Date Me

Me: Yes. “Have you always been so cute? Or did it take practice?”

Braxton: That’s kind of lame.

Me: Not as lame as Riley’s was. His was “I grind so fine, I’m practically coffee.”

Braxton: That one is AWESOME!! I’m totally using that.

Me: NO! You want to make it all about the girl. Riley’s made him sound like an arrogant jerk. Dallas’ made me laugh. I think that’s the key to a successful pickup line. When you make a girl laugh, you break the ice, and lower her guard. You seem like you would be fun to hang out with. Are there some cute girls in your classes?

Braxton: There’s one that’s really pretty. She’s almost as tall as me. Long dark hair. Big brown eyes with the longest eyelashes ever. I heard she’s going to Eastbrooke’s Prospective Student Weekend.

Me: You should ask her on a date. Take her to a movie. Buy her popcorn. Hold her hand. Kiss her goodnight.

Braxton: I’ll think about it.

Thursday, October 13th

Revoked.

Lunch

Tyrese decides to grace our table with his presence today.

I start to get up when he sits down. “I’m not sitting next to him,” I tell Dawson when he grabs my arm.

“Stay. I’ll tell him to leave.” He turns to Tyrese. “What you did to Keatyn’s friend was not cool.”

Tyrese holds up his hands. “She was all over me, bro. What else was I going to do? I was drunk.”

“Why don’t you go sit somewhere else. You haven’t sat here most of the year anyway.”

Tyrese looks at him, like he can’t believe Dawson chose me over his friend. “If that’s the way you want it,” he says, picking up his tray and walking away.

Minion #2 says directly to Whitney, “What the hell is going on here?”

Minion #3 agrees. “That’s what I’d like to know. Yesterday, you and Peyton take Keatyn with you to the spa instead of us.”

“You’re not on Social Committee,” Whitney says.

“And now, today, the tramp is in charge of our seating arrangements?”

My eyes widen in shock. “Are you calling me a tramp?”

Minion #2 puffs her chest out. “Yes, I am.”

“Then you should go with sit with Tyrese,” I tell her flatly. I’m not going to get all pissed off. It’s what she wants.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been sitting at this table for the past . . .”

Peyton interrupts and shakes a finger at them. “You’ve been sitting at this table for the past two years because Whitney and I allowed you to. That status has been revoked. Effective immediately. Why don’t you take your jealous little selves and go sit with Rachel.”

They both stare at Peyton in confusion. Like she spoke to them in a different language.

“Both of you, go,” Peyton says. Then she looks at Minion #1.

Minion #1 doesn’t even give her the chance to speak. “I don’t think Keatyn is a tramp. I think she’s very nice.”

Her two friends stomp their way over to sit with Rachel at the end of a table full of awkward sophomore boys.

Jake laughs. “They’re dropping like flies. Pretty soon it’ll be just me and you, Monroe.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Whitney says with an air of superiority.

“I’m just teasing, baby,” he replies.

All hot and sweaty.

6:50pm

After di

“You know, you could come sit inside with me. I’m only up on stage when my scenes are up. The whole rest of the time I’m just sitting around doing homework.”

“A bunch of guys are having a pickup basketball game tonight. You could skip and come watch. I’ll be all hot and sweaty.” He leans down and kisses up my neck. “Or you could just come to my room and get me all hot and sweaty yourself.”

“Hmmm, I’m pretty sure I got you all hot and sweaty before di

He runs his fingers through my hair and kisses my cheek. “You own me. You know that, right? Totally and completely own me.”

“You’re my sex slave,” I tease.

“I could skip the game. We could lie around naked in my room for the next three hours.”

“We couldn’t lie in your room for three hours naked and you know it. We’d get caught.”

“Hmm, maybe. So this weekend, when we visit your parents. Are we going to have some time alone?”

“After we put them to bed, I’m sure I’ll be sneaking you into my room. Then you can have me naked all night long.”

My phone beeps. “Shit, Dawson, it’s after seven. I’m supposed to be in there!”

I start to pull away from him, but he pulls me back in for one more long, steamy kiss.

“I love you,” he tells me, then holds the door to the auditorium open for me.

I run into the auditorium, set my bag down, and am immediately called onto the stage.

I do a scene where all the bachelorettes are getting ready for the contest together. In this scene, the audience sees the true personality of each contestant. The contestants are pretty clichéd. The sweet girl (me), the slutty girl, the stuck up debutante, and the girl from the wrong side of the tracks. I nail my lines, not having to refer to my script once.

Then I walk off the stage and look for Aiden so we can do our French homework.

He’s in his usual spot in the back.

When I sit down next to him he says, “So, I’m doing a survey for health class. I’m going to need you to answer a few questions for me.”

“About what?”

He leans close to me. Does that thing where he lets his lips just barely touch my ear and says in French, “Sexe.”

I pull away and roll my eyes at him. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

He rubs his hand across his seemingly perpetual stubble. “Of course, all your answers will be kept in confidence.”

“Do you ever shave anymore?”

He leans back toward me and rubs his stubble up the side of my face. It’s a total Cush move. One that makes me smile remembering how I told him I had Cushburn. Aiden misinterprets my smile as confirmation that I like what he just did.

“Girls say they love stubble. For specific reasons,” he says with all sorts of swagger and confidence in his voice, leaving me no doubt that’s exactly what girls have been telling him. And probably why he hasn’t shaved.

I pull my hair behind my ear, fully exposing my cheek. “Is my cheek red?”

He studies it for a second, then replies, “No.”

“That’s because you have a baby face with soft stubble. It does make you look older, though.” And hotter too, if that’s even possible, but I don’t tell him that. “Girls like rough stubble.” I give him a smirk and then add, “For those specific reasons.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Kind of like my mom does when she’s about ready to lose it and is trying not to.

“So, let’s start with the questions. How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

“Wow. That’s kind of personal.”

“The questions are about sex. They’re all personal.”

“I was sixteen. How old were you?”

“I’m not answering the survey.”

“Neither am I, if you don’t answer my question.”

He sighs again. “I was fifteen, if you must know. Next question. How long had you been dating the guy you lost your virginity to?”

“Uh.” I think back. I dated Cush for, what was it, a day? I can’t answer that question. I’d sound like a slut. “No comment.”

He tilts his head at me. “That’s not an answer.”

I grab his little notebook, write No Comment on it, and hand it back to him. “It is now.”

“How long?” he asks again sternly.

“I didn’t expect to do it with him, okay? It just kind of happened.”

“Kind of happened?”

“Yes. It was spontaneous.”

“So it was just a hookup?’

I scowl at him. “No, it wasn’t just a hookup.”

“You’re used to getting what you want when you want it.”

“No! I don’t get what I want.” I put on my pout face. Just so he knows that I’m serious about it.