I squirmed a little under his intense regard. “Jake …” I sighed, lowering my sandwich and staring at anything but him, “for all my cracks about being awesome … I don’t want you to build this idea of me in your head … an idea that I can’t live up to. I’m just Charley. An ordinary girl from Lanton, Indiana.”
“I don’t agree with you.”
My chest felt too full, my whole body tense with whatever heaviness was settling around our picnic on his truck bed. We’d only been on our date for twenty minutes, for goodness’ sake, and already we were in Seriousville.
“Charley, look at me.”
I did as he asked and found the breath leaving my body again at the look in his eyes.
“This shouldn’t be possible,” he whispered, “but somehow, it’s happening. You’re something special to me, and I can only hope that I’m something special to you.”
“I barely know you,” My brain murmured logic; my heart screamed its opposite.
Jake shook his head slowly. “I don’t know if that’s true.”
We were silent a while, eating our sandwiches and listening to the radio.
Finally, not able to contain it, though I knew it was insane, I whispered, “You’re something special to me.”
Jake turned his head, his eyes glittering in the dark. “Yeah?”
I ducked my head, embarrassed. “We haven’t even kissed yet.”
“It’s going to be epic.”
“What if it’s not?”
Jake threw his head back and laughed. “Are you this pessimistic about everything?”
“No. I’m just asking a question.”
“Trust me. It’ll be epic.”
I took a drink of water, eyeing him carefully. I swallowed and wiped my lips dry. “This overconfidence of yours could definitely become a problem.”
“It’s not a problem. You love it.”
“No, I love cheese fries, chocolate milkshakes, The Killers, Metric, Lucky jeans, my mom and dad and Andrea.”
Jake chuckled. “In that order?”
I narrowed my eyes playfully. “Maybe. What do you love?”
“Gio’s Pizza: the best pizza in Chicago, Reese’s peanut butter cups, the White Sox, Pearl Jam, Silversun Pickups, Bob Dylan, The Smiths, my pickup, my mom and dad and maybe Luke too.”
I nodded and then asked casually, “Have you named your pickup yet?”
“Nah, but I was thinking The Vedder.”
My eyebrows puckered together in confusion. “Why?”
Jake flinched like I’d shot him. “After Eddie Vedder. Lead singer of Pearl Jam?”
I shrugged. “Sorry. I’ve never listened to their stuff.”
Yup, this time my words had shot him. Jake shook his head. “No, no, no. Okay, no. I’m not dating a girl who has not listened to Pearl Jam. You can borrow my CDs.”
I laughed. “It’s cool. If you feel that strongly about it, I’ll download their albums.”