“You read the fight scene?”
I rest my chin in my hand. “Which one? These two fight every ten pages. ‘Oh my God, you lied to me!’ ‘Oh my God, why were you talking to her?’ ‘Oh my God—’?”
“It’s called life.”
“Umm, not even close.”
“Umm, yes.” She squints her eyes at me. “Google the top reasons couples fight. It’s literally that.”
“I’m not saying couples don’t argue—of course they do. I’m just saying that’s literallyallthat happens in this book.”
“Itliterallyisn’t. And anyway, you should meet my parents.” She sighs.
“They fight a lot?”
“Not anymore.”
She’s avoiding my gaze. A sore point, then. I’d love to hear more, but this doesn’t seem like the right time to go sniffing around, and I’m pretty sure if I did ask, she’d just snap and tell me her private life was never part of our deal.
“Anyway! Think of all that fighting as inspiration—it’s basically a what-not-to-do guide.”
“Meaning?”
She starts checking off the points with her fingers. “No getting jealous for no good reason. No over-the-top possessiveness. And no acting like a totally normal situation is the world’s biggest betrayal.” She glances at me. “Though in your case, priority number one is not giving the girl areasonto feel jealous—that means stop checking out every piece of ass that goes by like you’re sizing up a potential replacement. And another thing,” she adds, “is no putting your friends before her, and no getting yourself into situations where she could assume the worst. So, even if a girl is just a friend, no meeting up one-on-one on the sly—”
“Solid advice. Though they always end up having insane makeup sex in the end.”
She snorts. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a real intellectual, Donny?” She taps my book. “Now—a little less conversation, a little more action.”
I do as I’m told, except I decide to read aloud.
“Donovan! We’re in a library.” Carrie hisses.
“Okay, okay!” I roll my eyes. “Jeez…”
I go back to reading in my head, and I’m soaking up the main characters’ post-hookup antics when a booming voice breaks the silence.
“Wolinskiii!”
Carrie swears, and I can hear someone tutting behind me. I look up. The guy who just yelled at me is striding over toward us, and I have no idea who this dude is. I’m just about to say hi when I realize that I’m not his target at all. He makes a beeline for Carrie, stepping behind her chair and grabbing hold of her bun, ruffling her hair.
“How’s my favorite little Wolinski doing?”
The guy rests his chin on Carrie’s shoulder, and I’m so confused right now.
“I’m… good…?” I try.
He glances at me for all of a second, before turning back to my love coach. Her cheeks are flushed.
“I was talking to her.” He nods. “But glad to hear you’re doing good, dude.”
“I’mWolinski,” I snap.
He beams. “So’s she.”
I freeze. Slowly, I lock eyes with Carrie.
“Your name is CarrieWolinski?”
