Page 11 of Stuck With the Billionaire Grump

I like to be by myself,I replied.

That’s not normal, though, according to Dr. Sans. Seventeen-year-old boys aren’t supposed to prefer their own company. They’re supposed to have lots of friends they like to hang out with all the time. They’re supposed to flirt with girls and joke with the guys. If I don’t like to do those things, then there’s clearly something very wrong with me.

I’m not introverted because my parents are getting divorced,I tried to explain to Dr. Sans.That’s just how I am. I’ve always been like this.

I remember he nodded thoughtfully and then murmured, “Let’s unpack that.”

“Oh mygoodness, Lucy! That’s the cutest thing ever!” squeals the girl beside her. She has thick red hair piled into a bun atop her head like a ballet dancer and a spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Abby—that’s her name. She’s very loud.

“Wait, let me see!” whines the black-haired Katrina on Lucy’s other side. She leans in, admiring the bracelet Lucy is weaving with colorful embroidery floss. Katrina gasps appreciatively. “How did you do that? Can you teach me?”

Lucy giggles. “My cousin and I love making these. Here, Trina, let me help.”

I remain quiet a mere three feet away from the gaggle of girls, unheard and unseen as I frown down at the tangle of thread that’s supposed to be a decorative lanyard on a keyring.Unsurprisingly, I’m not very good at crafts. I’m not very good at most things at Camp Hannefort, because it’s not like they have a computer lab where I can show off my true skills. I like swimming, though. And the horses. People can’t talk underwater, and horses don’t talk at all.

While Lucy helps Katrina start a new bracelet, patiently teaching her how to twist the knots, Abby leans in close to the girls and whispers, “Lucy, Brandon istotallylooking at you.”

I watch as Lucy laughs and rolls her eyes. “Brandon looks at every girl.”

Katrina pouts. “He doesn’t look atme.”

“Well, then there must be something wrong with his eyesight, because you’re super pretty, Trina,” Lucy replies.

I hold back a scoff. Katrina ispretty, but Lucy’s comment is just ridiculous.

“I think Jake iswaycuter than Brandon,” Abby whispers. “And I heard he has a tattoo!”

It’s like they don’t even see me sitting here. Either that, or they know that I barely talk to anyone, so they don’t care if I know all their secrets. I glance around, hoping to be rescued by one of the guys from my cabin, but they’re all sequestered at the opposite end of the long oak table. My session with Dr. Sans ran late, so I didn’t get a chance to grab a seat near them.

Instead, I’m stuck over here in Princess Lucy’s court.

“Jake is nice,” Lucy admits. “You should go talk to him.”

“You think?”

Lucy gives her a bright, encouraging smile. “Totally.”

Abby bites her lip, smooths down the front of her neon blue tee, then pushes away from the table. Lucy and Katrina giggle as she saunters confidently toward the boys.

“Lana told me that Ben said Jake likes redheads,” Katrina tells Lucy. “One smile from Abby and he’ll be a goner. They’re totally gonna fall in love.”

Lucy huffs out a laugh, but it’s not her usual musical trill. Weird.

I keep fumbling with my stupid lanyard, utterly ignored by everyone around me and trying to enjoy the illusion of solitude that offers me. At one point, Katrina tells Lucy she’s going to grab them some lemonade from the snack table, and everyone’s beloved princess is left alone for the moment. Well, relatively alone. I’m still here. Not that Lucy has bothered to glance in my direction once in the past week since we all arrived.

Not that Iwanther to.

I glare at the lanyard. I hate this. I hate crafts. I still have to endure seven weeks of this camp before I can go home. How many more textile skills are they going to try to drill into me during that time? Can’t I just go down to the lake? By myself? I mean, I turn eighteen in October. I don’t need a chaperone.

“Do you want help with that?”

It takes me a second to realize that the question is directed at me. I glance up, shocked to see that Princess Lucy has fixed her regal gaze upon me. She has nice eyes. They’re larger than average, which would probably look weird on anyone else, but her long eyelashes and dark irises sort of balance it all out. Which she’s probably well aware of, since I always see her blinking those big eyes at all her devoted admirers like she’s using her lashes to fan the flames of their adoration.

Lucy points to my lanyard. Her fingernails are painted a glittery purple.

“No,” I say. “I’m fine.”

“It doesn’t look fine.” Her tone isn’t rude or judgmental, but I bristle anyway.

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