Sugar, We're Going Down Swinging

Chapter Seven

I did go out with Garrett anyways. Though Astley stood on the porch, waving as we pulled out of the driveway—apparently our mini emo-palooza cleared his conscious enough to let me go without argument. So now here I was, sitting in Garrett Dawson’s sleek black convertible (with the top rolled up, obviously), the heat cranked, and Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car” a low hum in the background. As Garrett maneuvered us down the highway, his hand found its way to my knee, and he squeezed gently.

            I met his eyes in the headlight-lit interior of the car, and we shared a smile. I found that I enjoyed Garrett’s smile—his white teeth lit up in the dim light, and his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. He had only one dimple, on his right cheek. His lips looked so soft and inviting that I was tempted to lean in and kiss him right then and there—while another part of me knew that that was a stupid, stupid idea and was to be avoided at all costs. The better part of me won, so I had to content myself with dreaming about kissing those smiling lips.

            But then stupid Astley’s stupid smile flashed into my mind’s eye, and all thoughts of Garrett were lost. Astley’s smile was rare—extremely rare. I wasn’t sure if he ever smiled at anyone but me, actually. But that was what made it special—because it was my smile. Not Estella’s, not anyone’s. Mine. My smile, with the crooked line, because only one side of his mouth quirked up to reveal only half of his straight, white teeth. The smile that was more in his eyes than in his mouth—the secret smile that I aimed to put on his face every second I was with him.

            “So, you still haven’t told me where we’re going,” I hinted teasingly, straining against any thoughts of Astley, resting my hand on top of his briefly. Before I could lift my hand, he flipped his over and grabbed mine, lacing his fingers through mine. I made no move to pull away—I liked the feel of him holding my hand.  His hand was soft, warm, and reassuring against mine. “We’re going several places, actually,” he corrected, grinning at me. “But where?” I pressed, pursing my lips at him.

“You look so kissable right now,” he said suddenly, and my expression faltered before breaking into a smile. “Too bad I’d be a horrible date if I let you drive distracted.” I replied smoothly, glad the darkness of the car hid my constant flush. “Well then I guess I’ll just have to wait until we get were we’re going then, won’t I?” I smirked, absently tracing his palm with my thumb, “If I let you kiss me,” I retorted haughtily. He looked at me with raised eyebrows, “As if you could resist moi,” he said in an awful French accent that made me laugh until my sides hurt—that was when I knew he had me.

He’d insisted on sitting on the same side of the booth with me, at the little café he swore had the best seafood in all of downtown Charleston. I didn’t argue—just let him pull me closer, his arm around my shoulders, his ankle hooked around mine as we waited for our food. I reached for the hand that wasn’t wrapped around me, but he lifted it and brushed a runaway piece of hair off my cheek, and my eyes followed his hand until it dropped to rest on my upper thigh. Smiling gently, I shifted my gaze to him, only to find Garrett’s lips much closer than they’d been a second ago. And then he was beginning to close the fractional distance between us, and I was tilting my chin up, and our lips were so close I could taste him and… two plates were plopped down in front of us, and the waitress stalked off with what I could’ve sworn was a triumphant smile.

            “You know, it took a lot of courage to ask you out,” he said, smirking at me as he stole one of the hush puppies off my plate. I raised my eyebrows, full of skeptical questions. “Why?” I asked, “You’re the most popular guy in school… And I’m… me.” I explained oh-so gracefully. “Well, there’s Astley, for one thing.” Garret ticked off on his fingers, but I cut him off before he could get farther.