18
PIPPA
Frantic and fangirling, I hurry from the classroom at the end of the introductory lesson. The one where I forced myself to forget about my crush, the dance debacle, and how Mum’s most recent choice for suitor sat across the table from me.
I don’t have a list for how to deal with The Crush coming back into my life—not at the Smythe’s and not his appearance at my place of employment.
The place where he’s my new client, I’ll have to work closely with him on etiquette and behavior.
I’m not sure how I’ll survive the next thirty days with Chase. I thought I left my crush behind in high school and hadn’t looked back. Okay, I occasionally look online when people post about the star quarterback, number four, aka the Lion, for the Boston Bruisers. And it was hard to ignore #BruiserButt splashed all over social media. But I’m not about to kindle my crush again at etiquette school, especially not after what he did to embarrass me.
New mantra: “I won’t let Chase work his charms on me.”
What else was it that he said about himself? I won’t acknowledge that he’s attractive, intelligent, or irresistible.
And I’ll completely forget about how, when his dimple pops, I get all fluttery inside.
Or how his voice causes me to lose all rational thought.
And his flirty charm?
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.I quit!I quit this crush on Chase Collins!”
Slouching into a chair in the teacher’s lounge, thankfully, I’m alone. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if Arthur heard me. Somehow, he finds out everything.
Chase wasn’t wrong about me going from toasty warm to ice queen, but what’s the alternative?
Should I pull out The Crush List and go line by line, telling him how each of the things he did made me fall for him—in much the same way he took note of things I did during senior year?
Also, for the record, it was Marlow who pulled the fire alarm, interrupting Dad’s presentation about publishing on career day.
And it didn’t help that during the introductory lessons, I was distracted by Chase smelling like soap and man and something slightly spicy. I still can’t figure out that last component, but let’s just say, combined, he smells like heaven and I’d like to bottle the scent, er, candle it. And I’d be lying if I denied that I was also trying to determine if this is another joke being played on me.
“There is only one solution,” I mutter. It’s time to crush the crush. I have to institute Operation Anti-Crush.
I dial Phoebe because this is the kind of situation that only a sister can solve. It goes to voicemail.
I pour tea and help myself to a chicken salad sandwich with cranberries, along with a bag of chips. While I debate between pink and yellow lemonade using the eenie, meanie, minie, moemethod, Everly, wearing a bright and sunny smile, joins me, but the sigh that escapes as she sits suggests a change in the weather.
I pass her a glass of pink lemonade. “How’d it go so far?”
“You mean with Grey the Grouchy Viking Beast?”
I nearly choke on the yellow lemonade. “Is he that bad?”
“I keep asking myself if this is real or if I entered some alternate realm.”
“Strangely, I can relate.” I tell her about how I knew Chase in high school.
Despite my determination to forge an anti-crush crusade, why do the fluttery, heart-fluffy feelings I get around him persist?
“Have you ever had a crush on someone?” I ask.
“Of course. It’s been a while, though.”
“Have you ever had a crush that you didn’t want?”
Everly taps her fingers on her jaw. “That would be a no.”
