Better than Perfect Page 9

  Monika downs the rest of her latte. “I won’t. If you don’t over-analyze what I’m about to tell you.”

  “What?”

  “It’s about me and Trey.”

  I sit next to Monika. I’ve been such a shitty friend, so self-absorbed that I’ve neglected asking how my best friend is doing. I guess I just think Monika has this perfect life and perfect relationship with Trey that I don’t expect her to have any issues. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just . . .” She lies back on my bed and moans. “So Trey and I . . .”

  I motion for her to continue. “You’re not breaking up, are you?” I ask when she hesitates. I’ve never revealed to her that Victor has had the biggest crush on her since freshman year. I’ve been sworn to secrecy and would never betray Vic’s trust.

  “No! Nothing like that. Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

  “You have my word.”

  She sighs heavily. “We haven’t done it.” She grabs my pillow and covers her face, completely embarrassed.

  I lift up the corner of the pillow. “What do you mean? Like sex?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wait. I thought you guys did it on Valentine’s Day.” Trey saved for months and planned this super romantic evening. He rented a hotel room and took her to dinner. I helped him plan the night, because he wanted to make sure it was perfect for her. “When I asked how it went, you said it was the best night of your life. In fact, I happen to remember you saying it was magical.”

  “I lied.”

  “Why?”

  Monika used to tell me that losing her virginity was no big deal, and if Trey wanted to do it she was all for it. I know they fool around. Most of the time they can’t keep their hands off each other.

  “We had dinner, then went to the hotel and we were fooling around. It just felt weird and forced, you know. I wasn’t into it.” She starts peeling off her nail polish. “Trey said it was fine and we’d do it when we were both ready, but I know he was disappointed.”

  It’s so weird to hear the truth from her, because the way Trey talks when she’s not around, you’d think they were doing it every chance they got. I’ve heard him say they did it three times one night. And they did it at Ravinia under blankets during a concert. And in the back of his car on several occasions; he’d said one time the condom broke. He makes it sound like they have a crazy active sex life, which secretly drives Vic nuts.

  How do I balance the relationship I have with Monika and the friendship I have with Trey and Vic? The guys aren’t just my teammates. They confide in me. Obviously Trey didn’t want to reveal the truth about his sex life. It’s such a guy thing.

  I pat Monika’s hand. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “I love him, Ashtyn. Seriously, I know this sounds stupid but I totally fantasize about marrying Trey and having kids with him one day. I swear he’s my soul mate. I want to make love with him and he’s always so slow and patient with me. I’m just . . . I don’t know. Maybe something’s wrong with me.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with you, Monika. You’re just not ready.”

  “I wish my parents didn’t hate him. They can’t even look past the fact that he lives in The Shores.”

  The Shores is the apartment complex on the south side of town. It’s not the safest place to live in Fremont, and there are definitely some gang members living there, but Trey has stayed away from all the crap. His parents might not be the richest family in town, but they’re super close and Trey’s dad is the funniest guy I’ve ever met.

  Monika seems more relaxed now that I know the truth. She pops off my bed like she’s propelled by a spring, then looks out my window. “So what’s Derek’s story?”

  “I don’t know. He’s from California, his dad’s in the Navy, he doesn’t eat junk food, and he got kicked out of some academy for letting pigs loose. That’s it.”

  “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  I shrug.

  “Does he like Bree, or does he have the hots for you like Landon suggested?”

  I laugh. “I assure you he doesn’t have the hots for me. He just likes to piss me off.”

  “That’s foreplay.”

  “You’re crazy. Listen, I know you want to be some sort of superspy or FBI investigator one day, but Derek is off-limits as a subject.”

  “Why?”

  “Just . . . because. I don’t want him interfering in my life, and I promised not to interfere in his. It’s that simple.”

  My best friend laughs. “Doesn’t sound like a good enough reason to me.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Listen, my friend. I think we need to do a reconnaissance mission and find out more about the guy living in your den.” She heads downstairs with purpose and determination.

  I hurry after her. “We’re not going to spy on him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not cool and probably illegal.”

  The door to the den is open. Monika walks inside without hesitating. “Keep a lookout and let me know if he’s coming,” she instructs.

  “For the record, I’m against spying.”

  “For the record, you’re curious about what I’m going to find.”

  I can’t argue with her there.

  My heart is racing as I peek through one of the windows in the den and watch Derek push our lawn mower through the tall grass. He’s got his shirt tucked into his back pocket and his muscled back is glistening with sweat. I duck so he can’t see me watching him if he happens to look in this direction.

  “He sure does like boots.” Monika holds up a brown leather boot. When she puts it back down, a bunch of hundred-dollar bills fall out. “Whoa. He’s loaded. Where did he get the money from?” she asks as she shoves the bills back in the boot.

  “I have no clue. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Wait. Well, well . . . lookie here!” Monika says as she lifts the top of Derek’s suitcase. “Seems like your boy wears boxer briefs, wears Calvin Klein cologne, and plays poker. Maybe he won all that money playing poker.”

  “Poker?”

  Monika reaches in his suitcase and pulls out a bunch of poker chips. “Yep. He’s obviously a gambler.”

  She abandons the suitcase while I glance back at the window. Derek is now gathering the cut grass and shoving it into bags. She peeks into some boxes, but doesn’t find anything.

  “Ooh, his wallet!”

  I rush over to Monika as she opens his brown leather wallet. “You can’t look in his wallet.”

  “Why not?”

  I grab it out of her hand. “Because that’s, like, super personal.”

  “Exactly. What better way to find out about someone? Besides his phone, a boy’s wallet is a window to his soul.”

  “Really?” I hear Derek’s voice behind us. “I’ve never heard that before.”

  Oh, crap!

  I whip around and wish I wasn’t the one holding the evidence of us snooping. Derek eyes the wallet, then me. My heart skips a beat. I feel like a kid who just got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. I quickly toss the wallet on his bed and step back, as if that will somehow erase my involvement in this scheme.

  “Hi, Derek,” I manage to croak out. “We were just . . .” I look to Monika for help.

  Monika walks over to Derek with an innocent smile on her face. “Ashtyn and I were having a disagreement, and we had to come in your room to settle it.”

  “What was the disagreement?” he asks.

  “That’s a good question,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Yes, that is a good question,” Monika agrees. Derek looks mighty amused right now as we struggle to come up with something that doesn’t sound like the truth—that we were snooping around his room to get intel on him. He doesn’t look mad or nervous that we might have found out that he plays poker and is stashing a bunch of cash in his boot.

  I might as well try to get us out of this. “We wanted to know if you . . .”

  “Carry a cond
om in your wallet!” Monika points to his wallet. “Yes. That’s it! Ashtyn bet that guys carry condoms in their wallets, and I said that’s, like, something guys did in the ’80s.”

  Condoms? Couldn’t Monika come up with something less . . . embarrassing?

  The side of his mouth quirks up. “So what’s the verdict, ladies?”

  I glance at his wallet. “We didn’t have a chance to find out, but that’s okay.”

  Derek picks the wallet up and hands it to me. “Here. Open it. You came all the way down here to find out, why stop now?”

  I clear my throat as I stare at it. Monika gestures for me to just get it over with. I clear my throat again, then unfold the thing and peek inside. There’s a bunch of bills. I check the side pocket and slide out a picture of a pretty woman wearing a bright blue dress standing next to a guy in Navy whites. It must be his parents, because the woman has Derek’s eyes and the man has Derek’s chiseled bone structure. I check the other side pocket, which is empty.

  “No condom,” I say.

  He takes the wallet from me. “I guess you lose.”

  Chapter 19

  Derek

  A week after Ashtyn and Landon made up, she walks into the kitchen and tosses a FedEx envelope on the table. “This is addressed to you.” She turns and opens the pantry.

  A FedEx letter? At first a pang of dread settles inside me, thinking that it might be bad news about my dad. But bad news to families of military personnel doesn’t come by FedEx. The time to panic is when a couple of guys in uniform show up on your doorstep.

  I wince when I look at the return address. It’s from my grandmother in Texas, my mom’s mom. How the hell did she know where I was? She used to send the obligatory birthday gift, but I haven’t personally heard from her in years.

  My grandmother Elizabeth Worthington hated that my parents married. My dad wasn’t from upper-crust Texas society like my mom. When they got married, my mom’s parents cut her off. My grandmother didn’t even come to my mom’s funeral. Instead, she sent a truckload of flowers. What did she think, that flowers were bandages that would replace all the years lost? Fat chance of that.

  I don’t give a shit what Elizabeth Worthington has to say to me. I toss the unopened envelope in the trash.

  “What did it say?” Ashtyn asks, turning around with a stack of cookies in her hand. Obviously she’s clueless to the fact that I never opened the thing.

  “I thought we weren’t supposed to pry into each other’s business.”

  “I’m just curious. Besides, you owe me one.”

  “For what?”

  She opens her mouth wide in shock. “Come on, Cowboy. You said you weren’t going to interfere in my life, and all of a sudden you’re fist-pumping my guy friends, playing stupid drinking games with my boyfriend, and flirting with my girlfriends.”

  “Flirting? With who?”

  “Duh. Bree.”

  I hold a hand up. “Listen, the girl asked if the gas and the oil go in the same hole in the mower or separate ones. Then she called and asked if I’d go out with her Saturday night. What’d you want me to do, ignore her?”

  “If you really think she was interested in gas and oil, you’re an idiot. She wants to get into your pants.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” When she doesn’t answer, I say, “If you must know what’s in the FedEx envelope, it’s a letter of acceptance from the US Olympic team,” I lie.

  Her eyebrows go up. “For what?”

  “Men’s synchronized trampolining.” I brush imaginary dust off my shoulders. “I don’t like to brag, but I won gold at the national championships last year.”

  “There’s no such thing as synchronized trampolining, Derek.”

  I pat the top of her head like she’s a kid. “Yes, there is.”

  She rolls those sparkling, bright eyes that draw me in. I tell myself I like annoying the crap out of her, but the truth is that I like being around her when she’s all riled up. “You’re such a liar.”

  Ashtyn is wrong. What’s worse is that she thinks she’s not. “Wanna bet on it, Sugar Pie?”

  She puts her hands on her hips. “Yeah, I wanna bet on it. And then we’ll go to the computer so I can prove it to you.”

  This is getting interesting. “What’s the bet, then?”

  She thinks for a minute, then rubs her hands together as if she’s come up with the most brilliant idea. “If I win, you have to eat an entire bag of Skittles.”

  “The purple ones, too?” I laugh. The girl doesn’t know how to play in the big leagues. “Done. And if I win, you gotta go out with me some night.”

  She swallows, hard. “Wh . . . what? I don’t think I heard you right because I thought you just said ‘go out with you.’”

  “Only if I win,” I clarify.

  “Whoa, like, on a date? Umm . . . I have a boyfriend, remember?”

  “Don’t get too excited, Sugar Pie. Did I say anythin’ about a date? I just said you had to go out with me some night. If I win, that is.”

  “Landon won’t like it.”

  “Ask me if I give a shit.”

  “Do you give a shit about anything?” she asks me.

  “Not really.”

  “That’s pathetic,” she says, then disappears. Soon she’s back carrying her laptop and wearing a cocky grin. “I’ve got an entire bag of Skittles with your name on it in the pantry, Cowboy. Jumbo size,” she adds.

  My mouth curves in a mischevious grin. “And I’ve got an entire night planned. Just for you.”

  She doesn’t look the least bit worried as she searches “Olympic synchronized trampoline.” It doesn’t take long for her expression to change and the cockiness to vanish. She leans forward with furrowed eyebrows while a huge grin forms on my face. Usually her every move is calculated, but not now. As she scans various websites that prove I’m right, she sits back and wrinkles her cute little nose, defeated. “It’s a real sport,” she mumbles.

  “I told you. Next time you should trust me.”

  She focuses those gray eyes on me as she slumps in the chair. “I don’t trust anyone.”

  “That sucks.”

  She nods. “Sure does.”

  “Well, call me an optimist, but I for one believe trust can be earned. Maybe I’ll surprise you and change your mind.”

  “Doubt it.”

  I give her a gentle chuck on the chin. “Ah, a challenge. I like those.”

  I leave Ashtyn to stew about going out with me and find Julian in his room, looking at a picture book about sandcastles. Julian points to a huge, detailed creation with moats and bridges. “Daddy made a sandcastle with me the last time we were at the beach.” He puts the book down. “That was before he went on the big submarine.”

  Daddy. That’s what I used to call my dad when I was Julian’s age. The kid never met his own father, so it shouldn’t surprise me that he considers my dad his dad, too. But it does. It’s like every time I turn around, I’m reminded I’m part of a new family and my old one is fading fast. I want to reject it all, but when I look at the kid . . . I don’t know. I feel connected to him, like a big brother would.

  I kneel next to my stepbrother and say, “Well, how about you ask your mom if you can get into a bathing suit and you and I can go to the beach to build a sandcastle.”

  “Really?” He tosses the book on his bed and pops up with a huge grin. “Yeah!”

  At the beach, Julian gets all excited once we start digging in the sand. A couple of other kids watch us and start building their own creations nearby. Julian sits a little taller knowing he’s got the biggest, best castle by far.

  “That’s my big brother,” he tells one of the kids who admires the impressive moat we created.

  “Want to help us?” I ask the kid. “We could use a couple more hands.”

  Once that kid joins us, others crowd around. Soon we’ve amassed a small army of mini soldiers who gaze up at me as if I’m some kind of sandcastle god, and they’re talking to Julian as i
f he’s twelve instead of five. Our creation looks like an entire kingdom now, with multiple castles and moats and tunnels.

  When I’m ready to call it quits on the castle making, I race Julian into Lake Michigan to wash off the sand. I show him how to float, supporting his back. We splash and play until the little guy starts getting sunburned, so he climbs on my shoulders as I carry him back to shore.

  He leans down and hugs my neck. “I’m glad you’re my brother, Derek.”

  I glance up at his little face, looking at me as if I’m his hero. “I’m glad, too.”

  The fact that Julian’s own father abandoned him, and now my dad is away, makes me the only male in his life. I wish his grandfather took an interest in him, but I haven’t seen Gus have an interest in anything except disappearing and being grumpy.

  After we dry off and are ready to leave, Julian agrees to go grocery shopping with me. I stock up on yogurt and kale and fruits and vegetables I bet have never graced the Parker household before.

  Back at home, the FedEx envelope from my grandmother has magically resurfaced from the trash. It’s on my pillow. And it’s open. Shit. Ashtyn had something to do with this, no doubt.

  I find Ashtyn in the living room, intently watching some reality show while munching on potato chips. Her hair is in a braid again and she’s wearing cutoff sweats and a T-shirt with the words FREMONT ATHLETICS on it.

  I wave the envelope in front of her face. “Why did you take this out of the trash?”

  “Why did you lie about it? It’s not an invitation to be on the synchronized trampoline team.” She tosses a chip to Falkor and sits up. “It’s from your grandmother.”

  “So?”

  “You didn’t even read it, Derek.”

  “And it’s your business because . . .”

  “It’s not my business,” she says. “It’s yours, so read it.”

  I don’t want to know what’s in the letter. It’s in the category of things I don’t care about. “Are you aware it’s illegal to open someone else’s mail? Does violation of privacy mean anythin’ to you?”