Page 44 of Pick Me

“Not yet,” she said, pointing her finger up in the air.

I glowered at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on. You two alone in your apartment for the rest of the week. Simmering tension. Lines of hate blurring into something more. Something’s going to happen, and I’m going to be front row telling you I told you so when it does.”

“Wow, Britt. I didn’t realize you were such a fantasist. Maybe you should try your hand at writing since you like to make shit up.”

She shook her head, laughing. “I’m not making up a damn thing. It’s going to happen. Jackson’s going to admit he’s in love with you, and then it’s going to trigger something.”

I scoffed, certain Britt had lost her mind. “Jackson’s not in love with me.” Her eyebrows curved, her lips pursing. “He’s not. Believe me, I know.”

“How?”

“If you’re going to talk about the time he brought a girl home two years ago, I think we can all agree we’ve all done stupid things to pretend we aren’t in love with our friends. Hell, I pretended I liked hockey just so Matty would stop hounding me.”

“Oh, that reminds me. Do you know Henry Newman?”

Her face crinkled and she repeated the name a couple of times before looking at me with surprise. “You mean the hockey player?”

“Yeah.”

“I vaguely remember him. I think he cheated on his girlfriend in high school, and the team was giving him a hard time over it.”

“Oh, that’s a weird thing to hold a grudge over.”

“Not when it’s a teammate’s sister. Why are you asking about him?”

“Because I’m going on a date with him tonight.”

“A d-date?” Why was everyone reacting with a stutter to this news? “Wow.”

“Why are you so surprised?”

“I’m not. You’re amazing, so it’s not surprising people see that. It’s just, Jackson must be devastated.”

I grunted. “Are we back to Jackson again?”

“It’s just—”

Raising my hand, I stopped her from finishing the sentence. “He brought Grace home last night.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, and he had no problems letting her insult me while I was standing in the living room unprovoked and half-dressed.”

“Why were you half-dressed?”

I raised my arm, and her eyes tracked the streaky orange lines running down it. “Not all of us are blessed with bronzed skin year-round.”

“Your skin is beautiful. You don’t need to change it.”

I flitted my hand as I dropped it on the table. “That’s beside the point. The point is, do those actions really sound like someone who’s interested in me?”

Her shoulders dropped, her gaze falling as quickly as the smile on her face. The fire in her eyes flickered out, and I felt vindicated for the shortest of seconds, only to be reminded of last night. Fat rolls, fake tan, and a mustache. How would I ever live that down?

“I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s fine. We can all be wrong at times.”

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