down to a price closer to something from Walmart.

  I hoped Ethan hated it. Because I didn’t want to see him around campus in it, knowing I’d never get to touch the body underneath it anymore.

  I wasn’t in any hurry as I walked. The first bus wasn’t until 6:15 in the morning. I was still in the development when a car pulled alongside me on the road. There weren’t any sidewalks. I braced myself for the cops, but it was a familiar blue Ford Escape.

  “What?” I snapped when Ethan rolled the window down.

  “Where the fuck are you going?”

  “Philadelphia.”

  “It’s a really long walk.”

  “No shit.” Why was he here? He’d dumped me, right? Not like we hadn’t been heading for it all along. I’d just pretended. Like he’d been pretending my past didn’t make a difference.

  “I’ll give you a ride.”

  I got in. I’d like to say it was because it was 30 degrees out and he owed me, but it was because I was pathetic and spending another half an hour with him, even pissed off at me, was better than nothing.

  No Pandora this time. Silence. Long, uncomfortable silence broken only by his phone telling us how to get to the Greyhound station. Once or twice I heard that familiar click in his throat, a warning for a torrent of Ethan-talk, but nothing.

  Around 1:00 a.m. he pulled into the lot. There were lights inside, but not a lot of activity. He turned off the car.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I choked out and opened the door.

  “I’ll wait in case they’re closed.”

  The air reeked of diesel and pavement, despite the cold. I looked up as he fell into step next to me. I almost asked why he wasn’t waiting in the car, but despite the lights, I was creeped-out by the almost-empty station. According to the guy behind bulletproof glass, I could stay in the station if I had a ticket but the next bus didn’t leave for four hours. Me and two other miserable looking people, plus a janitor running one of those big floor buffers that always made me think of a runaway wig.

  Ethan had stood a few steps away as I went up to the window. “Are you going to your uncle’s?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” What was there lef
t to say now? “Thanks again for the ride.”

  I found a seat with my back to the wall in a not too disgusting area of the station. Ethan took the molded blue chair next to me.

  “Why are you still here?”

  “Because it’s creepy. Mom doesn’t leave for work until seven thirty. I’ll have the car back by then. I left her a note.” His lips twisted, just a little. “On the scones.”

  “Oh.”

  We sat there. I kept sneaking looks at him, because I had to. Brain snapshots. The line of freckles under an eye. The close cut darker sides of his hair that I liked to rub with my fingers while we were making out. The lighter, longer, wavy hair in the middle, so soft if he didn’t style it. His hard jaw. His mouth. He looked at me, and I took out my phone to have something else to look at.

  Ethan wasn’t a patient person. But he still sat there next to me, ready to sit there for hours to keep me company, even though he’d told me he was done with me.

  I thumbed open my pictures. Ethan sent me pictures all the time, but I didn’t keep many of them. The latest, which he’d sent me during dinner sometime, was a selfie he’d taken of us at the ocean. God, look at me. I had been having fun. I didn’t know I ever smiled like that.

  What if I could have that, for real, and I blew it because I was too afraid to ask for it? That would be stupid on a level I’d mock anyone else for.

  But I didn’t trust my voice. What if I sounded too desperate?

  I texted, So are we broken up or what?

  I tapped send and held my breath.

  Maybe he didn’t have his phone on. Or it was in his jacket and he wouldn’t feel it vibrate. And I’d have to say it out loud.

  But the Oh-oh-oh opening of some dance mix that was his text alert went off, making the guy working the runaway wig machine look up.

  Ethan pulled out his phone. I studied him as he looked at the text. A little pink at the top of his ears, his eyes widening then narrowing.

  He tapped.

  My phone buzzed in my hand.

  Don’t know. Do you want to be?

  I didn’t. But I didn’t want to make stupid promises either. I sent, No, but I can’t change who I am.