Page 51 of Borrow My Heart

“No…sort of.”

“He’s kind of negative.”

“He’s realistic.”

Asher let out a short grunt. “And you like that? Realism?”

“No.” I paused, thinking about it. “Well, sometimes. I like to feel grounded and have reasonable expectations about things. That way I don’t get disappointed.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint you, Wren,” he said.

I swallowed, those stupid butterflies somehow surviving my apocalyptic stomach.

But what ifIdisappointyou?

Rule:Never change for anyone except your overly critical conscience.

I banged on my sister’s front door over and over. “Zoey! Hurry!”

She opened it with a bewildered look on her face.

“I have to pee!” I threw my stuff right inside the door and went tearing through her house to the bathroom down the hall. Its countertops were littered with makeup and hair utensils and scrunchies. I lifted the lid on the toilet to find a gross yellowish-brown water ring around the bowl.

“Blech,” I said, and lined the seat with toilet paper like I did in public bathrooms. Zoey’s house was closer to work than mine, so today I decided to use it like a pit stop. I didn’t think it would actually look like one, though.

“Why didn’t you go before leaving work?” Zoey asked when I came out.

“Because someone was in there and I wanted to leave. I thought I could make it home.”

“Obviously not,” she said.

“Your bathroom is gross.”

“It’s not my week to clean it, but I should probably go in there and straighten it up a bit.”

“No, that’s not what I was saying at all. You should make whoever’s week it is do it.”

She laughed a little. “I’m not the boss of the house. The toilet worked, right? That at least deserves a two-star review.”

“That’s a great idea, leave a sign by the door where people can rate their experience. Then maybe your roommates will be shamed into cleaning.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Where are your roommates anyway?”

“Work. And Jasmine is taking a summer class.” Zoey sat on the couch and I saw a show paused on the television. “Oh!” She held out her hand. “Let me see your phone.”

“Where isyourphone?”

She nodded across the room. “Plugged in. Let me see it.”

I placed my phone in her hand and she opened the Instagram app and typed something into the search bar. Then she turned the phone toward me. “Who talked you into this? I need to know.”

I squinted at my phone even though I already knew what she was referencing—the Bean Games video. I slid closer to her and pointed to Asher on the screen.

“Really? Olive Garden Boy?” She stared at the still image for a couple of beats. “Huh.”

“What?”

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