My stomach did something strange; it could’ve been dread or butterflies. “What did he say?”
“Lots of things. That you’re really fun and nice and easy to talk to, and how you helped him with his architecture project. Also that you smell nice and have pretty eyes and ebony black hair, kind of like Snow White, except for the blood red lips part, but if you were wearing lipstick you could totally pass as Snow White. I’m quoting him directly.”
Before I could say anything — though I wasn’t sure what I could say — Atticus continued. “That you’re funny and encouraging and considerate and goal-driven — somethingabout a find-a-boyfriend mission — and that you have really smooth skin and nice arms and legs, and that Leo knows what he’s talking about because he works at the university’s gym.”
I stared.
“So,” Atticus said, as he scooped up on one of the sliced strawberries resting on the frozen dessert, “I don’t think it’s a stretch to say he’s smitten with you.”
I took a long, steadying breath before promptly dropping my face in my hands. I mumbled something.
“What?” Atticus asked.
I removed my hands, looking up at him, hoping my cheeks weren’t as red as I suspected they might be. “He doesn’t like me like that,” I said. I refused to use the word smitten because it would make me sound sixty years old. “I told you, he’s straight. Everything he told you…he’s just trying to wingman me. It’s my fault because I’m the one who told him to.”
“Told him to rhapsodise about you?”
I groaned. “Told him to make me look good in front of you. I didn’t realise he’d say all of that. I’m so embarrassed.” But also, a part of me felt touched, and another part of me wanted to laugh because, of course, someone as sweet and enthusiastic as Leo would hear the task “make me look good” and say a litany of compliments rather than the typical “he ain’t half bad, you should maybe date him.”
“Okay,” Atticus said, nodding slowly. “That makes sense because for a moment I thought…” he trailed off, then cocked his head. “And you don’t have feelings for him?”
“No!” I said, loud enough to catch Leo and Elena’s attention for a moment before they resumed their conversation. “No,” I said more quietly. “He’s just my friend.”
“Right.”
“What is it?” I asked.
He parted his lips, then shook his head. “Nothing. You know him better than me, after all.”
Right. I’d known Leo for all of five days.
9
After bingsu, we stood on the street outside the restaurant and said that we had an enjoyable night. Thankfully, it felt like everyone meant it.
We discussed how we’d get home. “I’m heading north,” I said, jerking my thumb at a nearby tram stop.
“I’m that way too,” Atticus said.
“We can go together then,” I said.
“I’m heading that way, too,” Leo said.
“But you’re east —” I started.
He looped an arm around my neck and leaned down low to whisper into my ear, “Can I swing by yours? It’s important.”
I shivered at his hot breath against my ear. “Okay,” I replied, shaking him off me as politely as I could, overly aware of Atticus and Elena watching us.
We said goodbye to Elena, who was heading south and got onto the tram. It was crowded the way public transport always was on a Friday night, so we had to stand because there were no seats available, and at my stop, Leo and I exchanged goodbyes and ‘get home safe’ with Atticus before stepping off the tram. I had no doubt Leo would’ve hugged Atticus if there had been enough space in the carriage.
The street was much quieter than the chatter-filled tram, and the glow from street lamps bounced off the dark bitumen.
“What was that all about?” I asked as we started down the street to my place, passing by brick buildings and trendy cafes that had closed hours earlier.
“What was what all about?” Leo asked.
I elbowed him in the side. “Don’t play dumb.”
