I run a comb through my hair again and adjust my shirt. I’d picked out a button-down shirt, which I tuck into my best pair of jeans.
I go into the living room and Phil turns to stare at me. Phil was once my parole officer. He’s the man who was willing to give me a shot. And now he’s letting me rent a room from him until I get in a position where I can move out on my own.
He stares a little harder and I start to squirm.
“What?” I ask.
He gets up and waves a hand in the air. “Follow me.”
I do, albeit reluctantly. “Where are we going?”
“You need a tie,” he says.
I turn back in the other direction. “I do not need a tie.”
“Get in here!” he yells from around the corner.
I think Phil was a drill sergeant in a former life. I know he was a cop, but good grief. “Yes, sir,” I mutter.
“I heard that.”
“I can tell,” I mutter still.
He goes to his closet and pulls out two ties, holding them up against my shirt, one by one. “This one,” he says.
I push his hand back. “I don’t want to wear a tie.”
“Nobody wants to wear a tie, dumbass,” he says. “We wear them because they show the other person we respect them and ourselves because we care what we look like.” He thrusts it into my hand.
“I don’t want it.” I push it back.
“Have you ever worn a tie?”
I didn’t exactly come from a tie-wearing family. “…No.”
“Not to church? Funerals?”
I scoff. “Church? You read my file.”
“So you don’t know how to tie a tie,” he says, his voice so soft and kind that it drags along my skin, chafing me from the inside out.
“No,” I admit.
“Come here.”
“Seriously?” I grumble.
He grins. “Don’t make me count to five.”
I shake my head and let him put the noose around my neck.
“This girl must be something special,” he says as he ties it and fixes my collar.
I nod.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get dressed up for a girl before.”
He finishes the tying and I look in the mirror. I look like one of those monkeys that sits on someone’s shoulder. “I’ve never met one like this before,” I admit.
“How long have you known her?”
I shake my head. I feel like I’ve known her all my life, but I know I haven’t. “A few hours.”
“What’s she like?”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “She makes me feel happy inside.”
He punches my shoulder. “Good. Don’t do anything stupid tonight.”
“What would you classify as stupid?” Does that mean I shouldn’t be myself?
“Don’t try to sleep with her.”
I jerk my eyes to meet his. “Seriously?”
“If you want to fuck her, fuck her. If you want to make her fall in love with you, don’t fuck her. It’s that simple.”
“Can’t I do both?” I murmur.
“Not usually. Do you need any money?”
“No, I’m fine.
“You sure?”
He’s like the dad I never had.
“Positive. But thank you. And thanks for the tie.”
I walk toward the door. He calls out to me, “Hey, Bob!”
I open the door and turn back to face him, standing half in and half out.
“You’re valuable, kid,” he says. “Never forget that.”
“I know.” It took me a long time to realize that my thoughts and feelings had worth. But I know it now.
“I’ll see you in a few hours,” he reminds me. He arches a brow at me in question.
I nod. I won’t even try to stay over. Well, I might try. But I won’t do it. I like Madison. I really like her.
“You want to borrow my car?” he asks. “You don’t want to mess her hair up on your bike.”
My mouth falls open. Before I can say a word, he tosses his keys in my direction. I’ve never had anyone trust me the way that Phil does. I catch the keys and squeak out a heartfelt thank you, then close the door behind me.
Phil is a crazy asshole at times. When I first met him, when he was taking care of my probation paperwork, he was the biggest dickhead on the face of the planet. He wanted me to be perfect. Then I realized he just wanted me to succeed and things changed. I finally had someone on my team and I’d never had that before. It’s a good feeling to know that you’re cared about. Hell, just being wanted was different. When he asked me if I wanted a place to stay for a little while, I jumped at the chance and haven’t regretted it even once since then.
I get in the car and go to complex A, and look for room 23, and then I knock on the door. The door opens, but it’s not Madison. It’s someone else.
I hold the flowers I brought for her in my hand and fidget. “Hi, is Madison here?”
“Nope,” she says and she smacks her gum.
“Nope?” I repeat like a total dumbass.
“Nope.” She smacks her gum again.
“Do you know where she is?”
She shrugs. “She went dancing with one of the guys in her math class.”
“But…we had a date.”
She laughs. “Oh, you’re the one.”
“The one what?”
“The one she caught telling your friends she was just a girl and that her name didn’t matter because there were so damn many of them you couldn’t keep them all straight.”
What the hell is she talking about?
“She followed you after you dropped her off that day. She wanted to give you her phone number. But she heard you.”
“And now she’s out on a date? With somebody else?”
She nods and pops her gum again. “Yep.”
“Do you know where?”
“At the club on Main Street. I can’t remember the name of it.”
I turn on my heel and stalk in that direction. I don’t know what bothers me more—that she’s dancing with some random guy or that she stood me up. But I do know what bothers me most. It’s that she heard my stupid comment.
I have to explain it to her. And I have to be sure she’s not kissing some random guy. She’s supposed to be kissing me, damn it.