Truly Devious (Truly Devious #1) - Maureen Johnson Page 0,92
Her short hair was pressed flat against her head from the pressure of her knit hat.
It was time to ask herself something she had never seriously considered—was she attractive? What was attractive? What did other people like? She knew what she liked—the short hair. She liked the way she looked when she narrowed her eyes, because it was sharp and penetrating without being too squinty. She liked the fullness of her mouth, because she was not afraid to speak up. She felt solid in the fullness of her hips.
Was this what pretty was?
Who knew. This was what a Stevie was, anyway.
She grabbed the top edge of the bureau and stretched her arms out, looking down at the floor. Stevie knew about panic. What she didn’t understand as much was this new hormonal cocktail her body had on the menu and what it meant for her plans. She wanted to go upstairs. She wanted . . . David.
She wanted him. David, who had just made her madder than anyone else aside from her family. David, who she had to see every damn day. Someone who came in from a run smelling rank and appeared again in the common room all spicy and clean and . . .
Why him? Out of anyone, why did the hormone gods pick him?
She heard him come in. Heard him come into the hall. Was he going to stop?
No. There was the loud creak of the steps.
She had to go and talk to him, maybe. She wasn’t sure what about. She slipped out of her coat, paced the length of her room, and found herself leaving and heading upstairs.
Once at his door, she stood there uncertainly. She didn’t come up to this floor that often. The guys had to come down, but this place was optional. It was darker up here. The wind made more noise. She raised her hand to knock and held it in place for a full minute before bringing it timidly down on the wood.
When David opened the door, he did not look cocky. The heat collected up here, so it was extremely warm. The only light on inside was a small bedside lamp.
“You want something?” he said.
“I want . . .” What did she want? “. . . to understand.”
“What? Life? The universe?”
“I want to know what your deal is,” she said.
“My deal? What’s a deal?”
“There’s something you’re not saying,” she said. “There’s something . . .”
“There’s something you’re not saying either,” he replied. “Why won’t you mention that we made out?”
“What am I supposed to say about it?” she said, her face flushing.
“Wow, you’ve got real blushing issues. You gotta work on that.”
She tipped her head up angrily.
“What is it we are supposed to talk about?” she said. “Technique?”
“We could. I thought yours was good. You really like to explore with that tongue. Every part of you is a detective, I guess . . .”
“Okay,” she said, turning to the door. “Good-bye.”
“I annoy people,” he said. “Believe me. I’m aware. It’s an effective way to communicate if you don’t have any other options. If you can’t get in through the door, throw a rock through the window. And I think maybe you’re the same way.”
This grounded her for a moment. It made sense, and she was always willing to grant when someone else made sense. He left the door open and moved away from it. She went toward it hesitantly, pushed it open a bit more, and stepped inside. He was sitting on his bed.
“She comes in,” he said.
Stevie tapped the doorframe nervously.
“I think maybe I’m embarrassing you by talking about what we did the other night,” he said. “I actually don’t want to embarrass you. That’s not my goal. Maybe I’m more comfortable talking about that stuff. I guess there are some things I just don’t give a shit about, for the right reasons. I can tell you I liked what we did.”
Her wrists were throbbing. Her pulse was going to make her hands balloon up, maybe explode from the pressure.
“The fact is,” he said, “I liked you from the first moment I saw you, when you looked like you wanted to punch me in the face for just being alive. That probably says something dark about me. And I think you like me because I annoy you. Both of us have real problems, but maybe we should make our weird personalities work for us.”
Stevie had often wondered how these conversations worked, when people talked about feelings and touching and