Page 33 of Celebrities Don't Date Bookworms

The chances of him being in at least one of my classes was actually pretty high, considering how small our school was, but I refused to say that aloud. I knew that if I did, I would just be tempting fate.

“I don’t know,” Sloane said in a sing-song voice. “He seemed pretty into you in the coffee shop.”

“You’re crazy,” I said. It didn’t matter how he felt anyway—I knew that I wasn’t interested in him. I couldn’t care less how he felt about my shirts because I couldn’t care less about him. I’d already felt that before, but I extra felt it after my call with Bay last night. That call reminded me that there actually were boys out there who were nice, and sweet, and… not pompous celebrities. And any time someone tried to sway me otherwise, I just had to remember that.

“Crazy enough to believe in true love,” Sloane said, and winked. I shook my head but didn’t argue.

As we reached the line by the pretzel shop, Sloane went up on her tiptoes to see around the people in front of us. It took her less than five seconds to catch the eye of the girl working there, Layla, and she held up two fingers. Layla nodded back and got to work making our usual order.

“I’ll never stop finding it weird that you have connections everywhere,” I said to Sloane. At pretty much every store we ever stepped into, Sloane knew someone working there and could convince them to give her special treatment. In this case, she knew Layla from the cheerleading squad, and because she only ever got the plain pretzel, all she had to do was tell her the number of them she wanted, and the order got put in without us even needing to wait in line. That way, by the time we paid, the food was ready.

“Cheerleaders stick together,” Sloane said with a shrug. “Anyway, back to your boy problem?—”

“I don’t have a boy problem?—”

“Honey, I’m saying this withlove,” Sloane said, putting her hands on my shoulders, “but you aren’t the best judge of that.”

“Hey,” I said indignantly, but without much conviction in my voice. She was right; when it came to boys, I was completely hopeless. A boy once asked me to go to the school dance with him, and I was so awkward that I just stood there and stared at him silently until he left, assuming I wasn’t interested. I was never able to live that one down.

“Excuse me,” somebody said from behind us. “Do I know you?”

The British accent made me freeze, my mind immediately going back to my conversation with Bay last night. For a second, I thought it was him, and that he recognized me, but I quickly realized that couldn’t be the case. Bay had no idea what I looked like. Sure, boys my age with British accents weren’t incredibly common here, but he certainly wasn’t theonlyone. Actually, now that I thought about it, there were at least five boys in my grade who had British accents, which was not an insignificant amount.

Sloane’s eyes focused on the boy, and her eyes narrowed like she was trying to figure out who he was. Out of curiosity, I spun around too. I wondered whether he actually knew me or if he just said that to get me to turn around. Or, more likely, to get Sloane to turn around. She was the one that boys did double-takes for. But no—he was looking straight at me, and staring like he knew exactly who I was. Of course, it was easier for him than it was for me. While I was dressed properly for the early fall weather in a tank topand pants, he was covered almost head-to-toe, including a beanie and sunglasses. Even if I did know him, I wouldn’t have recognized him then.

“You’re the girl from Starbucks!” he said enthusiastically.

“Um…” I took an awkward step back, trying not to be too obvious about it. While I was sure he was probably harmless, I wasn’t looking to get harassed or kidnapped today, and putting some distance between myself and a random boy who looked like he was hiding his identity and seemed a little too comfortable around me was probably a good idea.

“The girl I spilled coffee on yesterday,” the boy said. “What was your name again?”

“Oh, my gosh!” Sloane said. “You’re?—”

That was all she got out before the boy desperately put a hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming.

“Please don’t say it,” he said. “Please. I just wanted a normal mall day without getting mobbed.”

A minute ago, I would have tried to kick him or something in Sloane’s defense, but now I understood what was going on, and why he looked like that: he was Hudson Shaw.

Why is this my life?

Hudson slowly let go of Sloane’s mouth, relaxing when she stayed silent. Then he turned his attention back to me.

“Again, I’m really sorry about yesterday,” he said. “I promise I didn’t mean to spill coffee on you. I wasn’t looking, and?—”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I don’t even care.”

That was a lie. I actually did care quite a bit. But I was willing to say whatever it took to get him to leave us alone. Sure, I’d thought he was cute when I didn’t know who he was. But now that I knew he was famous—and after that act of covering Sloane’s mouth like he was so arrogant to think that if someone dared breathe his name, then he would be mobbed—I wanted to put some distance between us.

“Please let me pay you back,” he begged. He looked at the store we were in line for. “Or at least let me buy you a pretzel. Then we can call it even.”

“I…” I shook my head as he reached for his wallet. “No, you don’t need to do that.”

“I owe you,” he insisted.

“You really don’t,” I said. “It was my fault for spilling the coffee. I shouldn’t have walked with the lid off.”

“And I should have looked up before I moved,” he said. “If I wasn’t there, you wouldn’t have spilled it.”

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