Rebel Belle (Rebel Belle #1)

Rebel Belle (Rebel Belle #1) Page 37

David and I had been snarking at each other since we learned how to talk, but tonight, our barbs seemed less pointed. I wouldn’t go so far as to call them affectionate or anything, but there was a definite lack of sting.

“We need to tell Saylor about tonight,” I told David.

He was turning his tea cup around in his hands, steam drifting up to fog his glasses. “I will, when I get home.”

Silence stretched between us. Not awkward, really, but heavy somehow. Laden with something I couldn’t name. “I’m sure he doesn’t like her,” David said.

“What?”

“Ryan,” he clarified before draining his cup. “You said you think he likes Mary Beth. I bet you’re wrong.”

“Oh, right. That.” Now that the moment had passed, I felt my cheeks flame at the memory of how I’d vomited up all of my feelings out there on the sidewalk. I should’ve just told him Blythe freaked me out. There was no need to drag my personal life into all of this.

“Don’t get me wrong, Mary Beth is . . . well, she’s not objectionable or anything, but she’s not . . .”

My hands were tight around the tea cup, the heat radiating on my palms. “She’s not what?”

David tugged at his lapels again before leaning back in his chair. “You.”

The lamplight shone on David’s glasses, but behind them, his eyes were very blue and intent, and then I suddenly couldn’t meet them anymore.

Thank God for Miss Annemarie who chose that moment to waddle over to the table, a plastic bag in hand. “Here you go, sweetie,” she told David, handing him the soup. “Try to be more careful with this batch. I’m closing up now, so this is your last chance.”

“Oh, r-right,” David said, fumbling slightly with the bag. “Thanks, Miss Annemarie.”

Our tea was gone, so we both got to our feet, thanking Miss Annemarie again. “Don’t mention it,” she said with a wave of her hand. “It’s nice to have young people in here at night for once. Most of the other kids, they all go somewhere fancy on their dates. Like Ruby Tuesday.”

I waited for David to insist we weren’t on a date, but he gave Miss Annemarie a little smile and a nod. I didn’t say anything either, and, as weird as it seems, it was like by letting Miss Annemarie think it was a date, it had somehow . . . become a date.

I shook my head again. Crazy thought. Stupid.

After the warmth of Miss Annemarie’s, the square seemed even colder. I shivered a little as the breeze made my still-damp sweater cling to my body.

“Here,” David said, handing me the takeout bag. “Hold this.”

I did, and he slipped out of his tweed, revealing an actually halfway decent button-down dress shirt underneath. He slid the coat over my shoulders before taking the bag back.

“Thanks,” I said, a little awkwardly. I never thought I would be grateful for the scent of crab bisque, but as I pulled the coat tighter around me, I was glad that was all I could smell. I felt weird enough as it was without adding nice boy smell to the mix.

David and I walked down the sidewalk, our arms a few inches apart.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” he asked as we passed the antique store.

“I should probably get back to the theater,” I said. “Ryan . . .”

I let that trail off, and David shoved his hands in his pockets. “Right. Ryan.”

We had reached David’s car by now, but both of us were sort of hovering beside it. “So,” he said.

“So.”

David rocked on his heels, frowning slightly. “Is it me, or are we being weird?”

I laughed, nerves making it sound high and thin. “We are being weird. Which is saying something for us.”

Grinning, David let his shoulders drop a little. “Okay, good. It’s only . . . I should’ve said something to Miss Annemarie about us not being on a date, but—”

“No,” I rushed into say, slipping my arms into his jacket. “That would’ve been awkward, too, and probably bad manners to correct her.”

“Right!” he said, a little too loud. “It would’ve made her feel bad, and we don’t want to do that. Not when she’s made me delicious soup. Twice.”

“Exactly,” I said, feeling like my voice was a little too loud, too.

His mouth lifted in a half-grin, revealing a flash of teeth and making me realize for the first time that David Stark had surprisingly nice cheekbones. “You actually look pretty good in tweed, Pres,” he joked, reaching out to straighten the lapel of my—his— jacket.

“No one looks good in tweed,” I insisted, going to push his hand away. But as I did, our skin touched, and the little pulse that went through me had nothing to do with prophecies or magic.

David must have felt it too because his eyes suddenly dropped to my mouth. I saw him swallow.

Oh my God, David Stark wants to kiss me. In public. In the middle of the street.

I waited to be horrified by that thought, but for some reason, horror wasn’t coming. Neither was awkwardness or being freaked out or any of the other perfectly acceptable reactions to David Freaking Stark wanting to kiss me.

Instead, I felt myself swaying forward a little on the balls of my feet. But before anything profoundly stupid could happen, a car drove by, some country song blaring out the windows, and David and I stepped away from each other.

My heart was pounding, and I shoved my shaking hands into the pockets of the jacket. “Okay,” I said at last. “So I’m going to go back to the theater, and you go home and eat soup and talk to Saylor about Blythe, and I’ll see you Monday.”

David wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, rubbing the back of his head so that even the hair there stood up. “Monday,” he repeated, jangling his keys in his pocket. “And speaking of, do you think Bee could maybe sit out on training that day?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Probably. Why?”

He shrugged, sheepish. “I thought you and I might try something. Something prophecy-related,” he quickly added.

“Right, of course,” I said, like it hadn’t even occurred to me he could be talking about anything else.

“Awesome,” he said. “So Monday.”

“Monday,” I repeated, and just when I was afraid we were going to stand there echoing each other all night, David finally gave a little wave and got in his car.

As he drove off, I started walking back to the theater, my head so full it ached. So much for a normal Saturday night.

The idea of searching a crowded theater for Ryan was more than I wanted to deal with, so once I got back to the Royale Cinema, I took a seat on one of the padded benches in the lobby and waited. I thought about Ryan sitting in the dark, maybe next to Mary Beth, and tried to summon up some kind of righteous indignation. Here I was, trying to keep this entire town safe, trying to save my own freaking life, and my boyfriend was sitting in the movies with another girl.

But righteous indignation wouldn’t come. Neither would devastated betrayal or hurt disbelief. Mostly, I wanted the movie to be over so I could go home and wash the crab bisque out of my hair.

Finally, the doors opened and people began spilling out into the lobby. Ryan was there, but there was no sign of Mary Beth. His eyes roamed until they found me. Crossing the room in long strides, Ryan looked a little relieved, but also fairly irritated.

“There you are,” he said, standing in front of me. “I texted and called you like a hundred times.”

Rising to my feet, I fished my phone out of my pocket. Sure enough, I had about a dozen missed calls. I’d forgotten that I’d put the phone on silent.

“Have you been here this whole time?” Ryan continued, folding his arms over his broad chest.

“No,” I said, but before I could get any further, Ryan frowned.

“Why do you smell like an aquarium? And what are you wearing?”

Oh, crap. I’d forgotten to give David back his jacket. “Someone spilled soup on me,” I said, which, hey, was pretty close to the truth. “So that’s why I didn’t want to go in. Because of the smell.”

“And the jacket?” he asked. “Did you knock down a random professor and steal it?” He was smiling a little now. I’m sure the sight of me, bedraggled and covered in soup, was amusing.

And then his smile faded. “I’ve seen that jacket,” he said slowly, eyes moving over me. “That’s . . . David Stark has a jacket just like that. I remember the stupid elbow patches.”

Ugh. Why hadn’t I given the damn coat back? “Yeah,” I said lightly. “He was the one who spilled the soup on me.”

Ryan’s expression was stony. “So you ran out of the place looking for some girl, and then you found David Stark, but he spilled soup on you in the middle of Pine Grove Square, and gave you a jacket?”

“Yeah,” I said on a nervous laugh. “Pretty much. Weird night, huh?”

Heaving a sigh, Ryan glanced behind him. “Weird. Sure.”

We hardly said anything on the drive home, and when he pulled in my driveway, Ryan didn’t even shut off the car. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, and all I could do was nod and tell myself he wasn’t kissing me goodnight because I smelled like a Red Lobster.

When I walked through the front door, it was 9:45. Mom and Dad were exactly where I’d left them, although Dad was now asleep, his head tilted back, softly snoring. Mom sat up as I closed the door. “You’re early.”

“Movie wasn’t very long,” I said.

Mom clearly had more to say, but I jogged up the stairs before she had a chance. I’d desperately wanted a shower, but once I was in my room, the idea of getting undressed was exhausting to me, so I just slumped down on my bed, bisque, tweed, and all.

It had been one week since I’d sat at Miss Annemarie’s and told Saylor Stark that I could be a Paladin and a regular girl. That nothing had to change.

“Nothing does,” I muttered to myself. So tonight had been bad. And odd. And, I thought, remembering sitting across from David in the lamplight of the tea room, unsettling.