Page 107 of Holding On To Good

“You’re infatuated,” he repeated flatly. “With Reed Walsh?”

She blushed, hard and fast, her skin going hot and prickly. “I didn’t say that.”

But, oh, God, she was.

To be so preoccupied with a guy, any guy, at her age and this stage of her life was humiliating. She was supposed to be focused on the future, on her independence and starting a new, exciting, adult life.

Not suddenly crushing on some kid she’d known since kindergarten.

Yep. Reed Walsh and his long hair and tattoos and ripped body definitely made her stupid.

Without turning, Miles reached behind him, pulled open a drawer and pulled out something. Held it out to her. “Here. Just kill me now.”

And he shut his eyes and lifted his head, exposing his neck, bravely facing his decapitation.

Make that the king of drama queens.

“That’s a whisk,” she said. “And it’s plastic.”

He opened his eyes and frowned down at the small, red whisk in his hand, looking, she figured, for a way to somehow turn it into a deadly weapon.

“I could hit you over the head with it a few times,” she suggested helpfully. “It probably won’t kill you but it’ll at least give you a headache.”

“Already got one,” he muttered, then inhaled deeply and set the whisk down. Scrubbed a hand through his hair, back and forth. Back and forth. Exhaled. “Look, you’re at a delicate stage of your life. You’re growing up. Your body is changing—”

“Are you serious right now? You do realize I’m all the way through puberty, right? Came out stronger and better on the other side, with hips, boobs, and a regular menstrual cycle.”

“All I’m saying is that it’s normal to have certain” —he winced— “urges when it comes to boys. Or girls, or both, depending on your sexual preferences. But that doesn’t mean you have to act on them.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, nodding in agreement, expression earnest. “Like you didn’t act on your urges last night with the blonde bombshell? I’m sure you two spent a lovely PG-13 evening together discussing politics and sharing childhood memories.” With a tsk, she shook her head forlornly. “If only we all had your strong moral fiber and ironclad willpower.”

“This isn’t about me,” Miles insisted, like he was a prim, old timey, spinster school marm and not one of Mount Laurel’s biggest players. “This is about you and your future. I thought you wanted to go to school unencumbered by any romantic entanglements.”

Since that was a direct quote of what she’d said at least a hundred times since starting her senior year, she could hardly disagree.

“I don’t want a boyfriend. And even if I did, Reed sure wouldn’t be at the top of the list of potential candidates. I’m just…”

Interested.

Attracted.

“Curious,” she finally decided on.

A muscle in Miles’s cheek twitched. Poor guy must be grinding his molars to dust. “Reed Walsh is not for you.”

“I don’t want to marry him. But I don’t see why we can’t be friends. God knows he could use one.”

“Walsh isn’t a puppy. Or a shy kid sitting alone in the cafeteria. He’s a loner because he wants to be one. So before you volunteer for the position, ask yourself why you want to be his new BFF.”

“You do realize the only motivation behind friendship is the friendship itself. Companionship. Fellowship. Time spent enjoying another’s company.”

“Not always.”

“Care to expand on that?”

Miles stared at her for so long and so hard, she squirmed. Realized she was squirming and made herself still but he kept right on studying her. As if he’d been granted some insight into her every thought and feeling.

“No,” he said quietly. Thoughtfully. “I don’t think I will.”

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