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Authors: Brooke Moss
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with deep-fried Pacific seafood, oblivious to our behavior. He calmly tore open a ketchup packet and positioned it precariously above my feet. “Want to call a truce, Vi?”
“Watch it.” I pointed a warning finger at him. “These are my favorite boots.”
He leaned in close to me. Really close. Our faces were just an inch or two apart, and the smirk on Gabe’s face made the air between us feel thick. “Oh, yeah?” he taunted. “And what are you gonna do about it?”
I focused on the middle of Gabe’s lower lip, and a flash of unexpected courage rippled through me. “Try me.”
But before Gabe could respond, I grabbed a handful of grease-soaked fries and tossed them on his lap. They scattered around his feet, and he was immediately inundated with hungry seagulls. Several of the other customers took notice as the birds flocked underneath the patio roof, their cries filling the air.
“Oh, shit,” I whispered, looking at Gabe, who was frozen with another lemon wedge in his hand.
“We should go,” he said, suppressing a laugh. “Grab your food.”
A frustrated cry came from the manager, who was now shooing the gulls away from angry customers while Gabe and I stampeded away.
We didn’t stop running until we were a few blocks down the pier. Tears mixed with lemon juice ran down my face, and we sat down on a cement bus bench.
“My mom would be so ashamed.” Gabe laughed. “She would threaten never to take us again.”
“Nora always said we didn’t deserve to go back to that place. I think she was right.” I wiped my cheeks with a napkin, then handed it to him.
He took it and began swiping at the streaks of ketchup on his jeans. “Thanks.”
I ate some fries, looking over my shoulder a few times to make sure the manager of the shack hadn’t chased us down the pier. There was something about behaving like an adolescent that made me forget everything. I looked over at Gabe’s chiseled profile, and was reminded how drunk I felt whenever I was with him.
Without thinking about it, I sighed contentedly and rested my head on Gabe’s shoulder. “I miss this.”
He gazed down at me. “Miss what?”
Looking up into his light eyes, I shrugged. “Us.”
Gabe rested his chin on the top of my head, and I could hear his heart pumping. Or maybe it was mine, I’m not sure.
“Me, too,” he whispered.
Though I knew we both had significant others waiting for us back at home, I couldn’t help but think that there was nowhere else in the world I wanted to be. Sitting there, with my head on his shoulder, his mouth breathing warm air over my hair, was as close to heaven as I could get.
But I would be lying if I didn’t admit that Gabe’s wedding date and my jambalaya dinner with Landon were hanging over my head like a cloud full of Seattle rain.
Chapter Eight
September 27, 2003
I saw him in the hall today, and I nearly passed out. I had no idea he was so volatile. I just thought he was mean. I’ll never understand why Gabe is friends with such a Neanderthal. I only wanted to get back at him for the years of the “Muffin Top Murphy” taunts. I wanted to humiliate him. I never expected that he would do what he did…
There was something really wrong with this scenario.
It was Valentine’s Day, and instead of spending it with my gorgeous new boyfriend, I was getting ready for a brunch with Bulimia Betty and her troop of bridesmaids.
I let Kim give me a mud facial—her specialty—then spent twice as long fixing my hair than usual. Since I was now part of the lineup for my ultra-preppy best friend’s wedding, I’d very begrudgingly decided to remove all of my multi-colored extensions. I allowed Kim to cut my hair into a more respectable shoulder-length bob under the close supervision of Lizzy, who was the master of changing one’s look. Now I was sporting a medium-blond color that was almost the exact shade of my natural hair.
“You look gorgeous,” Betsy said as I emerged from the
“Watch it.” I pointed a warning finger at him. “These are my favorite boots.”
He leaned in close to me. Really close. Our faces were just an inch or two apart, and the smirk on Gabe’s face made the air between us feel thick. “Oh, yeah?” he taunted. “And what are you gonna do about it?”
I focused on the middle of Gabe’s lower lip, and a flash of unexpected courage rippled through me. “Try me.”
But before Gabe could respond, I grabbed a handful of grease-soaked fries and tossed them on his lap. They scattered around his feet, and he was immediately inundated with hungry seagulls. Several of the other customers took notice as the birds flocked underneath the patio roof, their cries filling the air.
“Oh, shit,” I whispered, looking at Gabe, who was frozen with another lemon wedge in his hand.
“We should go,” he said, suppressing a laugh. “Grab your food.”
A frustrated cry came from the manager, who was now shooing the gulls away from angry customers while Gabe and I stampeded away.
We didn’t stop running until we were a few blocks down the pier. Tears mixed with lemon juice ran down my face, and we sat down on a cement bus bench.
“My mom would be so ashamed.” Gabe laughed. “She would threaten never to take us again.”
“Nora always said we didn’t deserve to go back to that place. I think she was right.” I wiped my cheeks with a napkin, then handed it to him.
He took it and began swiping at the streaks of ketchup on his jeans. “Thanks.”
I ate some fries, looking over my shoulder a few times to make sure the manager of the shack hadn’t chased us down the pier. There was something about behaving like an adolescent that made me forget everything. I looked over at Gabe’s chiseled profile, and was reminded how drunk I felt whenever I was with him.
Without thinking about it, I sighed contentedly and rested my head on Gabe’s shoulder. “I miss this.”
He gazed down at me. “Miss what?”
Looking up into his light eyes, I shrugged. “Us.”
Gabe rested his chin on the top of my head, and I could hear his heart pumping. Or maybe it was mine, I’m not sure.
“Me, too,” he whispered.
Though I knew we both had significant others waiting for us back at home, I couldn’t help but think that there was nowhere else in the world I wanted to be. Sitting there, with my head on his shoulder, his mouth breathing warm air over my hair, was as close to heaven as I could get.
But I would be lying if I didn’t admit that Gabe’s wedding date and my jambalaya dinner with Landon were hanging over my head like a cloud full of Seattle rain.
Chapter Eight
September 27, 2003
I saw him in the hall today, and I nearly passed out. I had no idea he was so volatile. I just thought he was mean. I’ll never understand why Gabe is friends with such a Neanderthal. I only wanted to get back at him for the years of the “Muffin Top Murphy” taunts. I wanted to humiliate him. I never expected that he would do what he did…
There was something really wrong with this scenario.
It was Valentine’s Day, and instead of spending it with my gorgeous new boyfriend, I was getting ready for a brunch with Bulimia Betty and her troop of bridesmaids.
I let Kim give me a mud facial—her specialty—then spent twice as long fixing my hair than usual. Since I was now part of the lineup for my ultra-preppy best friend’s wedding, I’d very begrudgingly decided to remove all of my multi-colored extensions. I allowed Kim to cut my hair into a more respectable shoulder-length bob under the close supervision of Lizzy, who was the master of changing one’s look. Now I was sporting a medium-blond color that was almost the exact shade of my natural hair.
“You look gorgeous,” Betsy said as I emerged from the
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