“What’s wrong with my flannel?” he asks, glancing down at it with a frown.
“It’s a bit much, don’t you think?”
“You’re wearing sequins.”
“Why do you insist on hovering when your company is not appreciated?” I ask with a sigh and an emphatic flip of the page. “Obsessed much?”
“No, sorry, Finch. For whatever reason, Wednesday Addams and Elle Woods’s love child isn’t my type.” He slides his hands into the pockets of his worn denim.
“And yet you continue to hover.”
“You’re in my section.” He tugs the top of a spine, pulling it out of its cramped spot and pages through its contents.
“This is the romance section.”
“And?” He doesn’t glance up, and it irks me to no end. Talking to me is a privilege he shouldn’t take for granted.
“Shouldn’t you be reading like, I don’t know, sci-fi or military fiction or something?”
“Well, that’s an awful patriarchal view on romance there, Ms. Finch. Guys enjoy stories where people fall in love, too. Plus, they’re kind of like manuals for certain things.” He continues and raises his eyes to meet mine, wearing his signature crooked grin. A facial expression that’s almost as infuriating as the man himself. “I’d be more than happy to recommend a few to Connor if it’d help take the edge off whatever this is.” He gestures at m,e returning to his book.
“Edge?” I squeak out. For whatever reason, this discussion is forcing an unwelcome heat on my cheeks. Hopefully, whatever he’s reading will hold his attention long enough for them to chill.
“That’s one way he could do it, sure. You’re not a subtle blusher, are you, Satanic Barbie?” he asks before humming a far too familiar Billy Joel song.
“Lumberjack Frasier,” I mutter under my breath.
“Darth Blair Waldorf.”
“I’m shocked you know anything about Gossip Girl, Tragically More-Annoying Ross Geller. I assumed your television knowledge was reserved for CNN documentaries or something.”
“I’m full of surprises, Madeline.” He picks his gaze up, meeting mine for a fraction, before dropping to my lips like he’s waiting for my response.
“God, you’re obsessed with me.”
“Contrary to popular belief, you’re not everyone’s type,” he deadpans, but a decidedly pink tinge to his cheeks gives him away. He’s not as cool as he’s trying to play it.
“And you’re not Jenny’s.” His book snaps shut.Got him.I flash him a saccharine smile. “But maybe those cute puppy-dog eyes you flash her way will wear her down soon enough. Who knows?” I boop his nose with the condescending giggle I’ve mastered over the years and pivot away with a hair flip…oof… right into Connor’s broad chest.
Connor’s hands fall to my hips, stabilizing me. “Hey, babe, Jenny’s going to show me some graphic novels she thinks I might like, and then we can go. Sound good?”
My ex-best friend, Jenny, hovers behind Connor’s shoulder. I meet her eyes, shaded under the brim of her hat, and find the hurt hanging in her chocolate brown irises, no less faded after three years. A pang of remorse tugs on my conscience, and I bury it.
Betraying her was the cost I paid for my new life. I was initially reluctant, a large part of me desperate to cling to her as if she was a part of my soul rather than another person. But three years later, with the quarterback of the football team and multiple other guys wrapped around my finger, a sorority house full of people looking up to me, and a thriving social life on campus, I can say that sacrifice was worth it.
Even if I carry the guilt of my actions around.
“No, Connor,” I whine. “I want to leave. Now.”
His infectious smile curls down. “It’ll just be a sec—promise,” he says, leaning in and kissing my cheek.
Okay, but why bother asking if it was okay if my answer didn’t matter?
A book drops behind me to a muffled. “Shit.”
Connor glances over my shoulder, and a crease forms between his brows. “Hey, aren’t you—”
“Jenny’s friend, yeah.” Seth cuts him off with a panicked edge to his voice. I face him, curious about what has him so flustered, but he’s just standing there, pink-cheeked, trying to restock a few fallen books.
