This Girl: A Novel

back at her. How am I going to say this?
    She follows my gaze to her front door, then back to me and smiles. “Oh. You uh . . . You want to come inside?”
    Oh, god, oh, god. Why did I look at the door? She thinks I want to come inside now. Do I want to come inside? Shit. I don’t want to come inside. I can’t. I wouldn’t be thinking about Taylor at all if I went inside.
    “Taylor,” I say. “I need to be honest with you. I think you’re great. I had a great time. If we did this a few months ago, I’d be inside that house with you in a heartbeat.”
    She can see where I’m headed, so she just nods. “But . . .” she says.
    “There’s someone else. Someone recent that I can’t seem to get past. I agreed to this date because I was hoping that maybe it would somehow help me get over her, but . . . it’s too soon.”
    She looks up at the sky and drops her arms to her side. “Oh, god. I just kissed you. I thought you were feeling it, too, so I kissed you.” She covers her face with her hands, embarrassed. “I’m an idiot.”
    “No,” I say, taking a step closer. “No, don’t say that. I know this is cliché and it’s the last thing you want to hear, but . . . it’s not you, it’s me. It’s completely me. Really. I think you’re great and cute and I’m glad you kissed me. Honestly, the timing just really sucks. That’s all.”
    She hugs herself with her arms and looks down at the ground. “If it’s just timing,” she says quietly, “will you keep my number? In case the timing thing ever gets better?”
    “Yeah,” I say. “Definitely.”
    She nods, then looks up at me. “Okay, then,” she smiles. “To awkward first dates.”
    I laugh. “To awkward first dates,” I say. She waves and heads inside. Once she’s inside her house, I sigh and head back to my car. “Never again, Gavin,” I mutter. “Never again.”

10.
    the honeymoon
    “EXCUSE ME FOR a second,” Lake says. She pushes herself up and walks to the bathroom, then slams the door behind her.
    She’s mad? Seriously? Oh, hell no. I jump up and try to open the bathroom door, but it’s locked from the inside. I knock. After several seconds, she swings it open and spins back around toward the shower without looking at me. She turns the shower knob until the water comes to life, then she slips off her shirt.
    “I just need a shower,” she snaps.
    I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms. “You’re mad. Why are you mad? Nothing happened. I never went out with her again.”
    She shakes her head and closes the lid to the toilet, then takes a seat on top of it. She slips off her socks one at a time and tosses them to the floor with a jerk of her wrist. “I’m not mad,” she says, still avoiding eye contact.
    “Lake?” She doesn’t look up at me. “Lake? Look at me,” I demand.
    She inhales a slow breath, then looks up at me through her lashes, her mouth puckered into a pout.
    “Three days ago you made a promise to me,” I say. “Do you remember what that promise was?”
    She rolls her eyes and stands up, unbuttoning her pants. “Of course I remember, Will. It was three freaking days ago.”
    “What did you promise me you wouldn’t do?”
    She walks to the mirror and pulls at her ponytail, letting her hair down. She doesn’t respond. I take a step closer to her. “What did you promise, Lake? What did we both promise each other the night before we got married?”
    She grabs her brush off the counter and vigorously combs at her hair. “That we would never carve pumpkins with each other,” she mumbles. “That we would talk everything out.”
    “And what are you doing right now?”
    She slams the brush down on the counter and turns to me. “What the hell do you want me to say, Will? Do you want me to admit that I’m not perfect? That I’m jealous? I know you said it didn’t mean anything to you, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t mean something to me!” She brushes past me and walks to my suitcase to grab her bottle of conditioner. I lean against the bathroom door again and watch her toss the contents of my suitcase onto the floor while she continues searching for more toiletries.
    I don’t give her a rebuttal; I have a feeling she isn’t finished. Once she gets started like this, it’s better if I don’t interrupt her. She finds her razor and spins around, continuing her rant.
    “And I know you didn’t kiss her first, but you didn’t not kiss her. And you admitted you thought she was cute!