Page 36 of The Cheerleader

His mouth travels to my jaw and my ear, and he nibbles on my earlobe, nearly collapsing my knees and making me shiver. Then he slowly pulls back, heaving a breath, and I immediately step backwards in shock.

Then he smiles.

We go back inside in silence and reclaim our seats like nothing ever happened. He gives me a sad smirk and lounges back in his chair. Now outside his orbit, I feel the change in atmosphere like a cold sucking draft. Glancing away to hide my self-consciousness, I don’t know what to do with all my feelings or how to hide them. I notice Liz walking back in our direction, looking refreshed, less flushed, like she splashed cold water on her face. Maybe I should do that.

His eyes stay on me. “You seemed like you could use a friend.”

I meet his stare, and the bottom falls out of my gut at the raw understanding in his eyes and the truth in his voice, like he means it, like he gets me. Shit. It’s like he wants to give me something rare and free and the exact thing I’m starved for—a confidant who understands and doesn’t judge and who⁠—

“I … it’s not that…” Guilt piles on top of all my other feelings with Liz approaching.

Liz reaches us, standing directly behind me and staring at Bryan, her friend. And all of a sudden, I get it. I get what he means to her and why she wants him. He’s the person who knows all the worst things about her and accepts her for who she is and understands completely. They have a bond, a connection from having survived something terrible. And I’m not sure how deep the terribleness or the connection is.

“We haf to go now, Soosie. I don’t feel too good.” Her words are slurred worse than before. So much for looking refreshed.

He frowns at her. “You’re not driving, Liz.”

“I can drive. I tole you, I⁠—”

“No. I’ll drive you⁠—”

“What about my carrr?”

“I could drive it,” I say. Bryan is right. Liz shouldn’t drive.

“You’re okay to drive?” He eyes me like he’s not sure.

“I had less to drink than you did.”

“I ate more pizza.” His mouth quirks the tiniest bit, but he manages to remain serious.

“I’ll drive Liz home in her car, and we’ll be fine.” I turn to Liz, and she rolls her eyes.

“Fine. Play the hero if you wannu.” She grins, and whatever belligerence she had ran out. My shoulders relax. “I trus you to drive me.”

Bryan stands, slips some money from his pocket, and throws it at the table in front of Dane. Dane’s busy flirting with Sherry. I’d feel a pang leaving her with the so-called player, but I don’t think he’s as bad as Judy claims. I stand, ready to go.

Dane notices the money and looks up at Bryan. “You leaving?” He picks up the bills, two fives, and proceeds to stuff them into Bryan’s jeans pocket before Bryan has a chance to move away. He pushes his friend’s hand away, but doesn’t escalate, giving Dane one of those we’ll settle this later expressions.

“Your money’s no good here,” Dane says, tossing Bryan his keys. “I’ll get a ride. You don’t need to walk home.”

Bryan takes the keys and nods.

“You were going to walk?” I ask as he herds me and Liz toward the door like he doesn’t trust me to get her out the door on my own. I wonder again about his relationship with her. Why was he near Liz’s house that day I found him in the ditch?

He doesn’t answer me about walking home. Big surprise. We get outside, and Liz leans on me heavily as we head to the car.

“I’m tired,” she says. When she yawns, I do too.

“Are you sure you’re not too tired to drive?” Bryan asks me.

“Yes. I mean no, I’m fine.” I roll my eyes. “It’s only a five-minute drive.” I sound like a petulant child, but he’s acting like my parents, or like a big brother. Or maybe just a good friend. But that’s impossible since he’s barely an acquaintance. And he acted like a guy interested in a whole lot more than friendship when we were outside.

I shudder with remembered excitement. It’s enough to overshadow my disappointment that he didn’t tell me that he recognized me from the ditch incident. But maybe it doesn’t matter because that was so long ago. Maybe it only mattered to me.

He nods. When we reach Liz’s car, he pauses with his hand on the door handle to let Liz in, and stares at me. “Call me when you get back.” He rattles off his number as if I’m going to remember it.

I force myself to concentrate because no way in hell am I going to ask him to write it down. I repeat the phone number to myself while I stare into the depths of his dark eyes, like black bear eyes, not the nice chocolate lab eyes Liz talked about.