Four Years Later (One Week Girlfriend #4)(29)
Author: Monica Murphy

I don’t even bother asking her for any more details. I really don’t care. The very last person I want to talk about is stupid, mean Tad. “Will you curl my hair for me, Kari? I want it to look pretty.”

“I told you, it already looks pretty,” she says as she moves around me so she can grab the curling iron that’s sitting on the counter, plug it in, and flick the switch on. “Stop holding out, Chelsea. I need to know who this mystery date is with.”

“You probably don’t know him.”

“You’re probably right.”

I give her a look in the mirror. “Don’t be mean.” I bet she thinks my date is a big, studious loser like me.

“I’m not. Just stating fact.” She shrugs, then grabs the brush I threw onto the counter and starts running it through my hair. “You sure you want me to curl it?”

“Yes.” Pressing my lips together, I grip the edge of the bathroom counter and count to three before I start my confession. “He’s one of the students I tutor.”

“Ooh, scandalous, babe! I thought you swore some oath or something. Like you had to sign in blood that you wouldn’t date your students.”

“Nothing like that.” It’s definitely frowned upon, though. Not that I’ll tell anyone beyond Kari that I’m going on a date with Owen. I mean, who else would care? “He’s a football player.”

Kari lifts a delicate brow. “Now we’re talking. What’s his name?”

“Um.” I squeeze the edge of the tile counter, the words sticking in my throat. He’s mine to savor and hold onto and keep quiet. Once I confess to Kari, it becomes public and real and … kind of weird. “His name is Owen Maguire.”

“What?” Kari’s screech hurts my ears and I wince, thankful she hadn’t started curling my hair yet. She probably would have burned me. “Are you freaking serious?”

I nod, my heart in my throat. I dread hearing what she’ll say next. It can’t be good.

“Everyone knows who Owen Maguire is. And he’s a total player, Chelsea.” The worry on Kari’s face is clear. “He’s got a horrible reputation.”

“Like what kind of reputation?” So dumb to ask that, but I have to know. I don’t want to, but it’s like a bad car wreck. You don’t want to stare but you can’t help yourself.

“He goes through a ton of girls; he likes to party and drink and smoke pot. Like, all the time.” Kari winces. “He’s so not the type of guy I picture you with, that’s for sure.”

“Why, because he’s good-looking and I’m not?” I know I’m on the defensive, but I can’t help myself.

“I never said that.” She reaches out to test the curling iron and finds it hot enough to her liking. “Turn around.”

I do as she asks, trying to calm the bubble of anger threatening to grow inside of me. “What did you mean, then?”

“You’re sweet and nice and he’s … not. At least from what I’ve heard.” She takes a chunk of hair from the back of my head and winds it around the curling iron, waiting a few beats before she slowly undoes it, showing me the result in a hand mirror. It falls in a perfect curl. “He is super hot, though, you lucky girl. His body is amazing.”

My cheeks heat. It is. Everything about Owen is amazing. “He’s really nice.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” She curls another piece, then another, and we both remain quiet for a few minutes, me chewing over what Kari said. I shouldn’t think anything could come out of this between Owen and me. Kari is right. We have nothing in common, and he’s definitely not my type … not that I have a type.

But I want a type.

“When he looks at me it’s like he wants to—do stuff to me,” I admit, my voice low.

“Ha, I’m definitely sure about that.” Kari slowly shakes her head, releasing another perfect curl. I could never make my hair look this good. I always screw up the back. “Watch out, Chelsea. I know you don’t have a lot of experience with guys. I just don’t want him to take advantage of you.”

“He won’t. I trust him.” I do, surprisingly enough. I only started working with him a couple of weeks ago, but I do trust him.

Men can never be trusted. They all want only one thing. Your body. And once they possess that, they toss you aside like yesterday’s trash.

Mom’s words ring through my head and I try to banish them, but it’s no use. The familiar anxiety fills me and I try to focus on anything else but the hatred my mom has toward all males in this universe.

No wonder I thought I wanted to become a lesbian. My man-hating, turn-around-and-forgive-my-dad-for-anything mom would make any girl consider turning.

“Just … keep your clothes on. This is your first date with him, after all.” Kari’s gaze meets mine in the mirror. “Right?”

My first real date ever, not that I’m going to confess that. “Yes. Definitely. We haven’t done anything beyond the tutoring lesson stuff.” Well, I’ve been at his house. And in his bedroom. I’ve actually spent a lot of time with him but never like this, on an official date and all.

“Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything. I’ll be home all night.” She moves to my right side, curling my hair with quick precision, like she’s a pro. “Your hair looks awesome.”

“And you didn’t want to curl it,” I remind her, keeping my gaze on my reflection in the mirror. Kari’s right. My hair looks pretty fabulous. “It does look good.”

“I have skills, what can I say? Plus, I have sisters. Lots of practice.” She sets the curling iron on the counter and turns it off. “Turn and face me.”

I do as she asks, letting her fluff out my hair so it falls past my shoulders in luxurious, perfect waves. “He’d better not drive you anywhere on a motorcycle or anything. Losing these curls would be a tragedy,” Kari says. She grabs a can of hair spray and takes the cap off. “Close your eyes.”

She sprays my hair for what feels like five minutes but was really only about ten seconds. “Not too much,” I warn her. What if Owen wants to touch my hair and it’s all sticky and stiff? Talk about ruining the mood.

“What? You want lover boy to run his fingers through your pretty hair?” I open my eyes to see her set the hair spray on the counter. She pulls open her makeup drawer, contemplating the contents within. “Can I do your makeup?”