Page 56 of The Valentine's Bet

Not since he helped me home after ice skating.

To his credit, he did reach out a lot at first, checking in on me, but then he backed off when I forgot to respond to the hundredth text of him wanting to know how my ankle was.

I hope I didn’t hurt his feelings...

“Amy?”

“Yeah, sorry,” I say. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?”

“Um, so ... I never got around to telling you ... But Parker kissed me on New Year’s Eve and—”

“OH. MY. GOSH.” Eliza’s voice booms across my apartment. “So, are you seeing him?!”

I shake my head. “That’s the thing ... he only did it because he felt bad after ruining my New Year’s Eve date—which you already knewthatpart—but I don’t know. I guess when he found out that I was hoping to get my first kiss that night, he wanted to be a good friend and help me check off a box.”

“Right...”

“And then when I sprained my ankle, he took me to the ER and didn’t leave my side until I got settled in at home—but ever since then ... I don’t know. We haven’t really talked.”

“Do you like him?”

“What?” I stop. “No way. He hates me.”

“So, let me get this straight. Parker kisses you, walks you home all the time, pays for things,andtakes you to the doctor. But you think hehatesyou? Mmm, I don’t think so. Amy, it sounds like helikesyou.”

“No. I’m pretty sure he just feels sorry for me.” I plop down on my bed, relieved to spend the evening at home. I haven’t done much at all while my ankle’s been healing up.

It’s finally starting to feel better, though.

“Amy, from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t sound like that at all. It sounds like there’s a lot more going on between you two. People don’t go that far out of their way for justanybody...”

My cheeks flush at the thought of himactuallyliking me. “I don’t know.”

Eliza shakes her head on FaceTime, and just as she does, a message pops up across my screen.

Parker:Lunch tomorrow?

I stare at the text.

“What is it?” Eliza asks, curiosity filling her expression.

“Parker just texted and asked if I wanna get lunch tomorrow.”

“He’s asking you on a date!”

“No, he’s not,” I argue. “I really don’t think things between us are like that.”

“Comeon, Amy. I think he has feelings for you. Do you think about him?”

All the time.

“Sometimes,” I say carefully, my stomach fluttering as I open his text. “But I also forgot to text him back the other day when I was in a meeting. I don’t think people forget to message people back when they like them.”

She laughs. “Uh, yeah, they do. You were busy. How was the kiss?”

“Like fireworks on the Fourth of July,” I blurt out before I can even think about what I’m saying, so I quickly add, “But I’ve never been kissed before—or by anyone since—so, who am I to say...”

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