Gus peeks his head into my room. In a flash, I stand in front of the magazine, still open on the desk. With a hand behind my back, I slowly close it.
“That was Jack. He’s running a little late, but thinks he’ll be on time for dinner.”
“Din-dinner?” I stammer. “Doesn’t he have a game?”
Gus cocks his head to the side. “He’s suspended for twenty games,” he says slowly, like I should already know this. “And his agent thought it would be a good idea for him to get out of the city after that guy threw something at him yesterday. Didn’t he tell you? Emy said you were—”
“Aulie’s just been so busy with the fair planning, you know. She’s been forgetting things,” Emy says in an uneasy tone.
Wait, have I? I’ve been tired, sure, but I feel like I’m on top of some things.
Gus crosses his arms, furrowing his brow. “You do at least remember he’s going to stay with us in three-ish weeks once Simone has the baby and needs the nursery, right? I’ll need help getting the guest room set up.”
Jack-They-Put-Me-In-The-Sin-Bin-For-a-Reason-Parker, here? Oh no. I would remember that, because instead of organizing bonnets I’d be barring all points of entry to the house while simultaneously researching local hypnotists.
I would never have agreed to it. Which means…I turn to Emy, whose lowered gaze is all the confirmation I need that she’s guilty of meddling. “I told Aulie I’d take care of that,” she says, not meeting my eye.
“Gus. Will you excuse us? I need to talk about my…period with Emy.”
“Uhm. Yeah. Sure…” He tiptoes out. “We can talk about everything later.”
“Looking forward to it,” I say with a sing-songy voice and a fake, plastered smile.
The minute the door clicks shut, I turn and shoot daggers in Emy’s direction.
“Remember, I love you, and you love me.” She giggles, putting the bed between us.
“Yes, and I will plan the loveliest funeral for you after I kill you. Promise.” I lunge, and she squeals, jumping from my clutches.
“Okay, but just no carnations. They’re tacky.”
“Like I would put carnations in your—stop distracting me! And don’t you dare try to play the Emma part with us while he’s here.” I point an accusatory fan in her direction. “I’m serious. No matchmaking. Nothing good can come out of this. Jack will just get weirded out and leave if he knows I’ve caught feelings.”
“Matchmake? Me? I’d never dream of doing such a thing,” Emy says innocently. She crosses her heart, but the twinkle in her eyes suggests otherwise.
ChapterEight
Jack Parker
Play:Ever Fallen in Love by the Buzzcocks
Friends can buy friends apology flowers, right? That’s not something restricted to coupledom? Standing on Gus and Aulie’s doorstep, I manage to overthinking everything—including if I should knock on the Desfleurs’s door—because Aulie’s ghosting me, and I need her like I need air to breathe. The last few days of silence have been suffocating.
The cellophane wrapped around the fresh-cut flowers I hesitantly picked up at a roadside stand on the way to Chawton Falls crinkles in my sweaty palms. I steady my breath. Usually, I wouldn’t knock. Since I was little, the Desfleurses have had an open-door policy, but with a string of unanswered phone calls proving Aulie’s mad at how I behaved on the ice, things feel different.
I balance a box of her favorite pizza from a small beach town in Seacoast, New Hampshire. Beach pizza is a weird phenomenon that doesn’t exist this far north in the state, and Aulie’s borderline obsessed. I’m hoping the gesture is enough to put an end to her silent treatment.
Since she showed up on my campus five years ago, we haven’t gone a day without at least textingsomethingto each other. Her radio silence has sucked, but I get it. I should have controlled my emotions better. I shouldn’t have let Alex get to me like that, but…if I’m honest, I’d pummel just about any asshole who said anything about wanting to eat Aulie out, Alex most of all.
I regret not being on the ice and letting my team down. I regret disappointing Aulie after she gave up so much this summer and is busting her ass now. But I don’t regret what I did to Alex. Helickedme. Who the hell does that?
Goosebumps rise on my neck before I rap on the wooden door in front of me. Leaves rustle in a nearby bush like I’m being watched. By who? There’s no way the paparazzi followed me up here. Although, I guess with Veronica’s bullshit video, maybe. Numerous callers have asked if I care to comment on the video. I still haven’t watched it, but from what I’ve gathered, Veronica is claiming I’m a jerk—a fact—and that I broke up with her because she wouldn’t give up her charity work to spend more time with me—obviously false.
I have zero motivation to set the record straight. People will think what they want about me either way, and her fans are both hardcore and loyal. A “Veroniac” even threw an Iced Dunks at me on the street the other day, so it’d be wasted breath.
“Maa.”
“What the fuck?” I jump at the foreign sound. The pizza wobbles in my grasp, and I almost fall ass-backward down the stairs.
