Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK (20 page)

Dad hesitated on his way to our sedan on the other side of the drive. “Shouldn’t we all ride together?”

I froze, one hand on the handle of the passenger door of the Jeep. “Why?” He didn’t even trust me in a car alone with Wes for the three minutes it took to drive to Crooked Hollow Theater? What did he think would happen? Good grief, there were only two Stop signs between our house and our

destination.
Please don’t embarrass me
.

Dad opened the passenger door of the sedan for Ms. Hawthorne, and I felt a random pang of resentment that Wes hadn’t done that for me. I shot a sidelong glance at Wes, but he didn’t seem to realize my train of thought. He tossed his keys from one hand to the other as he impatiently waited for my dad’s explanation. And Dad better have one because if he thought for one minute I would get in that car with him and—

“It makes more sense to ride together.” Dad shut the door and walked around to his side. “And it would save Wes the gas money.”

“But the movie theater is across town from Got Beans. Isn’t that where you’re going?” Not that that reason carried much weight, since it literally meant a five-minute difference, but I wasn’t going down without a fight.

Dad rubbed his hand over his forehead. “That’s where
we’re
going.”

“Right. You and Ms. Hawthorne.”

Dad’s brow pinched. “And you and Wes.”

A prickle of dread started at my midsection and worked its way up to my chest, stabbing with tiny needles of fear. My mouth dried. I couldn’t breathe. Dad and I stared at each other as our conversation in the grocery store slowly replayed in my mind in painful slow motion.
“It has to be a double date…. I don’t trust him alone with you…. Fine, double date it is….”
I had automatically assumed a double date with friends, while Dad obviously meant with him and Ms. Hawthorne.

Oh man. This was worse than going down. This was dive-bombing. This was exploding from the sky in a burst of fire.

Panic gripped my throat in a relentless vise. I glanced at Wes, whose face paled as he widened his eyes at me and shook his head.

This. Was. Not. Happening.

Me and Wes? Going out with my dad and my
teacher?
And on a Friday night, no less? If anyone from school saw us, the rumor mill wouldn’t just churn. It’d self-implode.

I clenched my hands into fists. This was a war. I must fight. For my dignity. For my new relationship with Wes that was about to be destroyed before it even got started. For overprotected teenage girls everywhere.

This was my moment.

Clearing my throat, I shoved down the panic and tried for diplomacy. “Dad, I think we misunderstood each other.”

He paused, one hand braced on the open door of his car. Inside the vehicle, Ms. Hawthorne twisted in her seat, watching the back-and-forth dialogue with a confused frown. “How so?”

“When you said double date, I thought you meant with my friends. I made plans with Luke and Marta from school.” I held up my cell phone, as if it could somehow justify my story.

Dad shrugged, my cell apparently not relying the proper message. “Cancel.”

Cancel? After all the grief I went through just getting Luke to agree to go on a double date—with another girl instead of me? I’d embarrassed him enough just by asking. My heart actually hurt. I pressed a hand to my chest. Was this a heart attack? Was I going to fall out in the driveway beside Wes’s Jeep? I could hear the teaser news trailer now.
“Teenage girl dies of mortification overload. Details at eleven.”

“Dad, I can’t.”

“Then I’m afraid Wes has to go home.”

I turned to Wes, pleading with my eyes for him to agree. He shook his head, hands raised as if he wasn’t touching this with a ten-foot pole. I didn’t blame him. I rushed around to his side of the Jeep and stood in front of him, my back to my father.

“This is our only chance. Please.”

“I didn’t sign up for going out with your dad, Addison. He’s my father’s pastor.” He grimaced. “Do you know how weird that is?”

“Ms. Hawthorne is my English teacher.” I laughed, the sound void of any humor. “I could write a manual on weird.”

Wes groaned. “Are you really asking me to do this?” He ran a hand over his hair and sighed, glancing down at me and then away. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” I widened my eyes and tried to look even sadder than I had that day at Screamin’ Cones. It hadn’t worked on the clerk, but maybe Wes cared a little more. He better.

“Like I just kicked your puppy.” He tilted his head to one side. “Actually, I’d rather let a dog bite
me
than go out with your dad.”

“Very funny.” I gripped his arm, willing him to look into my eyes. “Listen, you already agreed to a double date. Let’s get this over with. Then next time can be just us.”

His eyes said he doubted it, and I sort of did, too, but my arsenal of weapons was rapidly depleting. I squeezed his arm. “Please. For me? I’ll even buy your coffee.”

He smiled then, and I knew he was budging. “With whip?”

“And sprinkles.”

Wes snorted. “You come anywhere near my coffee with sprinkles, and we’re going to fight.” His eyes smoldered as he looked down at me, and I sort of wished he’d kiss me again. Then I remembered my dad was standing about fifteen feet behind me and changed my mind.

“So, deal?”

“Deal.” Wes stepped away from me and exhaled so loud his breath clouded in the evening air.

Victory! “We’ll meet you at Got Beans,” I called across the driveway to my dad. He shook his head but got in the carwithout further comment. I slid into the Jeep, exhausted. I’d won a battle, but the biggest war was still to come.

I was determined to reschedule my double date with Luke and Marta.

S
ORRY
, D
ATE’S OFF.
W
ILL
R
ESCHEDULE
.

H
AHA.
U A
MERICANS
H
AVE
O
DD
S
ENSE OF
H
UMOR.

N
O,
4 R
EAL
. L
ONG
S
TORY
. B
UT WE R ALREADY HERE!

I
’M SO
S
ORRY.

L
UKE
B
OUGHT
P
OPCORN AND IS
T
AKING ALL THE
B
UTTERED
P
IECES.

N
O S
YMPATHY
. I
’M AT GOT
B
EANS WITH
M
Y
D
AD AND
E
NGLISH TEACHER.

O
H
. Y
EAH
.

W
ILL
P
RAY
4
U.

I smirked at Marta’s last text then turned my phone off and dropped it in my purse. She’d better pray hard because if Wes leaned any farther away from the table, he was going to fall out of his chair. I’d never been more convinced of body language telling a story more so than when I looked at Wes’s crossed arms, slumped shoulders, and legs angled toward the door. Everything about him screamed “escape,” and I could more than relate.

Dad wasn’t helping the entire awkward factor. He alternated frowning at Wes and smiling at Ms. Hawthorne, and the whole thing gave me a headache. I sipped at my mocha, but my mouth was so dry I could barely even taste it. No one had spoken in six minutes. Trust me, I’d timed it.

The soft background music Bert typically played seemed louder than usual, but that was probably because of the quiethovering like a storm cloud ready to burst. The tension was so thick I’m surprised it didn’t become a tangible object dangling over our heads. Like an anvil.

Ms. Hawthorne’s coffee cup suddenly toppled over, and a stream of liquid spilled out on the table. “Oh, goodness. David, would you get me a napkin?”

Dad rushed to the counter, and Ms. Hawthorne leaned toward me, voice low. “Addison, I know this is a little weird for you.” She nodded at Wes. “And you. But I have some advice.”

Wes’s eyes flickered in her direction, but his body didn’t move. I was going to owe him big for this one. A new tattoo? Free bike wash?

“What’s that?” It was only polite to ask, though I had little confidence she could remedy this situation. Come on, I was drinking my favorite mocha with extra sprinkles, and that wasn’t even touching my problems.

Ms. Hawthorne glanced over her shoulder at Dad, who was still fumbling to retrieve the napkins from the jammed canister at the front counter. “Just go with it tonight, and the odds of this evening ever being a repeat will significantly diminish.”

Wes frowned in confusion, and I even had to think her sentence over twice before catching her meaning. You’d have thought she was a math teacher instead of English. “So you think if we play along, he’ll let us go out alone next time?”

“Or at least go out with your friends.” She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “It’s worth a try. Fuming and pouting isn’t working, though I do understand the motivation behind it.”

She was right. Wes and I sitting here silently wouldn’t hurry the night along or win any brownie points with my dad. I nudged Wes’s leg with my foot, and he slowly straightened in his chair. “What do you think?”

He lifted both hands in surrender. “I’m in—anything to avoid this version of family fun again.” He tipped his head at Ms. Hawthorne. “No offense.”

She laughed. “None taken. I wouldn’t have wanted to go out with my dad and teacher when I was a teenager either. Of course, he was married, so that would have been even more awkward.” She grinned at me.

“Thanks.” I flashed her a quick smile, grateful I had at least one ally during this mixed-up night. I leaned forward, lowering my voice to a whisper as Dad approached with a handful of napkins. “Did you spill your coffee on purpose?” I was torn between admiring her ambition and wanting to scold her for wasting even a drop of mocha heaven.

She only winked as Dad slid back into the chair beside her.

I shook my head, thinking I had severely underestimated my English teacher. I should have known she was different if only by her footwear. Any teacher who valued fashion over comfort in the classroom had to be at least a little cool.

“What’d I miss?” Dad looked at each of us with expectation.

I took a long sip of mocha. No one jumped in, so it was up to me. “Wes here was just getting ready to tell Ms. Hawthorne about his favorite novel.” Hey, I already owed him, so why not enjoy the show?

I expected him to cough, perhaps even spew coffee, but he just let loose a lazy smile. “That’s right.
To Kill a Mockingbird.”

It was my turn to cough. What? Surely he was just joking or trying to show off by pulling a familiar title out of thin air. Time for a trap. I smiled sweetly. “I haven’t read that one in years. Why don’t you refresh my memory of the plotline?”

Wes shrugged and then went into an animated, lengthy description of Scout and Jem, Atticus Finch, and Boo Radley. My mouth opened wider and wider until I finally clenched it shut. Wes read classics—and enjoyed them. What other secrets lurked behind that stupid leather jacket? (Okay, not stupid, because man, it smelled really good, but you know what I mean.)

When he finished his summary, Wes found my hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. I met his gaze for a moment, Ms. Hawthorne’s questions a mere drone in the back of my mind as Got Beans faded into a blur. I forgot about how embarrassing it was to be out with my English teacher on a Friday night, forgot about Luke and Marta sitting awkwardly in a movie theater without me, forgot about Dad’s long list of rules. Nothing existed but Wes and his dark-brown gaze, the likes of which held a subtle spark that made my stomach flip-flop.

He’d never seemed more dangerous to me than he did in that moment.

I
still can’t believe you convinced your father to let you come.”

Marta tested the weight of a hot-pink bowling ball then put it back on the shelf. “Especially after all the overprotective horror stories I’ve heard. I thought my host mom was bad.” Marta let loose an exaggerated shudder.

“Wes made a decent impression at Got Bea ns last night, so maybe Ms. Hawthorne was right in her theory.” I picked up a silver ball. Too heavy. I’d throw my shoulder out. “Or maybe Dad was just eager to have an evening with Ms. Hawthorne alone, too, and figured this was the lesser of two evils.”

“Or a combination of both.”

“You’re probably right.” Last night couldn’t have ended soon enough, even though the entire evening only lasted two hours. We’d all made small talk and downed our coffee then sat around trying to pretend we all wanted to be there while stealing glances at the clock. Thankfully Wes had come around and put in some effort, even drawing Ms. Hawthorne into more conversation about another classic. Who’d have thought Wes read novels? Then again, I’d never have pegged him for a pianist either, and he obviously had great talent there. Not for the first time, I wondered why he felt he had to hide behind the bad-boy vibe when he had so much going for him.