One of Those Rainy Days

It’s one of those rainy days.

One of those rainy days where stupid things like the lint balls on your sweats or the stains on your couch have more interesting stories then the bookwork you were assigned that Friday.

It’s one of those rainy days where the good things in life are homemade ice cream by the gallon and your TVo’d episodes of Ghost Whisperer.

And it’s one of those rainy days where anything can happen. Where the day can start out horrible and end up being one of the best days of your life.

I should have seen it coming when the toaster didn’t work. I should have seen that my day would be anything but normal when I put my toast into the slots, pressed the lever down, and the little red light didn’t come on. At eleven AM on a Saturday morning, the general rule of nature is that the toaster should work. When you’re extremely tired and don’t feel like whipping out your secret Bobby Flay powers, toast is generally your best bet. But that wasn’t an option apparently, that morning. Because, playing true to form, my little brother had decided to do one of his little science experiments that entailed taking apart the only toaster in our house. He didn’t put it back together right.

I groaned out loud when my bread popped up and it was still the same temperature as when I’d put it in. “Tyler, I’m gonna kill you,” I muttered under my breath, hitching up my baggy sweats and throwing the bread back in the bag. Two minutes later, I crashed on the couch and flipped on the TV, heading straight for my list of recorded shows. I balanced my Cinnamon Toast Crunch (the next best thing after toast) in one hand and found last night’s Ghost Whisperer on the list. I stuffed some of my cereal in my mouth as the opening sequence started. Then, I felt a buzzing under my butt, and my ringtone (Ashley by Disco Curtis) faintly played. I sat my cereal down on the arm rest and dug under the cushions, finally grasping the vibrating phone, grabbed my cereal and took a bite, and looked at who was calling.

“What do you want, Meyers?” I said around a mouthful of mush. My for-all-intents-and-purposes-sister, Michelle, giggled at the other end.

“Hey, can we come over for a while?” she asked. I swallowed my food and hitched the phone higher on my shoulder.

“That depends on who ‘we’ is.”

“‘We’ being, me, my boyfriend and his little brother.” I sat up, interested.

“You mean I finally get to meet this mysterious boyfriend of yours? You’ve been dating for like, what, two weeks, and all I’ve heard about him is ‘Oh he’s so wonderful!’ and ‘You’d love him!’” She laughed again.

“Yes, you get to meet him. My mom’s being stupid and won’t let us in the house. I think she’s still hung over from last night. You know how we Meyer’s are.”

“Can’t resist a good party.” I smiled. The Meyer’s have been family friends since before I can remember. Michelle is twenty, a good three years older than me, but she’s closer to me than any of my friends at Beverly Hills are. Most of my school friends are probably just as hung over as Michelle’s mom right now, which would be why I left the party at Kayla’s around midnight, rather then five AM.

“We’ll be there in like twenty, OK? Traffic on the 405 is horrible.”

“Whatever.”

“Oh, and Dyl? Are you sitting around in your DC tee shirt and sweats?” I looked down. She knew me too well.

“Maybe…”

“Get cute.” She got quieter. “His brother’s your age, maybe a bit older. But he’s your type and totally yummy.” I rolled my eyes.

“Chelle, you’re such a loser. I have a date with Robby tonight. And I’m not getting cute for-

“Dylan Elizabeth Rowley! Just do it! You’ll like him, trust me! And he’s way hotter then that douche. I’ve met Robby a few times and he’s nothing compared to this guy.”

“Fine, whatever!” I called as I hung up the phone, took the last bite of my cereal, and stood up. This was stupid. Getting dressed up for Michelle’s boyfriend’s brother? Who was this kid, Zac Efron? I quickly ran up to my room, not caring whether I was loud or not. My parents were speaking at some Small Business conference in Denver, and my little brother was at his friend’s house. The same little creeper who has an on-the-boarder-of-stalking crush on Michelle. He’s also seven years younger than her. Stupid 14 year old hormones. I can’t really say anything though. Three years ago, I was making out with anything that was half way decent looking and didn’t give a crap about whose feelings it hurt.

As I grabbed for my curler on the vanity, I glanced down at my purity ring. Yeah, okay, I still had my V-card. But after the last few years, I didn’t feel right wearing the ring. Until about three weeks ago, that is. I’d had a long winded discussion with my old youth leader at my church back in Dallas over Facebook, and had ended up coming to the conclusion that my past was done with, and I couldn’t do anything about it except become a better person and make better decisions.

Pretty damn mature, if you ask me.

Twenty minutes later, I was dressed in a pair of Miss Me skinnies with silver fleur-de-les on the back, black Ugg’s and a black and silver Disco Curtis tee shirt.

Disco Curtis was a band I listened to on a frequent basis.

I went to the same school as them (three of them were in a grade above me and one in my year) when I lived in Texas, and I ended up just randomly being invited to be in their music video the summer before I moved. It was a fun couple of days. They were a good band, and not too bad looking either.

The doorbell rang just as I was giving myself a once over in the mirror.

Boots. Check. Eyeliner. Check. Hair. Check.

I fixed one blonde wave on the side of my face and then ran to get the door, pulling my phone out of my pocket as I went.

Without even looking up, I opened the door and said sarcastically, “Girl, what took you so long?” I heard Michelle laugh and then I was pulled into one of her bone crushing hugs. Her long, blonde hair got all in my mouth and I spit to get it out.

“What, no love for us?” a guys voice said. I pulled out of the hug with Michelle and looked up.

Jaw, meet floor. Floor, meet jaw.

There we go. Is everybody acquainted?

Great. Now can we please separate so I can form a coherent sentence?

“Uhhh,” I stuttered, looking over at the two boys standing in my doorway.

Two thirds of the effing Jonas Brothers, to be more specific.

Not that I listen to a lot of their music or anything. It’s not really my style.

But still. Two amazingly gorgeous guys standing in my doorway. Both of them tall, muscular and pretty damn sexy, if I do say so myself.

“Hi.”

That was the only thing I could get to come out of my mouth?! Hi?!

“Hello there,” Joe Jonas said with a little laugh. Nick was quiet, but smiling slightly.

“Well we’re gonna just…” Michelle trailed off, and then pulled Joe behind her as she walked straight into my house. Thanks Chelle, love you too.

“Uhh, come in,” I said to Nick, moving out of the way so he could walk freely.

“Thanks,” he muttered, following Joe and Michelle to the living room. Before I closed the door, I noted that the weather was dreary-it looked like it was about to rain. The couple sat down on the love seat, and leaving him no other option, Nick sat on one side of the couch. He was shorter then I thought he’d be in person. 5’9 max. I’m 5’8, so it worked out that he was taller then me, but he’s still pretty short. Comparatively to Robby, I mean. Robby was the running back of the football team, and ran track. He was buff and tall and one piece of man candy. But Nick, and first glance, was a whole jar of man candy. His height might have been a bit of a let down, but otherwise, he was just…gorgeous. Like his brother. That curly hair, the small smirk he gave when Michelle and Joe kissed right after they sat down (which I almost gagged at), and even the way he sat back, looking unworried, but slightly uneasy, on the couch.

“So we finally meet the infamous boyfriend,” I said, grinning and sitting down on the couch, a good three feet from Nick.

To say I was reverting to my old ways again, looking at guys from a physical standpoint instead of a personal one, might not have been such an exaggeration.

What can I say? Old habits die hard.

Chelle laughed nervously, and linked hands with Joe. “Yep.”

“Michelle’s been so hush hush about everything lately-I feel like I barely know you! Tell me a bit about yourself,” I gushed, being as animate as possible. This was my way of getting back at Chelle for not telling me she was dating a freaking Jonas Brother.

“Well, I’m twenty, I’m in a band,” he started. Michelle laughed again, just as nervously, and shot me a death glare. I smiled back, showing off my straight teeth (didn’t spend years with a metal mouth back in Dallas for nothing). “I like to joke around-I’m thinking about going into comedy later in life. I write-a lot.” He looked at me, waiting for a response, and I just smiled, as always.

“Well that’s kind of cleared things up.” Michelle sent me another glare. I turned to Nick. “You want anything to drink?” I looked back to Joe, nodding, showing that I was asking him too.

“Just some water, thanks,” was Nick’s response.

“Same here,” Joe said.

“Chelle, will you help me in the kitchen?”

“Getting water?” she asked, looking confused. I shot her a look back, and she jumped up. “Be right back!” As soon as we were in the kitchen, I shot my hand back and then smacked her across the shoulder. “Ouch! What the fuck?” She glared at me again, and I glared right back.

“What the fuck is right!” I scream-whispered. “You didn’t tell me you were dating a fucking JONAS BROTHER.”

“I didn’t wanna say who it was until we were sure it was gonna go somewhere,” she said, looking down at her manicured nails. I’d assumed they’d been done on set (she was playing a minor role in a new crime series for HBO).

“And is it?” I crossed my arms, waiting for her reply. She looked up, her eyes shining, mouth in a wide grin.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “I think it is.” Holy shit. This was worse then I thought. She really liked the guy. I guess I couldn’t mess with things, then. If the guy seemed like a pansy-ass, though, I could easily scare him away. We’d see how the day went.