Page 74 of A Bookish Story

“I’m not saying you did. Or we did.” He waves his arms. “No one in this room should feel uncomfortable because…yeah…I just meant those clothes of yours are probably not comfortable.”

It’s hard not to chuckle when I realize he might be more nervous than I am. “You’re right about that. Plus, my toothbrush. You look all clean and snappy and presentable while I look like…like I had a sleepover without my toothbrush.”

At this, he gives me half a smile. “You always look good to me.”

Oh. That’s nice of him to say. I should accept the compliment, but I can’t resist.

“Just so you know, this is the worst I ever look.” I hesitate. “Except when I’m sick.”

After I say this, I regret the words and want to take them back. I think it’s somehow wired into my DNA, which has infected me with the idea I must be presentable and attractive to men at all times. This is something I can thank Geneva for. I’ve fought this attitude for years, but it’s deeply ingrained and not just by my mother but society as a whole. Like the worst thing a woman can be is invisible to men. Newsflash: I don’t care anymore. My looks are the least important part of me.

Ryan grabs his keys. “I’ll drive you.”

As we drive to my neighborhood, I notice Ryan isn’t wearing his glasses but a pair of shades he pulled out of the glove compartment.

“Don’t you wear prescription glasses?” I say.

“Yeah but just for reading.”

This is interesting because I’ve never seen him not wearing a pair of glasses until today and I’ve seen him in plenty of situations when he’s not reading.

“Are we not going to talk about the kiss?” I say.

“Not unless you want to,” Ryan says and I notice his knuckles go white on the steering wheel.

“If we don’t talk about it, it’s going to be awkward.”

“I would hate that.”

He sounds the way most guys do when they’d prefer to talk about the splitting of the atom, space exploration, or conspiracy theories. Anything else. Literally.

“We’ve come a long way from the day you asked me to be Elizabeth.”

“I’m with you so far.”

Now for the tough part. “I guess you know by now I’m attracted to you.”

“Yes.”

While I sincerely wish he’d admit he feels the same way, I suppose I don’t need him to confess the obvious. I was there when he kissed me back like he wanted to inhale me. I’m not going to do this “does he like me” thing I always do. Who was it that said we’re all basically sixteen when we fall in love? I refuse to act like a teenager again crushing on someone. I’m thirty, for crying out loud.

“I never planned for this. You know I hated you after I saw the video.”

“Sure.”

“Everything is different now but naturally we’re not going to do anything about this”—I wave my hand between us—“thing between us.”

“Exactly.”

I cross my arms and tuck them under my armpits so I’m not temped to smack him. So much for talking things out.

I did all the talking.

“So glad we had this talk.”

“Same here.”

Woohoo, two whole words. I’m going to punish his lack of vocabulary by pressing to hear more about the real Elizabeth.