I Want It That Way - Aguirre Ann (книги читать бесплатно без регистрации полные txt) 📗

“I refuse. I’ll invent a time machine as soon as I get home.”

“I highly suspect that will take longer than twenty-four hours.”

“Always, the ladies underestimate me,” he said mournfully.

If only you knew how colossally untrue that is.

But I kept it light. “The true burden of greatness is being so painfully misunderstood in your own time.”

“You do get me. I have Sam’s bag in the car, and I’m having dinner with my parents, so I won’t be home until later.” My expression must’ve given away my confusion, because he added, “In case you change your mind or something. Maybe I should give you my number, just in case.”

Getting out my phone, I said, “Go for it.”

There was no way I’d decide not to go tomorrow, but he didn’t know that, and even if I did, I could knock on his door and tell him. But I wanted his cell info, and I texted Test right away, so he’d have mine.

The message popped up with a ping, and Ty smiled, so pleased that I wanted to capture that expression for posterity. “So that’s you, huh?”

“Yep. Gotcha.” With a smirk, I snapped a picture of him.

“I think you just invaded my privacy.” But he didn’t ask me to see it or to delete the pic. Instead, with a measured sort of consideration, he took one of me. “And that’s payback.”

I flushed, beyond pleased that he’d reciprocated. Stop it, you can’t get all crazy over this. “We’re good to go?”

“Yeah. See you.”

Tapping on the glass made Sam glance up from his picture book. I waved to them both as Ty got in the car, and then I jogged to the Toyota. Before I left the parking lot, I created a contact for him, adding all the information I possessed, including the picture I’d just taken. The sun was behind him, adding gold lights to his auburn hair. Crinkles beside his eyes made him even more adorable, and his lips were slightly parted. This face. I could love this face. And everything about the guy that goes along with it.

In hindsight, it would’ve been much wiser to explain that I liked him too much to make a go of the friendship thing, so sorry, but there were limits to my capacity for self-denial. Hanging out with Ty, even if it was tempting, frustrating even, would likely be the best part of my weekend. I drove home, practically bouncing with excitement.

I might’ve exaggerated when I said there was a party tonight. Angus had invited us to Josh’s to catch up on Project Runway. Max wasn’t going, but Lauren and I were, along with a couple of other friends, Courtney and Darius, who wasn’t gay. He was just into fashion.

Lauren was pacing when I came in. “Do you know how many times Josh has texted me?”

“Twenty-seven?”

“Eight.” She sounded disgruntled that by overguessing I’d made the situation seem less dire. “I told him to calm his tits and start without us if necessary.”

“Just let me change out of beige and navy, then we’ll leave, I swear.”

True to my word, I took the world’s quickest shower, dressed in jeans and a hoodie, and then raced to the living room. “Let’s go.”

Josh had a fantastic apartment, nicer than ours, and closer to campus, too. He didn’t have roommates, so there was nobody to bitch at him for hogging the TV with four hours of Project Runway. We joked around, ordered pizza, mocked the designers and generally sucked the juice out of the lime called life. There was beer, but I had only one since I was driving.

“Tim Gunn is a god,” Angus said.

“Pretty sure I saw a movie where he was actually playing God,” Courtney informed us.

Josh got his iPad and searched until he found it. “Not God, but some kind of heavenly associate. I approve. Another night, you will be mine, Teen Spirit.”

Shortly thereafter, the party broke up. Lauren and I headed out together while Angus stayed at Josh’s. She looked pensive as I drove.

“Something wrong?”

“Just your standard existential life crisis.”

“Lay it on me.”

“I’m just questioning if I can actually make a difference. PoliSci seems like so much crap, and I wonder if they’re grooming me to become a slick-shit politician.”

“Do you want to change your major?” People did it all the time, but she likely wouldn’t graduate with us if she did.

“Maybe. I don’t know. That’s part of the problem.” Her tone sounded strange enough that I glanced over.

“What is?”

She sighed. “Never mind. It’s possible that I’m freaking out because they’ll expect us to get real jobs soon. This year, next, and then you’ll be gone, teaching somewhere. Who knows what I’ll be doing? Probably asking people if they want fries with that.” She forced a laugh, but I could tell she was seriously stressed.

I couldn’t let her think she was alone in questioning...everything. “This practicum is kicking my ass, dude. It’s, like, 100 percent harder than I expected, and the kids break my heart in a hundred different ways. Sometimes I can tell they want to learn something so bad, but the pathways just won’t connect. That’s when they explode or throw stuff—there’s this one girl who rocks and moans. And I want so bad to fix it, but I can’t, and that’s the reality I’ll be facing for the next thirty years. I can help but I can’t—”

“Wow,” Lauren breathed. “Sounds like you have your own existential crisis.”

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough for special needs. I want to be. Not sure if I am.”

“Helps to know I’m not the only one worried about The Future and Real Life.”

I thought about that as I pulled into our complex. “That’s part of the problem, LB, labeling this, right now, as not life. I mean, we work, we’re paying rent. We play around sometimes, but it’s real. Every moment is. And I know there will come a time when I am sad as hell to wake up in the middle of the night and not find you there.”

She stared at me for a few seconds, and then I got a ferocious scowl as she swiped at her eyes. “I could kill you for making me cry tonight, seriously.”

“Liar.” I hugged her and then got out of the car. “If you want, I’ll whip up some no-bake cookies and we can talk about how crappy our prospects are, instead of our feelings.”

“Can we watch TV instead?”

“Totally.”

I went in the kitchen and made a batch from memory. Since I’d been cooking these since I was twelve, they came out perfect. When I came back to the living room, Lauren was watching some action flick; she curled her lip at rom-coms, which you wouldn’t guess by looking. On the surface, she seemed like a girlie-girl, but past precedent suggested that she preferred first-person shooter games and movies with lots of car chases and explosions. In high school, she spent more time online, coding or playing MMOs, but these days, she was a party beast.

Ten minutes later, I got up. “I stuck them in the freezer so they’d set faster. Should be done now.”

“Then bring me my cookies, woman.” She waved an imperious hand.

Refusing to feel guilty, I plunked eight on a plate, then delivered with a flourish. Lauren inhaled deeply, then aimed a mock-accusing look upward. “You’re trying to fatten me up so you can eat me during the lean times. Aren’t you?”

“Please stop writing Hunger Games fan fiction. Seriously. I’m begging. Also, half of these are for me, and I will totally bite you if you try to nom them.”

We watched half the movie and ate all eight cookies before Lauren fell asleep. I pulled the throw over her and turned to head down the hall when my phone pinged. Picking it up, the screen said 2:37 a.m., 1 message. I tapped it. The picture of Ty popped up.

I hear you walking around. Do you KNOW what time it is?

Grinning, I sent back, Adventure time?

Don’t tempt me. I’m completely unsupervised.

Shouldn’t you be asleep? I thought you had epic plans tomorrow night.

Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep. Come outside?