What did I think? About what? I shake my head. “Oh, about your little rugby movies?”
Cooke chuckles. “Yeah, our little movies.”
There were two short videos about his team and their road to the Rugby World Cup. He was in it a lot: getting measured for a suit, being hooked up to a heart monitor, doing a lot of running around with his teammates. “I liked it.” The truth is, I know nothing about rugby. “My, erm, friend Bryant’s roommate plays rugby for Iowa State, my university.”
“Have you been to a match?”
“No. I… he just told me.” God, why is talking about Bryant making me all squirrely?
“Are you blushing, lass?”
Yes. “No.”
“Who is this Bryant fellow? Boyfriend?”
Now I feel the heat on my cheeks. “I wish,” I whisper. “No. We’re just friends.”
“Friend-zoned, eh?”
I nod. “Exactly.”
“He’s a fool. You’re lovely, Quinn Maxwell.”
“Ha,” I say too loudly. “He’s out of my league.”
I stare down at my phone and watch Cooke’s face change from one that’s smiling and jovial to one that’s serious and rather angry. “I’ve only just met you, love, and I happen to think you’re in a league all your own.”
“Well, therein lies the problem. You just met me, and anyway, I don’t think FaceChat really counts as ‘meeting’ someone.”
“The feck it doesn’t,” he snaps. “You’ve become the bright spot in my day, Quinn, and we’ve only just met on FaceChat. If we met in person, I’m sure I’d fall madly in love with you.”
I’m blushing, but not in a good way. Why do I get the feeling he’s fucking with me? I don’t need this. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re not here, because you’d be disappointed.” I feel my eyes water, but I’m not about to let him see me upset, so I quickly say, “Hey, Cooke. I need to, uh, get to class. I’m late.”
“Quinn.”
“Bye,” I chirp, doing my best to sound happy, though it’s hard to when it’s been a shit day. “Nice talking to you.”
It’s true. I take everything way too personally. I’m not sure I know how to stop doing that, though. I grew up as the youngest of five kids, three of whom weren’t especially nice to me. It probably stems from that, I guess. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family. I do. Now that we’re older, I think they get that they weren’t very nice to me. Hell, I’m sure they know now. My mom likes to tell everyone that I pretty much cried the first sixteen years of my life. I’ve no doubt that’s partially true. It’s probably why I hate crying now. It’s also why I internalize everything people say, even if it’s not intentionally mean-spirited. Like what Cooke just said. He meant well, but I know without a doubt that if he were here in person, he wouldnotbe attracted to me. How could he be? I’m a size sixteen on a good day. Guys like Cooke Thompson don’t fall in love with the Quinn Maxwells of the world. They just don’t.
Chapter Nine
Entering my house, I set my backpack down next to the kitchen table. The first thing I notice is the house is unnaturally quiet. With five roommates, there’s always someone home, and they’re usually watching a movie or listening to music loudly. When I step into the living room, I see four out of the five huddled together, whispering. So I’m not a creeper, I say, “Hey.”
They jump apart quickly, three of them giggling and Robbi merely smiling. “Shit, girl. You surprised us,” Susanna says with her hand over her heart.
“Sorry.” I’m not actually sorry. “Hey, Pats,” I say, nodding in her direction.
“How was your day?” asks Kat sweetly.
“Goo—” I’m about to say “good,” but I decide not to lie. “Shitty, actually.”
“Oh?” all three say in unison.
“Why? What happened?” Patsy sounds sincerely concerned.
I know I shouldn’t say anything because this is going to get to the rest of the roommates and probably to others, but what the hell. “Bryant wants Kara’s number.”
“Yay,” Susanna squeaks as she claps and bounces up and down in her seat. “She’ll be so—oh.”
