Page 60 of A Novel Love Story

I thought back on it, but last night was all but a blur. I’d been too enthralled with either Houndstooth or Junie’s hack of ranch on onion rings. Too bad I remembered therestof my mistakes last night. Because the house red had made me make the most terrible, awful, no-good decision of the year. At least I was gone today, and I could put this whole mess behind me.

“Clearly,” he went on, “I didn’t try hard enough.”

I laughed despite myself, and my middle hurt with the effort. “Prudence can’t even stop me. Just leave the tea outside? I’ll get it …” I glanced at my shirt on the floor. “Later.”

“All right. If you need anything else …”

“I won’t,” I said, and swallowed, sick just thinking about the way he let me down last night. Was it because I was too drunk?

I currently hated past Eileen with a passion.

The floorboards creaked as he began to turn away. It felt like we were dancing around each other, tiptoeing, because of those awful, wonderful kisses.

“Look,” I started, because I’d rather address this now with the closed door protecting me, when I couldn’t see his face, “about last night …”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he replied gently, returning. “Or if you want to, we can talk about it later. When you’re not …”

“Puking my guts out?”

I heard the grimace in his voice. “Yes, that. I’ll put the doughnut beside the tea.”

“Just to tempt me,” I accused.

“To incentivize you.”

I thought about the doughnut and immediately wanted to be sick again. “I will never eat again. This is all your fault.”

“Yes, yes, obviously.”

“You should’ve stopped me.”

“Itried, I keep telling you.”

“Likely excuse,” I muttered, easing myself down onto the cool floor. I pressed my cheek against the cold tile, and it helped a little. My mouth tasted like … things I didn’t want to think about, and my head pounded, and I was leaving today.

“You’re cute,” he went on, “when you’re pretending to be angry with me.”

I didn’t feel very cute, tits out, lying on the bathroom floor with sweaty hair stuck to my cheek. But I felt myself blush anyway. “You can’t even see me.”

“I have a good imagination.”

I felt my traitorous heart flutter in my chest as he walked away.

When he was gone, I opened the bathroom door, grabbed the tea (pushing the doughnut as far away from me as I could),retreated back into the bathroom, and made the decision to pretend like last night never happened—untilhebrought it up again. And maybe, with my luck, he wouldn’t before I hunted down Frank and made him shock my Sweetpea back to life like some mechanical Frankenstein’s monster. After a hot shower and some Tylenol I dug out of my duffel bag, I was feeling a little better, so I finally grabbed the doughnut, and made my way down into the bookstore. The doughnut was soft, dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon, and the tea was strong and honeyed, which was a nice change from the motor oil I was used to drinking.

“Ah, you’re alive,” Anders noted as I shuffled to the front counter. He checked me over to make sure I was, in fact, alive. “How do you feel?”

“How do youthink?” I croaked.

He snorted, and checked something off on his notepad. “I called Frank for you. He’ll be around in a few to tow your car to the auto shop and get it checked out.”

“Thank you.” I noticed that he looked positively right as rain. There weren’t even dark circles under his eyes. If there was an antithesis to a sexy goth vampire, he was it. A sullen, bookish anti-vampire. Though, he wasn’t quite glowering at me anymore. In fact, his minty eyes looked softer than usual as he drank me in, all shitty five foot four of me. I said, “You must be one of thosemorningpeople.”

“Only because I hate procrastinating, and there is too much to do,” he replied, pulling up a stool to sit down behind the counter. Then he took out a pair of round glasses from his pocket and put them on to read a document of numbers on the computer. I had a professor once in college who wore round glasses. Almost every girl in class—including Prudence—fawned over him.They said he looked distinguished and made tweed coats fuckable. I didn’t see it.

Until now.

Stop it, I scolded. I was hungover and halfway dead, and still my heart had the audacity to be horny. My brain was truly a traitor, and this town was getting to me, all the thoughts of romance and kissing and happily ever afters.

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