The Dream - Whitney Dineen Page 0,53
jokes.
The comment catches me so off guard that I choke on my onion ring. Then I inhale it until it’s lodged somewhere in my nasal cavity. “Ouch!” I yell, grabbing my nose.
Guessing at my predicament, Buck instructs, “You’ve got to snort it back into your throat. If you try to blow it out, it’ll get stuck forever.” Then he adds, “And by the way, I’m pretty sure I never want to kiss you now.”
I glare at him while repeatedly snorting like a rooting pig. When my nose is finally onion-ring free, I take a sip of my pop and declare, “Meanie.”
“You want a shot at Davis Frothingham, right?” he asks, ignoring my accusation.
“Not after seeing him with Jessica this morning, I don’t.” He raises an eyebrow until I buckle. “Maybe,” that’s all I’m going to give him because I’m still not convinced I don’t want a shot at him.
“Let’s make the man jealous,” Buck suggests.
“I don’t think that’s possible. If he’s back together with Jessica, then there wouldn’t be any point in even trying.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“Why?”
“Because I saw how he looked at you at the dance last night. If he were telekinetic, your dress would have fallen off.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that last night?” I demand.
“I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to think about what Sammy said about you and me before I dismissed the idea.” Zing! A shot of excitement and something else shoots through me. What was that? Attraction, hopefulness, possibility?
“That’s so nice,” I say, in the throes of the mystery sensation.
He shrugs. “It would sure make life easier.”
“But somewhere between last night and today you decided you weren’t interested?”
After taking a long sip of his iced tea, he concedes, “Somewhere between last night and today, I decided there may have been a tiny bit of pining going on for Jessica Holt.”
“I knew it!” I shout. And while part of me wants to stand up and dance around in a victory circle, my newfound awareness of Buck makes me a little slow to tease him. “I knew you couldn’t have gone from crushing on her your whole life to claiming to have never thought about her again after moving to London.”
He arches his eyebrows in such a way as to ask if I’m done. So, I declare, “You’re a big, fat, liar Buck Freeport. You looooooooooooooooove Jessica. You want to marry her. You want to make babies with her …”
“Are you ten years old?” he demands. “I correctly informed you last night that I don’t even know her.” He pauses for a beat before adding, “But I don’t think I’d mind getting to know her.”
“How are you planning on doing that?” I ask.
“I thought maybe you could set up a double date with Davis when you see him later today. That way the four of us could go out and we could all get to know each other better.”
“How do I do that?” I ask, while realizing a double date sounds like a great idea. My head was in a different place last night at the dance, so I missed my chance to study both men side-by-side as potential romantic interests.
“Just tell him that I’d like them to join us for dinner some night so I can thank them properly for all the help they gave me with my article.”
My heart lightens for the first time all day. “I can do that.” I already noticed the way Jessica was drooling over Buck, so I can’t imagine he’d have a hard time wooing her.
I briefly analyze how that makes me feel, but I don’t get a definitive answer. I also have to ask myself if I’m comfortable being Davis’s second choice. But, if Jessica decides she’d rather be with Buck, then maybe I’d be his first choice? My brain is going to short circuit if I keep going down this path.
After lunch, Buck and I take a tour around town, which includes stopping by our old high school. Sitting on a bench in the courtyard, we reminisce about the years that shaped the choices we made for our futures.
Buck declares, “Success really is the best revenge.”
“I don’t think I got the memo,” I say before speculating, “Maybe you’re just fundamentally more secure than I am.”
“Yeah, about that … I’m not sure if you remember, but you were actually beautiful in high school and I was Marilyn Manson’s mini-me without the freaky contact lenses.”
I cringe at his accurate description. “But look at you now. You’re a superhero.”
Buck strikes