Distraction (Westbrook Series Book 1) (16 page)

I am immediately ashamed and frustrated with myself for reading this very private message. I quickly slide the bar to remove the text from the screen, wishing that is all it would take to erase it from my memory. I am trying to add Brandon's number, but I am so distracted by Avery's text that I can't even remember his last name.

He doesn't even have her last name programmed in the phone
. I know Trevor probably doesn't know any other girls named Avery, but it still bothers me that he is intimate enough with her to be on a first-name basis. I wonder if I am in there as just Laila, too. I shake my head, as if it will make all of these thoughts simply dissolve, like a drawing on an Etch-a-Sketch tablet.

Sam
.
I need to remember that I have a gorgeous boyfriend named Sam
. My phone beeps, letting me know I have a new text.
Speak of the devil
. I sigh with relief. It’s as if Sam knew just how badly I needed to hear from him right now.

Harry: Hey you. :)
Made it back to school safely. Can't stop thinking about you, about us . . . together in the garage. That was beyond HOT! You are beyond HOT!!!

My face heats up as I read his message, making me wish I were alone. Hopefully, Trevor won't notice my reaction.

Me: Agreed. I mean the part about us in the garage. Of course, I don't think I am hot.

I'm not that kind of hot anyway. I fan myself, attempting to cool my fiery cheeks. Trevor reaches over, and turns the vent so it is blowing cool air onto my burning face.
So much for discretion
.
Damn my Technicolor cheeks for, once again betraying me
.

I stare at the name Harry on the screen as I wait for him to respond. The irony of how I, too, only have Sam's first fake name programmed into my phone, is not lost on me. I have more of an excuse. After all, I couldn't really go through with writing the last name Buttes in there. I mean there is no way that my parents or Kyle would ever buy that one. Regardless, I think he would be in there as just Sam, even if we didn't have to keep our relationship secret.
So, why then, does it bother me so much that Avery's last name isn't in Trevor's phone?

Harry: I'm just looking forward to making a sequel. What do you say? How about you and me in the garage for part II Thurs. night? :)

I really need to put my phone away, if I ever expect my face to return to a normal shade again. Time to change the subject, and get Sam's mind on other things.

Me: Sounds like a date. :)
I guess that means Kyle agreed to come home next weekend?

Harry: Yeah. I was right. He wants to see Georgia again. Her living in Brookville might just be the best thing for us this summer. I won't have to do much to convince him to come home on the weekends. So, what are you up to tonight?

How long does Sam plan on keeping our relationship a secret?
It sure doesn't sound like he plans on letting the cat out of the bag any time soon, if he is talking about
the whole summer
. I'm not really sure how I feel about this.

Me: Just hanging out with a friend. And you?

I hesitate for a bit before I settle on the word
friend
and hit send. There should be no reason for me not to tell him Trevor is with me, and yet I still can't make myself type his name.
This bothers me
.

Harry: We are going to Jayzee's to drink beer, eat pizza, and watch the Cardinals kick some serious Cubs ass. Kyle's words- not mine :)

Me: That sounds like him
:)

Harry: So, who are you with again? Is Avery there? Where are you guys going?

Me: Trevor's driving, but he won't tell me what we are doing, or where we are going. I think it may involve mud, though, and I'm not a hundred percent sure I'm going to like it. :(

I'm being perfectly honest, but I realize that it still may seem like Trevor and I are with Avery, or maybe even a group. For some reason, I am still not sure why I don't want Sam to know that we are alone together.

Harry: I can think of some fun things that involve you, mud, and me, but they probably shouldn't be discussed via text. Is Avery with you guys? I can't see her agreeing to participate in anything that involves mud!!! :)

"You sure are getting a whole lot of texts from this . . .
Harry
guy? Who
is
that, anyway?" Trevor is leaning over the seat and my shoulder, just enough so he can see the screen of my phone. I quickly turn it away from him. I doubt he had time to actually read our conversation, since he is driving. Still, it irritates me.

"Do you even understand the
meaning
of the word
privacy?
" I ask him sharply.
I guess Sam will just have to wait for my reply until I am alone
. I'm not really too upset about that, because I am still unsure of what to say, without lying to him. I throw my phone back into my purse, and let out a frustrated sigh.

"
Relax
, Patterson. I didn't actually
read
your message. I'm just giving you a hard time."

I decide to ignore him, and stare out the window, while I try to figure out where we are going. Thankfully, he drops it too, and turns up the radio. He starts singing again, while banging his hands against the steering wheel, as if he is playing the drums. I've always thought that guys did this just to impress girls, but I don't think that is what he is doing right now. He seems so natural, as if he would be singing and playing the steering wheel drums, even if I weren't here.

He is a bit louder this time, making me realize that his voice isn't half bad. Actually, it's quite nice. He has a very sexy, almost raspy tone that is very unusual. I can't stop staring at him in awe. I didn't know that Trevor could sing.
Why does this discovery make my stomach flip, and turn my insides warm and gooey
?

We could use a good male lead for the spring musical. It's too bad he plays baseball because I think he would be perfect. He probably wouldn't do theater anyway. Most jocks won't because of all those stupid stereotypes about guys that are in plays.

I never really understood why it is perfectly cool and acceptable for a straight guy to be an actor in a film or on television. If he is in a play on stage, however, everyone automatically assumes he is gay. Even if he is gay, it shouldn't matter. Unfortunately, none of that seems to make a difference in the backwards and way-too-narrow halls of Westbrook High.
Teenagers can be so small-minded.

I am so lost in my head that I don't even notice when Trevor pulls the car over onto a smaller, gravel side road. The feel of the bumpy road wakes me from my daydream. I squint my eyes, trying to figure out where the road is going, but it appears to run straight into the woods.

I start thinking about serial killers, and how they always take their victims to secluded areas where there are no signs of people for miles. Areas that are so far out there, nobody will hear them screaming.
How well do I really know Trevor?

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, trying to hide any signs of panic that may be hidden in my voice.

"We're almost there." Trevor glances at me, and starts to smile. I can only guess what sort of expression is on my face right now.

"Just
chill
. I think you are going to like it." Trevor gives me one of his reassuring, dizzy, spell-casting smiles, while lightly patting the top of my sweaty hands. His touch sends sparks flying through my arms, which immediately erases the whole serial killer theory.
There is no way a serial killer would be able to make my body respond so . . . positively to him
.

Positively?
Yeah, right
. Like it or not, I'm pretty sure this is the edited version of how my body is really responding to Trevor. Even I must laugh at myself for attempting to change my reaction in my mind; as if by doing so, it will somehow make it more acceptable.

He suddenly stops the car and cuts the engine. I look around curiously because it doesn't seem like we have arrived anywhere. We are parked, right smack in the middle of what appears to be the same stretch of tree-lined, gravel road that we've been driving on for miles.

Trevor hops out of the car and has my door propped open before I can even click the button to take off my seat belt. He holds out his hand as if I need it in order to be able to get out of the car. I ignore it, purposely brushing past him, acting as if I didn't even see it. He quickly slips his hand into his pocket, no doubt feeling a little embarrassed for offering it to me in the first place.
Good.
I almost want to add a sarcastic
Humph. It's about time he is the one left guessing.

"I don't get it. Where
are
we?" I ask, while looking around. The gravel road veers off to the left straight ahead. It appears to continue on somewhere over a hill, while we sit here parked in the middle of nowhere. Trevor doesn't answer my question. He is too busy pulling stuff out of his trunk.

He throws a blanket in my direction, when I am not expecting it. I almost don't catch it. I wonder if it is the same blanket he took on his date with Avery last night. I pull it up to my nose and sniff it, but it just smells like fabric softener. He probably washed it. He seems like the kind of guy who would have already washed it, judging by the way his car looks. There is not so much as a speck of dust anywhere in that car.
Trust me. I spent plenty of time studying it on our ride over
.

He slams the trunk shut, and breezes past me, carrying a picnic basket. I look down at the blanket again, and realize that things are starting to feel a little bit
date-ish
.
Does he think we are on a date?

I pull the bill of Kyle's hat down tighter over my forehead.
Of course he doesn't think we are on a date. What girl in her right mind would wear this dreadful outfit on a date?
Plus, he would have to be the most dense guy in the world if he thought this was a date, because I told him just this morning that Sam is my boyfriend. He’s not just some guy that I'm interested in, but is my
actual
boyfriend.

I am lost in my head so deep, I don't even notice that Trevor is already about two car lengths ahead of me, and is about to disappear into the woods. He stops and turns around, as if he has just now realized that I am not with him.

"Hey Patterson, are you coming?" he asks in a somewhat annoyed tone.

No, guys do not call girls by their last names, and walk so far ahead of them like this, if they think they think they are on a date
. This sudden realization sends a weird mix of emotions funneling through me. While I am relieved that Trevor doesn't see this as a date, I can't help but be a little disappointed.

What is wrong with me? How can I feel the way I do about Sam, and still be feeling whatever this is that I am threatening to feel for Trevor?
Shouldn't I be so over the moon that Sam and I are finally together, that I don't even notice other guys?

That is what seems to be the normal storyline in all of the books I've read, and in the movies I've watched.
Girl falls for boy, but boy hardly notices her. Something happens etc. etc. and he finally notices the girl. Boy and girl fall madly in love and live happily ever after. The end.
There isn't usually this other irritatingly gorgeous boy, constantly distracting and confusing the girl.

I jog ahead to catch up with Trevor. He is balancing a lantern and a bag, along with the picnic basket in his arms. He doesn't say anything to me when I reach him. He just turns and keeps on walking. I am holding the blanket in my arms, searching for a clearing or some indication of where we are going, but all I see is trees.

We walk for what seems like miles, but is really only a couple of blocks, when Trevor suddenly stops and turns to face me. "This part is a little tricky. You might want to hold my hand, so I can pull you out if you get stuck in the mud."

He pulls a handful of billowy branches aside, providing the perfect window view. Sure enough, there is a narrow path of swampy mud that appears to be more than a couple of inches deep. I look down at my flimsy canvas shoes again, wondering if they will be okay enough to slop my way through the path.
Why I ever thought these would be okay to wear in mud is beyond me
.

"Don't worry. It's only like this for a little bit. I promise you, it will all be worth it when we get there." His reassuring tone relaxes me a little bit.

He bravely holds out his hand yet again. I reluctantly grab the tips of his fingers, allowing him to guide me, as we slosh our way through the sticky mud.
I must admit that it feels a little too good to have my hand wrapped in his
.