Page 4 of Crazy for this Girl

“How about”—I turn my waist in my chair and face him, keeping the calmest expression placed on my face— “we play the quiz where we continue reading and see how long it’ll take for you to open your mouth again?”

Cal smirks, but unfortunately is not put off by my snide remark. “So, different or similar?”

“How about silent?”

“So different because you’re loud.” He nods once as if mentally marking the answer in his head and I’m the crazy one here. “How important is height when searching for potential dating material?”

I shrug off a defeated sigh because he’s obviously not going to stop. “I dunno.”

“Well, do you prefer to bend over when you’re kissing them? Like making out with a guy the size of a child, or gazing up into their eyes?”

“What am I, a Disney princess?”

“You’d be Belle, so yeah, I guess.”

I scoff. “Yeah, then you’d be the Beast.”

“I would be because he’s bomb.”

“And obnoxious, apparently, with following directions.”

He lifts his shoulders. “Hey, I’m an alpha prince who’s misunderstood.”

“He was a jerk.”

“See, it’s like we’ve known each other for years.” He smiles at me, straight pearly whites and all. “Do you have a list of deal-breakers or a must-have list?”

“This is shallow,” I complain off a semi-whine, then wave my book in the air. “And my stuff is much more mind-blowing.”

“And so much more 1950’s,” he counters back, studying my worn yellow cover. “Do they speak normal modern-day in there or old fashion English?” My lips crack into a weak grin because he says it so seriously that he has to be kidding.

I hope.

I think.

“So, height?” He perks a brow. “Important or nah?”

I exhale heavily with my whole body, officially accepting of the fact that he’s not going to stop this stupid game. “Important.”

“Do you end your relationships for close to the same reason each time or different?”

My face twists. “How many do you think I’ve had? I’m fourteen.”

“I had a girlfriend at five,” he informs me, flipping the page matter-of-factly.

“With who, Paddington Bear?” Cal snorts off a chuckle, and I wish he’d choke on it.

“Don’t tell nobody,” he confides quietly, then flips another page. “We’ll skip that one. Do you have a type?” This time when he asks me the question, his heavy gaze falls on me as if it’s crucial to know my answer.

My voice lodges in my throat, and I find myself swallowing a lump that’s forming at the slight intensity of it when I reply, “Not really.”

“What was your last boyfriend like?”

Yeah, again, this is not fun.

Especially when I’ve never had a boyfriend before.

“Uh…” My eyes fall onto my Nancy Drew book with the name Carolyn Keene as the author at the bottom. “It was a girl.”

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