Let It Snow

Chapter Fourteen

Christina? Not an option. She got dropped off this morning by her boyfriend, per usual. Joyce, the barista whose shift just started, was also without car. Joyce walked to work no matter what the weather was like and wore one of those personal pedometers to measure how many steps she took.

Hmm, hmm, hmm. Not Dorrie and not Tegan, because (a) their street was still being plowed (hopefully), and (b) no way was I going to tell them why I needed said car.

Not Bre

Which left only one person. One evil, charming, too-handsome-for-his-own-good person. I kicked a whump of snow, because he was the last person in the world I ever wanted to call, ever ever ever.

Well, guess what? I told myself. You’re going to have to suck it up for the sake of Tegan. Either that, or say bye-bye to Gabriel forever.

I flipped opened my phone, scrolled through my contacts, and jabbed CALL. I clenched my toes inside my boots as I counted rings. One ringie-dingie, two ringie-dingies, three ringie—

“Yo, mama!” Charlie said when he picked up. “S’up?”

“It’s Addie,” I said. “I need a ride, and I’m only asking because I have absolutely no other choice. I’m outside Pet World. Come pick me up.”

“Someone’s bossy this morning,” Charlie said. I could practically hear him waggle his eyebrows. “I like it.”

“Whatever. Just come get me, will you?”

He lowered his voice. “What’ll you give me in return?”

“A free chai,” I said flatly.

“Venti?”

I tightened my jaw, because the way he said it, even “venti” sounded lewd.

“Fine, a venti chai. Have you left yet?”

He chuckled. “Hold on, babe. I’m still in my skivvies. My venti skivvies, and not because I’m fat, but because I’m”—ridiculous, loaded pause—“venti.”

“Just get over here,” I said. I started to hang up, then thought of one last thing. “Oh—and bring a phone book.”

I hung up, did a shake-it-off shudder, and despised myself all over again for fooling around with such a skeeze. Yes, he was hot—in theory—and once upon a time, I suppose, I’d even found him fu

But he wasn’t Jeb.

Dorrie had summed up the difference between them one night at a party. Not the party, but just a normal, pre-breakup party. Dorrie and I were slouching on a sofa, rating a bunch of guys according to their strengths and weaknesses. When we got to Charlie, Dorrie let out a sigh.

“The problem with Charlie,” she said, “is that he’s too charming, and he knows it. He knows he can have any girl in the grade—”

“Not me,” I interjected, balancing my drink on my knee.

“—so he sails through life like a typical trust-fund baby.”

“Charlie has a trust fund? I didn’t know that.”

“But what that means, sadly, is that he has no depth. He’s never had to work for anything in his life.”

“I wish I didn’t have to work for anything,” I said wistfully. “I wish I had a trust fund.”

“No, you don’t,” Dorrie said. “Are you even listening?” She took my drink, and I made a sound of protest.

“Take Jeb, for instance,” Dorrie said. “Jeb is going to grow up to be the kind of man who spends his Saturdays teaching his little boy to ride a bike.”

“Or little girl,” I said. “Or twins! Maybe we’ll have twins!”

“Charlie, on the other hand, will be off playing golf while his kid kills people on his Xbox. Charlie will be dashing and debonair, and he’ll buy his kid all kinds of crap, but he’ll never actually be there.”

“That is so sad,” I said. I reclaimed my drink and took a long sip. “Does that mean his kid will never learn to ride a bike?”

“Not unless Jeb goes over and teaches him,” Dorrie said.

We sat. For several minutes, we watched the guys play pool. Charlie’s ball hit its mark, and Charlie pulled his fist in by his side.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” he crowed. “Ice, baby!”

Jeb looked across the room at me, and his lips twitched. I felt warm and happy, because the message in his eyes was, You’re mine and I’m yours. And thank you for not using expressions like “Ice, baby.”

A twitch of the lips and a loving look . . . what I wouldn’t give to have that back. Instead, I threw it all away for the guy who was rumbling into the parking lot this very second in his ridiculous gray Hummer.

He pulled up short, spraying me with snow.

“Hey,” he said, powering down the window. He jerked his chin at my hair and gri

“Stop smiling at me,” I warned him. “Don’t even look at me.” I trudged to the passenger side and heaved myself in, straining my quads. I felt like I was climbing into a tank, which, basically, I was.

“Did you bring the phone book?”

He flicked it with his finger, and I saw that it was resting on the seat beside me. I found the residential section and flipped to the Bs. Baker, Barnsfeld, Belmont . . .

“I’m glad you called,” Charlie said. “I’ve missed you.”

“Shut up,” I said. “And no, you haven’t.”

“You’re being awfully mean toward someone who’s giving you a ride,” he said. I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, Adds. Ever since you broke up with Jeb—and I’m sorry about that, by the way—I’ve been hoping we could, you know, give it a go.”

“That’s not going to happen, and seriously, shut up.”

“Why?”

I ignored him. Bichener, Biggers, Bilson . . .

“Addie,” Charlie said. “I dropped everything to come pick you up. Think you could at least talk to me?”

“I’m sorry, but no.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re an asshat.”

He guffawed. “Since when have you been hanging out with JP Kim?” He shut the phone book, and I just barely managed to keep my finger in it to mark my place.

“Hey!” I said.

“Seriously, why don’t you want to go out with me?” he asked.

I lifted my head and glared. Surely he knew how much I regretted our kiss, and how much I hated just being here in this ridiculous Hummer with him. But as I took in his expression, I faltered. Was that . . . ? Oh good grief. Was that plaintiveness in those green eyes?

“I like you, Addie, and you know why? ’Cause you’re zesty.” He said “zesty” with the same intentional cheesiness as when he’d said “venti.”

“Don’t call me zesty,” I said. “I am not zesty.”

“You’re zesty, all right. And you’re a good kisser.”

“That was a mistake. That was me being drunk and stupid.” My throat closed, and I had to gaze out the window until I pulled myself together. I turned back and attempted to divert the conversation. “Anyway, what happened to Bre

“Bre

“You’re still into her, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “She seems to be . . . involved with someone else, as I’m sure you know. At least, that’s what she tells me. I, myself, can’t see it.” He swiveled his head. “If you had the choice, would you pick Jeb over me?”

“In a heartbeat,” I said.

“Ouch,” he said. He gazed at me, and beneath his posturing, I saw that plaintiveness again. “Once, Bre

“Um, yeah,” I said glumly. “I was there. I was an even bigger cad.”

“Which is why we’d be great together. We might as well make lemonade, right?”

“Huh?”

“Out of our lemons,” he explained. “Which is us. We’re the lemons.”

“Yeah, I got the reference. I just . . . ” I didn’t finish my sentence. If I had, it would have gone something like, “I just didn’t know you saw yourself that way. As a lemon.”

He snapped out of it. “So what do you say, Pink? Trixie’s having a rocking New Year’s Eve party. Want to go?”