“Yeah, I suppose,” I mutter.
“So, what’s your usual type?”
“I don’t really have a type,” I lie.
“Not even Ivy?”
I shrug. “No.”
I don’t even know why I said it because she is. She doesn’t need to tick boxes next to certain traits and features, I just know she’s my type because of how I felt when I was with her. Before I brought her back to my apartment, we were in the bar talking for hours on end, like time didn’t exist.
“Oh.” Daisy’s cheeks darken. “Would you say I’m more your type?”
My teeth graze my bottom lip as I study her carefully. She’s pretty, don’t get me wrong, but she doesn’t make my stomach flip like someone else does.
“Sure,” I say through a forced smile, even though the word burns my tongue.
I don’t want to upset the girl, but I have no idea what else to say.
I sit here for another hour or so, listening to Daisy and her endless rambling, but I tell myself to listen when my brain wants to ponder.
Soon after we say our goodbyes, I head home alone. When I reach the house, I find Finn adjusting his shirt in the mirror, slowly remembering that he got a job at a local restaurant.
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye as I shut the door behind me. “Hey,” he calls out and tucks in his shirt to his black lined trousers. “How was your date?”
“Fine,” I mumble and walk straight towards the kitchen.
I latch onto the fridge door and haul it open, searching for something sweet to drink. “Just fine?” Finn’s voice sounds deflated as I grab a can of Diet Coke and crack the lid.
I slump my back against the counter as I meet his eyes. “Yeah. Fine.”
“Hmm.” He narrows his eyes. “What happened?”
“Not much.”
Finn’s eyes hold my stare before he backs away and holds his hands up in defence. “Alright, whatever. I’ve got to go to work. I’ll be back sometime tonight.”
“Bye,” I say as I watch him leave.
The front door opens a few moments later and Ivy emerges in that little green dress that clings to her hips. I can’t even look as she strolls in because it grates on me knowing that Isaac got to enjoy her today—her company, her face, her laughter.
She’s smiling as she walks in, even when she locks eyes with me.
“Hey,” she says cheerily before dumping her bag onto the sofa.
“Hi,” I say.
“You okay?”
I hum. “Yeah, you?”
Ivy sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “Yeah, I’m great.”
I watch as she walks away, heading upstairs with a spring in her step, wishing I had been on that date with her instead.
CHAPTER 17
IVY THOMPSON
