“You’ve reached your quota of invitations.”
He sticks out his bottom lip in a pout, reminding me of a five-year-old denied his favorite snack, and I press my lips to keep from smiling.
“Ask me again next week. And thanks for the coffee.”
He nods and winks, then walks out of the store.
“Oh, wow,” Zulakya breathes. “I can’t believe you turned him down.”
I shrug, picking up a book from the stack in front of me, and start typing in the book title, then the serial number.
“He’s hot. And he seems enamored with you,” she says, grabbing her paper coffee cup and bringing it to her lips.
“He’s cute,” I concede, grabbing my coffee and taking a sip. “But I’m not ready to jump into the dating pool, yet.”
She stares at me for several heartbeats, before glancing away, and says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. Did you need help lifting something out back?”
“Oh, yeah. I almost forgot about that.” She heads toward the back office, cradling her coffee between her palms like it’s the Holy Grail. I follow her and relief lifts my shoulders when she doesn’t press me for details. In my head, I start to plan what to wear for the party as anticipation thrums through me.
I try to convince myself the only reason I’m going to this party is to mingle and meet new people, and not because a certain gray-eyed boy will be there.
As soon as the door to the bookstore shuts behind me, I climb down the steps as the conversation with Grace replays inside my head.
What in the hell was that, Keenan? A party?
I can still feel the electric current from the contact when our fingers touched as I slid the coffee across the counter. I haven’t felt that way in quite a while. It’s fucking addictive and makes me wonder how it’d feel to really touch her, skin on skin, or kiss that mouth of hers—
Shit. I need to stop. My dick likes that idea a little too much.
Christ. It’s like my heart can’t stop tying itself in knots over this girl. I say one thing one minute, and then do something completely different the next. Even my mind is confused. Honestly, it’s exhausting. I’m not used to contradicting myself like I’ve been doing the past few weeks.
Last week’s frat party was a bust. My attention span was equivalent to that of a squirrel’s; one second I was chatting with a girl, and the next, I was thinking of Grace.
I need to make up my damn mind about what I want and stick to it. Just because Jessica cheated on me doesn’t mean someone else will do the same. Hooking up with other girls on a regular basis can only last so long. And maybe Grace is exactly what I need to finally move on.
Besides, the attraction between Grace and me seems mutual, given her reaction when our fingers touched.
Dragging my fingers through my hair, I pull the beanie from my jacket pocket and put it on, then walk to the pharmacy across the street to pick up Jessica’s prescription. I plan to talk to her later, just to drive the point home that I’m not interested in her. Sure, I’m glad to help if she needs it. I’m not a complete asshole.
Twenty minutes later, I text Jessica to let her know I’m standing Graf Hall´, her dorm building. She pokes her head out of the door a few minutes later.
I hand her the little bag with the medication, then ask, “You doing okay?”
She nods and smiles. A smile that once drove me crazy and I couldn’t get enough of.
“My feet are a little swollen. And God, the heart burn is the devil. But this will take care of that.” She waves the bag.
“Hey, can we talk?” I ask.
The smile disappears and she looks at me with apprehension. “Sure.”
“I can’t keep running to you every time you text. You know that, right?”
She crosses her arms on her chest and glances down at her feet. “Sorry I’ve been a pain.”
I exhale in relief. I wasn’t expecting her to admit her mistake. “I’ll help, but only when necessary, okay? I need to move on and you’re not making things easy for me.”
She nods again. “Cool.”
“Okay. I’m gonna head out now. Put your feet up to keep the swelling down.”
I turn to leave, but the slight hitch of her breath makes me tense because I know she’s about to say something.
“We were so good together, Levi,” she says. “We could be again.”
I look over my shoulder, the words, “Yet, you cheated on me” on my tip of my tongue. Instead, I shake my head and say, “Yeah, we were. Take care, Jess.”
Shoving my hands inside my jacket pockets, I stride away, feeling the heat of her eyes following me down the short walkway. I shake it off and focus on the party. I can’t fucking wait to see Grace.
It’s Friday evening, and for once, I have plans. After the hangover episode, I’ve stayed away from Sol’s bracelet and Jägermeister—the worst combination ever. He sneaks into my thoughts often, though. Sometimes it’s comforting, other times it’s like a force of nature, demanding to be felt.
Today MJ and I are heading to the party at Levi’s house. My stomach dips and my heart races every time that thought crosses my mind. I’m not sure if I’m more nervous about braving the party crowd or about seeing Levi again, with his heart-stopping dimples and charm. Either way, I need to get my shit together before we get there.
Zulakya texted earlier. She’s not coming to the party, and I totally understand. She has her own reasons. It took me a while to get out of my shell.
After one last swipe of my favorite ruby red lipstick, I take a final look in the mirror and am satisfied with what I see: eyes lined with eyeliner, lashes coated with mascara, and large silver hoops in my ears. I even took the time to straighten my hair—something new I’ve been trying out the past few days—and I love it!
My gaze takes in the tight blue jeans, black T-shirt, and black Converse, and I smile before turning to face MJ.
“I’m ready . . . WOW. You look amazing,” I gush, taking in the little curve-hugging black dress she’s wearing, the black knee-high boots with black stockings, and the rose gold necklace that rests in the V of the bodice. She looks elegant and sexy at the same time.
“Does this mean you’re ready for a makeover?”
I shake my head and laugh. “I’m happy with what I’m wearing.”
It’s comfy. Besides, I don’t know the kind of crowd we’ll be hanging out with, so I prefer to stay obscure.
“You like him,” MJ says, studying me intently. “Levi, I mean.”
Am I so transparent? “He’s nice, um, to look at. He’s nice.”
Her brows shoot up and she crosses her arms on her chest, her foot tapping on the floor. “Is that why you’re all dolled up and your eyes are shining with excitement? Because he’s nice?”
“Oh, God. You’re like a dog with a bone. Yes, I like him,” I admit. “And my eyes aren’t shining. It’s the eyeliner and mascara making them pop.”
She laughs, then sing-songs, “Grace likes Levi.”
I shake my head and snatch my coat and throw it on, then reach for my bag on my bed. “What are you, eight?”