I shake my head furiously, a nervous laugh slipping out. “It—I—” I stammer, blowing out a breath. Why am I such a bad liar? My shoulders sink. “Okay, fine,” I say, holding my hands up, then lifting one finger. “But it was only one—”
A piercing shriek cuts into my eardrums as Bailey squeals so loudly, birds in the distance begin to flee for their lives.She bounces around like there’s springs in her joints, clutching Harlowe’s shoulders and dancing in circles. Harlowe joins in, an amused grin sewn into her cheeks as an equally loud, but lower squeal erupts from her lungs.
I just watch them, unamused and slightly puzzled, tucking my arms over my chest.
“Okay,”I say slowly, narrowing my eyes at them. “Not exactly the reaction I was expecting.”
They freeze mid-bounce and swivel toward me in perfect unison.
“Are you kidding?” Bailey exclaims. “I’ve been rooting for this since day one!”
Harlowe smirks, pressing her lips into a smug half-smile. “She has,” she confirms, jamming her hands into her jacket pockets. “You should’ve seen your face when I let her borrow my hoodie.”
My jaw drops. “You did that on purpose?”
A low laugh slips out of Harlowe. “Obviously.” She grins. “Bailey wanted to fuck with you. Now spill. Details. Stat.”
A flush creeps up my neck as the memories flash in my mind. Her hands on my waist, the rasp of her voice in my ear, the faint taste of strawberry lip balm. How she kissed me against the bathroom wall like there was nothing else in the world but us.
Bailey, Harlowe, and I don’t have boundaries. We overshare. Always have. Always will. Hookups, heartbreaks, bowel movements. But back at the cabin, Darcy had asked me not to tell anyone. And they don’t know about what’s really going on with her. With the Regurgitated Arthritis. I already feel like I’ve betrayed something just by saying her name.
So I shrug, avoiding their eyes.
“There’s not much to say,” I mumble, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “It happened. And it’s not going to happen again. That’s all.”
Harlowe’s eyes narrow, and she exchanges a glance with Bailey. “And you said just once, right?” she asks, but the glint in her eye tells me she might already know the answer.
“Twice,” I admit, voice muffled as I hide my mouth behind the collar of my snow jacket. “And we kissed in the diner bathroom.”
Harlowe lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Peyton Clarke has finally fallen in love.”
“I have not ‘fallen in love’,” I shoot back, knowing damn well I’m lying. “I’m just…mildly disoriented.”
“You never hook up with the same person twice,” Bailey points out. “You’retotallyin love.”
I roll my eyes back so far I can see each nerve ending in my brain. “I don’t fall in love.”
“I hate to tell you this, bud,” Harlowe starts, forcing an apologetic wince. “But you’ve been talking about her since the day you met. You snuggled on the bus on the way home from the retreat. And we know she’s been practicing at the rink with you in the mornings. Cleo told us. Every time you score, you immediately look for her on the bench. And what happened at the Hornets game? I’m sure that has something to do with her too.”
My cheeks warm, the skin stinging against the frigid contrast of the cold winter air. I don’t understand how it could be so obvious to them, when I only figured it out a few weeks ago myself.
“I don’t fall in love,” I repeat, this time even less convincing than the first.
Harlowe smiles, softer now as she pats my shoulder sympathetically. “Peyton,” she says with earnest. “You already have.”
I tip my head into the pine green gloves Avery’s roommate knitted for me and rub at my temples. “Yeah.” I sigh, defeated. “I know.” My stomach flips, and I press a hand to it.
Harlowe rubs slow circles on my back. “You okay?”
I nod. “Just nauseous.”
“Lovesick,” Bailey chirps.
I groan. “God! How did this even happen?”
I glance at both of them like it’s their fault. Like loving them made me soft enough to be capable of this. But the truth is, I’ve always been capable of it. I’ve had love for every person I’ve met. I just thought Darcy was the exception—with her obnoxious voice, that maddening smirk, her relentless need to be right. I thought I couldn’t stand her. But I love all of it. And I didn’t realize it sooner because it isn’t just love. It’s beinginlove. And that feels completely, terrifyingly different.
“Yeah, it sucks,” Harlowe deduces. “Love has no regard for convenience. It does what it wants.”
