The Boy Across The Street by Melanie Marks

Author:Melanie Marks [Marks, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2019-05-15T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

It’s kind of weird, don’t you think, that I hardly thought about Branden all night? Instead, I was stuck filled with tantalized, yearning thoughts about Dmitri. It sucks. Not as bad as it would have been to feel majorly brokenhearted over Branden, since the wad cheated on me. But still. It sucks. I don’t want to have these feelings for Dmitri.

The only upside about it is, it has Branden texting me with all kinds of insecure texts, like: “Geez, Piper, how long has THAT been going on? I thought you hated the guy? That definitely wasn’t hate I saw in your eyes last night. Sabrina keeps trying to convince me you were only trying to make me jealous with your cuddling with Dmitri. But no way. You’re totally into the guy. How long has this been going on?”

He keeps demanding I tell him, like he is the one that has been wounded and betrayed. Like things aren’t the total opposite. Like I cheated on him.

It’s kind of satisfying to have him so insecure. Definitely helps me feel better. Yes, I’m just that petty. Well, at the moment. Hey, I was cheated on!—after being assured over and over again I was being insecure and paranoid.

So that’s what I text to Branden, “You’re being insecure and paranoid.”

Then I block him from my phone.

It’s therapeutic.

Now I just need some sort of therapy from Dmitri.

The next text I get doesn’t do that; the therapy from Dmitri, I mean. Since the text is from Dmitri. “Hey, a life-sized poster of you is standing in my foyer.”

I go up in flames and quickly explain, “Oh, Jillian ordered that for publicity events. It was supposed to come to my house, not yours—of course.”

“Well, you better come get it quick—or it’s going in my room. Forever.”

When I rush over to his house to fetch the me cut-out, I’m embarrassed/amazed to see how big it is. It’s a truly life-sized poster-board of me in my formal dress with a big smile on my face and I’m waving, like ‘hello, I’m the queen.’ Dmitri bites his lip, feigning a sheepish look of hopefulness, he peeks up at me. “You wouldn’t consider keeping it here—would you?”

I smile. “No.”

He ducks his head, wincing in mock pain. “Okay.”

Dementedly, I love that he wanted it so bad—even if he was only playing around, for the most part. Which I assume he was, of course. But only mostly—hopefully. (Okay, yes. I dreamed about him last night. (Duh.) And I keep, keep, keep reliving him last night at the party as my fake-date, and I swear, in hindsight, his sweetness and longing looks seem as though they had been genuine. I swear. However, I know I am a giant sap when it comes to him, so I keep my impulse to jump into his arms in a stranglehold—though we are now staring at each other as though we both have the same impulse. I swear, there are sparks between us.) I need therapy!!

“Um, who’s this?” a cute guy asks suddenly standing next to Dmitri.

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