Part 18 (1/2)

Wimpy Pete's is a dumpy, slightly greasy burger joint-the kind of place where you don't want to touch the menus with your bare hands, but you know the food's going to be delicious. If that mouthwatering meat and onions aroma is any indication, that is.

The twenty-something waitress greets Dean and Johnny like a starving woman would greet prime rib. Most of her black hair is covered by a bright blue kerchief, retro-style, and her skin is about as porcelain as you can get without being a toilet. Bad comparison. She's very pretty in a hip chick kinda way.

When she's done gus.h.i.+ng over the guys, she spots me lingering slightly behind them, and her eyes grow big.

”Oh, my gos.h.!.+” she exclaims very loudly. ”Is this your little sister? She is the cutest little thing-like a perfect little doll!”

Johnny and Dean smirk at each other while Hip Chick calls someone named Linda to come out and look at how adorable I am. Linda, an older woman with lots and lots of blonde hair piled in a gravity-defying bun, lumbers out from the kitchen. Both women exclaim over me while I momentarily forget I'm not twelve, and smile and blush at their compliments. Some days, you have to take what you can get.

Hip Chick leads us to a booth in the back-but not before asking me if I need a booster seat, and laughing l.u.s.tily at her own wit. Along the way, the guys are stopped a couple of times by people who recognize them. Johnny and Dean are big deals around here, you know. When we used to go out, Johnny would get approached at least once by a football fan, and he'd always be so nice about it. Of course, afterwards, I'd have to slap him around a little-just to put him back in his place. It's real easy for the ego to get crazy out of control when people wors.h.i.+p at your feet like that.

Just kidding. I never hit him. Hard. I mean, at all.

A dilemma. We get to the booth, and Dean takes one side, and Johnny slides into the other. I don't know the rules for situations like these-I've never hung out with any of my ex-boyfriends after the relations.h.i.+p ended. Would it be weird to sit next to Johnny now? Is it a little too late for me to be observing the ex protocol after what happened at Mack's? Stupid girl. Oh, I don't care about the weirdness-I want to p.i.s.s him off.

I start lowering my b.u.t.t towards Johnny-straighten-then lower again-then abruptly ram Dean's shoulder with the side of my body, forcing him to move down. I sink awkwardly down in the seat while Johnny pins me with his intense blue-eyed stare. He is p.i.s.sed that I'm not sitting next to him, though he's trying to hide it.

Both boys order the Chubby Burger and fries. The picture looks good on the menu, so I decide to get one, too-though I doubt we'll have a chance to eat all of it. We've got thirty two minutes to be back at school-and I don't plan on going back late and getting in trouble.

After we order, I clear my throat and try to turn to Dean. I wish the booth wasn't so small, or he wasn't so big-I'm at the edge of the bench to avoid touching him while he has one arm resting along the top of the bench in back of me.

”So I was thinking last night,” I begin. ”I really want to do the Capulets and Montagues versus Friar Lawrence. There's so much we could do with it. I guarantee we'd get an A.”

”You're wasting your breath, Teeny,” Johnny says with a chuckle. ”If it involves acting, Dean won't do it.”

Dean squints his light-filled iridescent eyes at him. ”Never say never,” he says quietly.

I look at him, all excited. ”Does that mean you'll do it?”

”No.”

Johnny chuckles at my crestfallen expression. ”Ah, no, here comes the 'I'm-so-cute-how-can-you-say-no-to-this-look.' Look away, Dean. Look away.”

Instead, Dean turns to me amused. ”You think that's going to work on me?”

I turn the big eyes on him. ”I hear guilt is always a good motivator.”

He smirks down at me. ”Really?”

Johnny is looking back and forth between the two of us, puzzled. ”Guilt?” he repeats, eyebrows raised. There's just a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

I hesitate for a few seconds. I guess I'd better come clean before he gets the wrong idea. Without looking at Dean, I quickly explain some of our shared history to Johnny. As I talk, he looks like he doesn't know whether to laugh, or be angry on my behalf.

He leans back in his seat, shaking his head. ”Why didn't you tell me?”

”Yeah, Dean,” I say accusingly, cutting my eyes toward him. He stares heavenward, barely repressing a sigh.

”Yeah, Dean,” Johnny repeats with a grin. ”Bullying a sweet little girl like Teeny? Dude, you should be ashamed.”

”Do I look proud?” Dean is completely expressionless. ”I was ten,” he emphasizes.

”That's no excuse.” Johnny snorts. ”Lots of ten year olds out there don't act like d.i.c.ks.”

”That's what I said.” I point at Johnny triumphantly.

Our food arrives, for which I'm grateful-mostly because I'm starving. And a little bit because I feel kind of bad for Dean. Johnny has this elated look on his face...I know that look. He's going to give Dean a hard time about this. I should have kept my mouth shut.

”So, Dean,” he mumbles, grabbing a fry from his plate. ”You doing anything after practice today? Wanna find a couple of old ladies to kick? Maybe throw some kittens off a cliff?”

Dean resolutely ignores him, focusing all of his attention on his ma.s.sive burger. I try to tear a chunk off of mine-I don't want to smear my lipstick by taking a giant bite-and special sauce and shredded lettuce fall all over my hand. Yeck.

”Johnny, it was a long time ago,” I say, wiping the back of my hand with a napkin. ”It scarred me, of course. But anyone can see Dean's matured into someone who's willing to compromise, try new things-and make up for past transgressions-”

”If I agree to do it, will you stop talking?” Dean growls.

I clamp my lips shut in a big show-though the corners of my mouth are twitching madly. I meet Johnny's bright blue eyes, and we share a conspiratorial look. This is fun. If I had known how easy it is to mess with Dean, Johnny and I could have ganged up on him from the start. Sort of like a menage a trois of bullying-ness. That's not right. Menage a trois-where did that phrase come from?

Oh, my G.o.d. A really dirty picture just popped into my head. Me, Johnny...Dean. Oh, my G.o.d.

Erase! Erase!

”You okay, Teeny?” Johnny leans across the table to study me. ”You've got a really weird look on your face.”

I shrink down in embarra.s.sment, trying desperately to dispel the images currently bombarding me: smooth hard bodies, muscles flexing and tensing...sweating. Me, in the middle of all that. Oh, stop it, you pervert! I bow my head, letting my hair fall around my face-and oh, look at that. Into my plate of food as well. Now my hair is going to smell like special sauce for the rest of the day. Yes, think of was.h.i.+ng my hair. In the shower. With Johnny and Dean helping me.

I clamp my knees together, ignoring the weird tingling in weird parts of my body. Eek! Embarra.s.sing. Don't you dare giggle, Juliet!

”It's nothing,” I say, the words coming out strangely m.u.f.fled. I choke on a snort of laughter, which makes me want to bury my red face in my hands.

It's the guys turn to exchange looks. They both appear mystified as I burst into hysterical cackles. I just...I can't-so hot!

Am I total sleaze for even having these crazy thoughts? I swear, they just started in my mind like a dirty movie. I'm so going to h.e.l.l. I need to stop reading those trashy romance novels. But, d.a.m.n...have you ever seen some of those book covers?

”I'd give anything to know what's making you blush like that.” Johnny says, sounding only half amused. ”Where are your hands, Dean?” he jokes, glancing under the table.

”Johnny!” I yelp, mortified. I can't even look at Dean.

I'm saved by the bell. A chime sounds-Johnny's alert for when he gets a text message. He s.h.i.+fts to the side to get his phone out of his pants pocket, and quickly checks the screen.

One thing about Johnny is he's never secretive about his texts or phone calls. When we were together, and he would receive, like, a billion texts, he would always read them out loud-even though I never asked him about them.

”Party at Mark Wilten's after the game,” he announces, looking up at Dean. ”You in?”