Page 14 of Getting Over You

“What else can you do to impress?” Gigi asks, her eyes sparkling. Despite looking interested, I get the feeling that the sparkle in her eye is more mischief than intrigue. “Aside from putting permanent ink on my body.”

“You want a tattoo?” I ask, eyebrows raised.

She shakes her head quickly. “No. I mean, I haven’t given it a ton of thought, but my first instinct is no. Too… permanent.”

“That’s the point, princess,” I say. “To put ink on your body. Forever.”

She winces at my words. “No. God no. Forever. What if I get something stupid and want it removed? And don’t call me princess,” Gigi says. She pulls her knees up to her chest. “I hate nicknames.”

“We’re going across the street, to the beach,” EJ says as he comes into the room, holding up his smoke box. “Care to join us?”

“I don’t smoke,” Gigi says at the same time I say, “Yeah, for sure.”

“Oh,” I say. “I’ll stay here.”

“No.” Gigi shakes her head. “If that’s your thing, you can totally go.”

I can tell that she’s bullshitting me. She wants me to stay. And something about her makes me want to. “I’ll stay,” I say before my brain can think it through.

“Buzzkill!” EJ calls as he and Rory walk out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

“So, you’ve got something against nicknames?” I wonder.

Her lips pout. “Yeah. My mother calls me nicknames. Pisses me off.”

“My mom calls me Caderade,” I say with a laugh. “The only other person who knows that is my brother. So, keep it to yourself, princess.”

“I’m serious,” she says, wincing. “Please don’t.” I don’t take my eyes off her. She continues. “I mean, aren’t they, like, alienating? You’re calling someone something that only you know them as, usually. Like you’re trying to pretend you really know somebody when you don’t know them at all.”

I consider this, dropping my gaze for a moment. “Sorry,” I say.

“Sorry,” Gigi says, too. Her cheeks go pink. “That was weird. I usually let that slide when people do it. It’s just easier. But I hate it.”

“If you hate it that much,” I tell her, “it’s worth telling a guy, you know? I wouldn’t want to ruin a moment because I called you sweetheart at the wrong time.”

“Don’t ever,” she says to me, stone cold serious, “call me sweetheart.”

I nod. “Got it. No nicknames, no asking you to get a tattoo.”

“And no asking me to screw you,” Gigi says flatly, looking me right in the eyes. “Your brother told me that you and I would get along. I’m assuming that means you’d like to screw me.”

My mouth goes dry. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t.”

“I won’t,” Gigi says coolly. “I may be here to get over a guy, but I refuse to do it with just anybody.”

I guffaw. “Thanks.”

“Sorry.” She gives me a sheepish glance, focusing on playing with her hair. “You’re too rough around the edges.”

“I am president of the Bad Boy With Rough Edges Tattoo Club,” I agree. “Full of guys who aren’t your type.”

Gigi rolls her eyes at me, laughing. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I’m not here looking for anything, necessarily. In fact, it’s in my best interest to avoid awkward entanglement this summer, if only to avoid the inevitable untangling, impossible and frustrating like when ear buds cross. When I realize that it’s time to get out, the girl’s got her arms around me in a nearly inescapable choke hold as she talks about what our future might look like. It’s usually about then that I dip.

But this Gigi girl. To come right up and tell me I’m not her type? It only makes me want to be her type.

Too bad she wants a boyfriend.

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