Page 18 of Kiss and Make Love

“Thank heavens.” Becca flopped back down onto the nest of pillows she had constructed earlier on the floor. “I was scared you were going to spontaneously combust from all this heat.” She continued scrolling through their text exchanges, enraptured by the conversation.

“Okay, okay, give it back, Becca.” She held her hand out like a scolding mother asking for her child to spit out their chewing gum.

“Hold on, one more minute.” Her finger scrolled through the text chain, her eyes growing wider with each pass. Begrudgingly, she relinquished control of the phone. “Haven’t you guys only been talking for like ten days?”

“Yeah, so?”

Becca arched an eyebrow. “It kinda seems like you’re running on rocket fuel.”

Spencer looked straight at her. “What’s your point?”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all. You typically don’t rush into things, and you’re very particular about who you let get close to you. Make sure this guy is worth it.”

“This guy? You mean the guy you call Mr. Good Butt? Weren’t you rooting for us before I was?”

“Yes, and I still am. I think you would make cute little death-obsessed babies, but I’m still your ride-or-die. Like it or not, I’m always going to look out for you.”

Spencer shook her head. As much as she joshed Becca about their utter failure as a couple, she was fortunate to have her in her life. Becca always wanted what was best for her, supported her, and was always there, regardless of whether things turned out right or wrong.

She reached over and squeezed Becca’s arm. “Thanks. You know I love you.”

“Not as much as you love Professor Filthy Mouth,” she chirped, throwing the last handful of popcorn at Spencer’s head.

Tuesday. The worst day of the week. Most people thought the worst day was Monday, but they were wrong. Everyone expected Monday to suck. Everyone expected Monday to feel long. It was like the weekend’s hangover. But it was Tuesday people had to watch out for. Still early enough in the week that it felt like forever until Friday, and most people were still acting bitchy from the Monday blues. Wednesday—people were over the hump. Thursday—it was almost the weekend. Friday—time to party. But today was Tuesday, and Spencer doubted anything could make her feel like she didn’t want to carve her eyeballs out and leave them for the crows.

Except the fact that she was sitting in Brett’s psychology lecture.

They’d been texting and emailing nonstop since that day in his office. It was surprising how much they’d been able to learn about each other in such a short amount of time. Brett had been raised by a single mom and had to take care of her when their world fell apart with the loss of Brad. His dad wasn’t involved in his life—never had been. He shared how he loved his job, but the department heads were difficult to work for. When she asked him his drink of choice, he didn’t hesitate to say a peach daiquiri.

Class was almost over, so she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her texts with Brett. They never failed to make her feel all tingly inside. That he alwayswrote back right away, whether it was texting or emailing, made her feel important. Valued.

You’ve never had strawberry ice cream? Isn’t that a mandatory part of growing up?

Never. I was a black liquorice girl, through and through.

That’s unacceptable. I’ll have to take you for ice cream and prove what a good flavour it is.

You want to take me on an ice cream date?

You obviously missed out on it as a kid, so yes. I think I have a moral obligation now. Next you’ll be telling me you never had a childhood pet.

Wrong. Hamster. His name was Rufio and I loved him for all nine months we had him.

Only nine months?

Little bugger escaped his cage and climbed into the furnace one night. Found him a few days later… ??

RIP Rufio.

What about you? You seem like the kind of guy that would’ve had a turtle or a bird.

I have no idea how you pegged me for a turtle guy, but I do have a pet turtle. Her name is Mary Shelley and I love her. No birds. They freak me the fuck out.

Yet you were still so nice to Llewellyn about Jean-Luc Beakard. I like that about you.

And I like a lot about you.

Tucking her phone away, she noticed Brett wandering around the classroom, handing back their funeral process essays. Most of her classmates were reacting well, taking in their marks for their last class assignment, pleased with how they’d done.

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