“I bet you deserve it,” I cut in.
His mouth quirks up fondly. “I’m sure I do. She has a date tonight. Some guy from an app. She called to tell me where they’re meeting, what they plan to do for the evening. She’ll send me a picture of his ID and let him know that her older brother will hunt him down if necessary.”
Iknewhe looked like a hit man. “What better way to scare off creeps than to threaten them with her six-foot-four, problematically jacked older brother?”
I’ve never been so thankful for the full moon shining through the window, because it means I get to see West blush. “What’s problematic about the way I look?”
“You look like you belong on an oil rig, not behind a typewriter.”
“You know I don’t use a typewriter, right?” He’s gorgeously indignant, his eyebrows a dark slash, his curls a work of art. I should have written them into my book. They deserve to be memorialized.
“I know when you’re lying, Virginia.”
“Virginia?”
“You changedmynickname,” I challenge.
“That one’s just bad, though.”
“What about West Nile Virus?”
“What about no.”
“WestJet? North West?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Wild Wild West.”
I pretend to gag.
He rolls his eyes. “Iusedto own a typewriter, but I left it in New York when I escaped Dimes Square.”
I put my hand on his forearm. “Oh my gosh, can we talk about that whole situation?”
He recoils at the thought. “Too soon.”
“The Doc Martens–to-typewriter pipeline is undeniable. It’s your Tumblr culture.”
West barks a surprised laugh, and my mood soars. I retreat from the touchy subject of our past and return to safer ground.“Gabbi does sound smart. Taking pictures of their IDs and all,” I say.
“Don’t tell me you datewithoutdoing that.” His tone is full of disapproval.
“Dating in New York is…” I trail off, unsure how to describe the hellish, postapocalyptic landscape of NYC dating apps, where no one ever gets together, because the promise of someone hotter, smarter, and richer is only a swipe away. “Let’s just say I’ve been off the apps for a while. I prefer to meet men the old-fashioned way.”
“Such as?”
Falling in love with him at nineteen, letting that relationship ruin your life, and never getting over it.
“To be determined.”
“Well, if you ever get back on the apps, you can send me pictures of your dates. I’ll threaten them, too.”
I huff a laugh. “Funny thing to say for a guy who just had his tongue in my mouth.”
West scrutinizes my face, but in a different way than he did earlier. Before, I knew he wanted me. Now he looks calculating. Assessing.
I shrug out of his jacket and shove it back into his hands, feeling stupidly transparent. I cross my arms over my chest. I’ve written enough love scenes to know when the moment has passed; if West wanted to kiss me again, he wouldn’t be mentally sending me on dates with random dudes.
I’m an idiot, and I should have known.
