Check, Please (Book #2)

Twenty-Five.

I left to pick Melanie up at a quarter to nine, figuring that would give us plenty of time to join the pre-game in Parker's room before the buses started to leave. Getting to Melanie's apartment and back in my car should've taken no more than ten minutes, but what I hadn't realized was that several streets around the university had been closed to accommodate a film shoot.

Bumper to bumper traffic left me so frazzled that when I finally arrived at Melanie's door, I asked her if she wouldn't mind walking the half mile back to Greek Row. She was surprised at first, then completely on board after I explained the situation on the roads. I had a feeling that her easygoing response had something to do with the fact that the ordeal had left me struggling to form complete sentences; she felt sorry for me, I could see it in her eyes.

"Let me just grab a pair of flats to walk over in," Melanie said, before hurrying back inside her apartment to get a change of shoes.

Sitting on my hands to stop them from shaking, I waited for her on the same staircase that we'd sat on together the month before. It was definitely colder now than it had been back then, but if I closed my eyes and concentrated, I could still hear Melanie's voice in my ear while she told me what to say to win over my moody ex. Unfortunately, I could hear my responses, too, each one more regrettable than the last...

"You ready?" Melanie asked from behind me, and I scrambled to my feet, wincing at the memory.

The stress of driving through L.A. traffic must have taken a greater toll on me than I'd first realized because I hadn't noticed how good Melanie looked until that moment. Her hair fell in loose ringlets around her face, and her makeup looked different from how she normally wore it. It was sparklier, maybe brighter somehow. I couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly, though I sensed it had something to do with the blend of colors on her eyelids. I swallowed, turning my attention to her outfit.

She wore a pristine letterman's jacket over a simple black dress, and I wondered if the jacket was a remnant from her years of running cross-country; it certainly looked like it had been made for her. In her left hand, she carried a pair of bright yellow heels that reminded me of a canary, or that giant bird from Sesame Street.

"Yeah," I said, letting my gaze linger on her legs for a little too long before looking at her face again. "Want me to carry those?"

I motioned at her heels, but Melanie shook her head. "That's alright."

We walked down the stairs in silence, and neither of us spoke as I instinctively pushed the Lock button on my car keys for the second time--just to make sure. The tail lights of my Mustang lit up, and although Melanie's mouth was curved in its usual half-smile, I noted with some disappointment that she didn't comment on the car's freshly waxed body. I'd taken it to the auto shop earlier in the week after noticing that sap from the tree I usually parked under had dripped onto its hood. Eighty bucks and a new car cover later, it looked good as new, despite the fact that it was getting up in years.

In a rare display of affection, my parents had given my car to me on my sixteenth birthday. It came with rules attached to it, of course: no racing, be home by midnight, keep it clean, keep your grades up, no drinking, no drugs, and so on. I'd followed all of those rules without complaint--well, other than having it back in the garage on time--because my car had been my first true love. I'd driven around in it like I was the greatest thing since sliced bread, playing my CDs from Roscoe's Records at deafening volumes, and enjoying the way my ears tingled when I stepped outside to curious stares in the school parking lot. Parker had always rolled his eyes at my displays of ostentatiousness and I'd outgrown them over time; I hated when strangers looked at me now.

Still, after seven years of receiving compliments on Old Blue from men and women alike, I should've known that Melanie would be the first girl to remain unmoved by its deep cerulean frame. Truth be told, I was almost offended on my car's behalf, though I resisted the urge to fish for flattery.