“I can tie a tie,” I protest, but I’m already turning up the collar and lifting my chin to let her do her thing.
“Let the stylist style,” she says.
So I do. As she’s flipping the ends, efficiently looping over and under and through, I catch the faintest whiff of cologne or aftershave or… oh, God, George.
Zoe freezes.
“Did you just… smell the tie?”
Shit.
“Uh…”
She opens her mouth, then closes it. She blinks. A goofy smile spreads across her face. “Owen Wilde, did you develop a crush on my friend George?”
“No!”
“No?” She pins me with a look.
“No, I… we… chatted a lot last week and kind of became friends and basically spent virtual Christmas together and…” I blow out a breath. “I’m pretty sure there was attraction on both sides…”
She narrows her eyes at me. “And?”
“And then he asked me out, and I said no.”
“You said no?”
“Yes.” She just stares at me, so I repeat myself. “Yes. I said no. Because once he thinks about it for more than one whirlwind romantic second, he’s going to realize I’m not what he wants.”
She stares at me some more. Then she slaps me.
“Ow!”
“That’s for selling my favorite cousin short. You’re the only one who thinks you’re someone people wouldn’t trip over themselves to have.”
“Beaudidn’t want me.” I don’t know why I’m bringing up Beau to defend my own low worth, but there it is.
“Well, yeah, Beau was a dipshit who didn’t deserve you. Meanwhile, do you have any idea how big a deal it is that George asked you out? That he took a chance at all?! He probably spent sixteen hours debating the pros and cons.”
“Yeah, that does sound like him.”
Her face softens. “Aw, you really do know him.” She smacks me again, hard.
“Ow! Jesus.”
“Do you honestly think a man who overanalyzes everything like that would just hallucinate feelings for you?!
“Well, no.” Not when she puts it that way. “But he might have been acting impulsively.”
She puts a hand on her hip and raises an eyebrow. Right, yeah. That doesn’t really sound like George either.
I’m defiant now, though. Determined to be right. George doesn’t want me. Plain and simple. “Maybe he was just being nice.”
“Oh, I see. He was just too polite to tell you to suck it. How did this start, anyway? Did you text him? Call him?”
“I mean, no, not at first. I was going to stay out of his way because I didn’t want to intrude.”
“Mmm,” she says. Like she already figured this. Which, considering how well she knows me, she probably did. “So, he initiated contact.”
