Read Online How to Meet Boys by Catherine Clark - Free Book Online
Authors: Catherine Clark
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that,” Henry said. “And it’s the BBC, not the Club.”
“Whatever,” Sarah said. “You want to pretend you’re working in London, go right ahead. But I don’t think you’d see this many North Shore T-shirts there.”
Everyone started in with examples of how Bridgeport was nothing like London, and I decided to go get something to drink, grabbing Sarah’s order as well. I had just joined the line when Bike Crash Guy came up to stand behind me. “You might have taken my job, but I almost ran you over, so we’re probably even,” he said.
“You remember that?” I asked.
“Why would I not remember that?” he said. “It only happened a few days ago.”
“Monday,” I said. Not that I’d been keeping track or anything.
“Monday, right,” he said. “Doesn’t seem like that long since I saw you. Of course, you had a bike helmet on, and your forehead was bleeding—”
“It was not that bad,” I said, laughing. “Well, except for the gash on my leg.” I showed him the wound that still remained, a jagged scab about four inches long. Wait a second. Did I just tell him to look at my leg? He was definitely checking it out, which was really awkward. “Hey, I didn’t—did I really take your job?” I asked, trying to change the focus.
“No, I was just joking. I don’t mind.” He shrugged, then looked at me more carefully. “I can tell you don’t believe me. I’m being serious!”
“Okay, I believe you. I guess.” I ordered a cold press from the barista, and took a deep breath before I turned back around to face him. This was going kind of okay so far. I didn’t know whether to be stunned, or impressed with myself.
He ordered an Arnie Palmer (half lemonade, half iced tea), and while we waited for the drinks, he pointed at a tray of cookies in the bakery case behind me. “This place has the best snickerdoodles.” He reached around me to open the door, and we did an awkward sort of dance, where I shuffled to one side to make room, only he moved in the same direction. Then we shuffled back the other direction. Being so close to him felt embarrassing and exciting at the same time. Finally he gently grabbed my arm and said, “Stay right there.” Sort of leaning against me, he reached into the self-serve bakery case and carefully plucked out the largest snickerdoodle cookie with the tongs.
I’d never known a cookie could be so sexy.
After he paid for it, he broke it in half and handed a half to me. “You have to have some. It’s the law.”
“Snickerdoodle law? I haven’t heard of that,” I said. I took a small bite. The cookie almost melted in my mouth. “Delicious. Wow. I love cinnamon.” I laughed. “That’s funny. See, I have a cat named Cinnamon,” I said. “What about you? Any pets?”
“We have a couple of goldens,” he said. “Golden retrievers, I mean. Best dogs in the world. In fact, I wish I could bring them up here for the summer.”
“A dog summer vacation?” I asked. “That would be cool. They’d love it here, right? All this space to run around. They could swim in the lake . . . send postcards home to all their dog park friends . . ”
He laughed. “You have a dog too?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yep. And it’s my job to take him to the off-leash park. And on walks to the park. And pretty much everything. I actually really miss him, though.”
He looked at me. He smiled. “Yeah? Is there anyone else you miss?”
“Oh, no, well. My family, I guess,” I said. What was he asking? Was he trying to find out if I had a boyfriend or something like that? “And, of course, Cinnamon.”
“Right.” He smiled.
I think I was talking too much, which was so weird, because I’d never had that problem before with a boy. Never ever.
As we turned to walk back to the table with our drinks, we brushed against each other and I felt the same nervous energy I’d felt the first time we made contact, by the cookie case.
Don’t get carried away. It’s probably
“Whatever,” Sarah said. “You want to pretend you’re working in London, go right ahead. But I don’t think you’d see this many North Shore T-shirts there.”
Everyone started in with examples of how Bridgeport was nothing like London, and I decided to go get something to drink, grabbing Sarah’s order as well. I had just joined the line when Bike Crash Guy came up to stand behind me. “You might have taken my job, but I almost ran you over, so we’re probably even,” he said.
“You remember that?” I asked.
“Why would I not remember that?” he said. “It only happened a few days ago.”
“Monday,” I said. Not that I’d been keeping track or anything.
“Monday, right,” he said. “Doesn’t seem like that long since I saw you. Of course, you had a bike helmet on, and your forehead was bleeding—”
“It was not that bad,” I said, laughing. “Well, except for the gash on my leg.” I showed him the wound that still remained, a jagged scab about four inches long. Wait a second. Did I just tell him to look at my leg? He was definitely checking it out, which was really awkward. “Hey, I didn’t—did I really take your job?” I asked, trying to change the focus.
“No, I was just joking. I don’t mind.” He shrugged, then looked at me more carefully. “I can tell you don’t believe me. I’m being serious!”
“Okay, I believe you. I guess.” I ordered a cold press from the barista, and took a deep breath before I turned back around to face him. This was going kind of okay so far. I didn’t know whether to be stunned, or impressed with myself.
He ordered an Arnie Palmer (half lemonade, half iced tea), and while we waited for the drinks, he pointed at a tray of cookies in the bakery case behind me. “This place has the best snickerdoodles.” He reached around me to open the door, and we did an awkward sort of dance, where I shuffled to one side to make room, only he moved in the same direction. Then we shuffled back the other direction. Being so close to him felt embarrassing and exciting at the same time. Finally he gently grabbed my arm and said, “Stay right there.” Sort of leaning against me, he reached into the self-serve bakery case and carefully plucked out the largest snickerdoodle cookie with the tongs.
I’d never known a cookie could be so sexy.
After he paid for it, he broke it in half and handed a half to me. “You have to have some. It’s the law.”
“Snickerdoodle law? I haven’t heard of that,” I said. I took a small bite. The cookie almost melted in my mouth. “Delicious. Wow. I love cinnamon.” I laughed. “That’s funny. See, I have a cat named Cinnamon,” I said. “What about you? Any pets?”
“We have a couple of goldens,” he said. “Golden retrievers, I mean. Best dogs in the world. In fact, I wish I could bring them up here for the summer.”
“A dog summer vacation?” I asked. “That would be cool. They’d love it here, right? All this space to run around. They could swim in the lake . . . send postcards home to all their dog park friends . . ”
He laughed. “You have a dog too?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yep. And it’s my job to take him to the off-leash park. And on walks to the park. And pretty much everything. I actually really miss him, though.”
He looked at me. He smiled. “Yeah? Is there anyone else you miss?”
“Oh, no, well. My family, I guess,” I said. What was he asking? Was he trying to find out if I had a boyfriend or something like that? “And, of course, Cinnamon.”
“Right.” He smiled.
I think I was talking too much, which was so weird, because I’d never had that problem before with a boy. Never ever.
As we turned to walk back to the table with our drinks, we brushed against each other and I felt the same nervous energy I’d felt the first time we made contact, by the cookie case.
Don’t get carried away. It’s probably
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