The Cliche Gone Wrong

Chapter Twenty-nine

It's like my head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck. His arms are wrapped securely around my waist as we lay in bed watching the television that is mounted to the wall across from us. We've been like this the majority of the day, sleeping through the rest of the morning and only waking up to sneak down into the kitchen to grab something to eat.

There are so many other things I should be doing right now. I feel like it's about 5th period, so I only have a couple hours before I have to head back to school and pick up Jazzy; before swooping by to get the twins and Kahlil and drop them off at home before I race to work. I could always call in sick though. I mean I did miss school.

Ugh, I'm totally going to get grounded for skipping school today. They probably already called home and left a message about my absence. Maybe I can delete the message off the answering machine before my parents hear it?

But as I lay in Shills' arms watching the flat screen TV that is mounted to the wall opposite the bed I can't bring myself to care about any of that.

My hand reaches up to brush across his t-shirt before resting on his chest. He leans further into me in response, his shoulders wiggling as he pulls me in closer to him. How did we get here? Wasn't it just last week that I hated his guts, and I'm pretty sure he hated mine too?

"Shills," I whisper, looking up to check if he is awake. His sleepy eyes roll down to meet mine as he yawns dramatically.

"You know you can call me Jude, right?"

"Well that depends on your answer to my question." I remove myself from his embrace, much to his protest, sitting up in the bed as I cross my legs underneath me. "What is this? I mean, us?"

"Wow I don't even know your name and you're asking me to define our relationship?" He laughs as he sits up too, leaning back against the headboard. "I wish I could say that was a first."

My nostrils flare at his response. "Not funny."

"Sorry," he grimaces, reaching up to scratch the back of his head.

I my scowl deepens as he is unable to look me in the eyes; his gaze focusing on the comforter, then the TV, then his dresser, before its starts the circuit again.

"Were you going to answer?" I prod.

"I'm trying to figure out my answer at the moment," he replies. As he sits and thinks his hand reaches out to grab mine, his fingers tangling and untangling with mine as he thinks to himself. I allow the motion, finding no harm in the touching as long as he answers my question.

"I don't think you're going to like this," he says, finally locking his gaze onto me. I don't know how to reply so I don't, waiting for him to fill me on what I'm clearly missing.

"Last week the guys and I made one of our usual friendly wagers..." He trails off, his mouth pursing as he just stares at me.

"What was it?" I finally ask, unable to take the silence.

"Well..." He draws out the word, trying to bide his time. "Its no big deal really. They just bet that I couldn't get you to like me."

I freeze, trying to figure out if he's joking or not. But his face remains stoic as he looks at me. "You can't be serious."

"It's not like that really!" He tries to correct. "I mean, I lost the bet so I paid up."

"You..." I struggle to wrap my brain around the bits and pieces of the broken story he's feeding me. "What?"

"I mean, I'm not doing this because of the bet! Hanging out with you or anything, I mean." He clarifies, his hand squeezing mine in what I'm sure he meant to be a comforting manner. "I'm the one that made the bet, you know? Because I wanted an excuse to get close to you without the guys making fun of me or anything."