Boomerang by Noelle August Page B

weekend.”
    As Skyler likes to point out, I sometimes have tone-modulation issues, and the statement comes out sounding more sarcastic than I intend.
    “Hey,” says Ethan, sitting back. “Adam invited himself along. I didn’t want him there.”
    “Why not?” I strip the top piece of bread off my sandwich and sling it at a couple of squirrels darting around in the shade. “It’s a good strategy.”
    “I don’t give a damn about that,” Ethan says, and his brittle tone matches mine. “I’m not trying to strategize. I just want to play some soccer. That’s all I want.”
    “Clearly, you want more than that.”
    “Meaning what?”
    “The job. You want the job.” I fold the bottom half of the sandwich over and take a bite. Suddenly, I’m ravenous.
    “And you don’t?”
    I swallow, and the sandwich wends a slow, painful path down my esophagus. Chew, Mia. For God’s sake.
    “No, I do,” I say. “And I think it’s okay to want it. So you don’t have to act like every move you make is unintentional. You got Rhett and Adam to come play soccer. That’s great for you. So just—it’s okay to just want things.”
    Which makes me wonder if I need to be less squeamish about using my mom as bait. If it helps me get this job, what will it hurt?
    He looks at me, and we’re quiet for a long moment. I pick up my sandwich, just to do something. A breeze riffles the sandwich wrapper, and it skids across the table and onto the ground. I bend to retrieve it, aware that things have taken a really strange turn—and that I’m the one steering. Holy hell. What is wrong with me?
    I march off toward a garbage can, failing to avoid the image rising in my mind. Kyle on our last night. The oceanfront cantina, where moonlight gave everything a magical glow, and his words almost disappeared beneath the insistent rush of the ocean. “I just don’t know what I want, Mia.”
    None of which is poor Ethan’s fault, of course. I take a few deep breaths—stupid to do over a garbage can—and return to the table.
    “Sorry,” I say. “I’m being unfair.”
    “It’s okay,” he tells me and gets to his feet.
    He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. What’s there—curiosity, concern—makes me want to tuck myself into his pocket and just live there. Kyle would give me this panicked, checking-for-exits look any time I had even the slightest blip in my emotional baseline.
    “Want to drive back?” I ask, and hold up the valet key.
    “Sure.”
    We get in, and he starts the engine. “We’ll figure it out.”
    “What?”
    “The booth thing. Let’s talk to Adam about it when we get back. We’ll go in together.”
    “Okay.”
    He looks at me for a long moment and then takes off his tie and hands it to me with a smile.
    “What’s this for?”
    “I thought you could tie it around your hair,” he tells me. “Should have thought of it sooner.”
    I draw the silken fabric through my fingers, wishing he didn’t make it so easy to like him. “That’s really thoughtful.” I pull my hair back and cinch it with the tie. The edges tickle the back of my neck, raising goose bumps.
    “Ready?” he asks.
    I nod. “Let’s go.”

 Chapter 16 
     
    Ethan
     
    Q: Blind dates: a chance for fun or failure?
     
    I sis raps on the bathroom door. “We’re leaving, E! Have a nice dinner with your new boyfriend!”
    “Go easy on him, Spicy,” Jason says. “The man is in crisis.” His voice grows muffled and louder, like he’s right on the other side of the door. “Ethan, sorry about that. Hey, almost forgot. I left your corsage for Blackwood on the kitchen table.”
    He can barely finish the sentence. No one’s funnier to Jason than Jason. I listen to his laugh grow quieter until the front door shuts, and the apartment’s quiet.
    I swipe a stray drop of shaving cream off my ear, considering my reflection in the mirror. I look like I’m about to start a fight or hold up a bank—instead of join Adam for