Page 42 of Not a Perfect Save

A sore spot. I got the evil eye from Hank when he found out, and he’s asked me to ask Connor for tickets. I shut him down.

“First of all, I didn’t ask for him to stick around, he was being nice.” My mouth twists on the last word.

“If he’s so nice, then call and invite him anyway.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Girls, please!” Mom’s back in the room, rubbing her head.

I turn to the bed and busy my hands with packing up the new batch of outfits Hannah wants me to adjust and hanging up the clothes she’s already approved—all to keep from skewering her with the hook of the hanger I’m clutching. I used the cheap metal ones from my dry-cleaners, my tiny bit of passive-aggressive defiance. Not that she even notices.

“Okay, now go put the dress for the rehearsal dinner on,” Hannah orders, still glaring at me.

I stalk to the bathroom seething.

When I return, she’s scrolling through my phone, her mouth pursed.

“Give that back!”

Hannah just holds it up above my head. I curse my short stature, not for the first time. She clicks another photo of me in the current puce abomination, then hands my phone back to me.

From the far side of the room, my mom calls, “Ella, honey, have you been in touch with Parker? We want the maid of honor and the best man to lead the rest of the wedding party in with the dance at each of the events.”

My eyelids shoot up. I hate dancing. Hannah knows this and snorts. She’s still pissed because my parents insisted that she make me her maid of honor.

I exaggerate the limp I no longer have. “Sorry, I can barely walk, remember?” A sliver of guilt runs through me at my mom’s fretful expression.

“But honey, you’re not using your crutch anymore.”

“I can manage short distances.” I plop down on the bed as if my legs can’t support me anymore.

“Where is it then?” My sister challenges.

“How was I supposed to bring it with me if I had to lug all your crap over here?” I point at all the other clothes strewn around the room.

Hannah shrugs. I don’t think she really cares that I might still be incapacitated as long as it doesn’t interfere with her wedding prep. Or her life in general. “If you’re not dancing, and you don’t have a plus one, I’m going to move you to the table with Great-Aunt Cynthia.”

I scowl. “Who said I wasn’t bringing a plus one?”

“But—“

“You said I could bring a date, right?”

She eyes my mother, who is still frowning. “Well, yes.”

“Good.” I’m scanning my mental Rolodex, trying to figure out if I should invite a lanky-haired stoner or the most tatted up guy I know.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

CONNOR

The guys know betterthan to speak to me in my current mood, and I’m grateful they leave me alone, even though their concerned looks piss me off. I’m normally the most even keeled of us.

I’ve been running and re-running the argument with Ella in my head. It’s been three days, and we’re at a stalemate. Neither of us has reached out to the other.

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