So what if Kate is like a walking, talking, sexy enigma? Sure, our conversation put me under her spell for a minute. But it wasn’t like that one kiss…
“Oooh.” Tuck snaps like he just solved global warming. “It’s motorcycle girl.” He slaps the table in triumph. “That’s why I haven’t seen you hitting on anyone.”
“Pay closer attention, then,” I deflect, flicking my pencil lightning fast. It bounces off his chest and prattles onto the table.
“Brandon,” Julia chastises, snatching up the pencil and scanning for witnesses.
But Tuck’s hazel eyes widen as he pats down where the pencil struck him like a bloody gunshot wound. He crumples forward.
“Tell…” he wheeze-whispers against the wood, “my mom… I love her…” Then he goes still.
“You’re an idiot,” I growl, and Julia bites back a laugh.
He pops back up. “Brando. Talk. If it’s not motorcycle girl?—”
“Kate. Her name is Kate.”
My best friends react like I’ve just whipped off my clothes and streaked through the library.
“You’re calling her Kate?” Tuck sputters. “Not taco-breath or huge-noggin? Since when do you use names?”
“Since it’s hername, you receding-haired moron.”
“Brandon.” Julia spears me with a disappointed look, then cuts to the now fuming man beside her. “And knock it off, Tucker. Brandon’s clearly upset about something.” She swats at Tuck’s shoulder, but he catches her hand and pins it against his chest.
“But what ifI’mupset about something, Jules?” he says, fake agony lacing his expression. “Would you take care of my heart, too?”
A guttural “shush” emanates from behind us, and the decrepit librarian hobbles by as we slink deeper into our chairs.
I inwardly curse the whole situation, but especially myself. This is exactly why I keep things casual. Sweat beads along my hairline even as my mind continues to unravel.
I claw off my leather jacket and shove it into my backpack. My red sleeveless shirt is enough to cool me down. Yeah, it’s almost December,but my shoulder tattoo was ridiculously expensive so it seems negligent to always cover it with sleeves.
“So why haven’t you asked motorcycle—ow, sorry—Kateout yet?” Tuck rubs his shoulder as Julia retracts her pinch with a satisfied smirk.
I run a frustrated hand through my hair and consider lying. Kate out-played me, which honestly I might find more offensive than her not texting me back.
“She won’t text back,” I mumble, but then immediately regret it.
A slow grin pulls Tuck’s face into something far too animated for my liking.
“You textedher? And she ghostedyou?”
I fold my arms, puff out each bicep, and look him dead in the eyes.
Tuck isn’t affected in the slightest. “I was wrong, Brando. This is worse than Brielle Shumway. Much worse.”
Much to Julia’s dismay, I chuck another pencil right as the librarian materializes beside us. Her droopy frown hangs even lower as she demands we shut up or leave.
We shove our books and computers into our backpacks and hurry out onto the campus sidewalk. A windstorm blew in last week, and now the autumn leaves are scattered like embers beside their previous homes.
I scuff my boot along the pavement before I decide to man up and actually call her. That way I can finally move on—either by taking Kate out or by closing whatever freak chapter this has been and returning to my philandering ways.
Tuck and Julia loiter nearby, conducting a fake conversation well within earshot. I press Kate’s number. It rings a few times, then she picks up.
“Hello?” I say.
“Roasted, are you ordering for pick-up?”
