Page 39 of The Do-Over

“First of all, is that really a thing?” he asked. “And second, I bet he wishes you would’ve told him that little tidbit of personal info before he dropped coin on your baubles.”

“Itisa thing—I am allergic.” I grabbed my soda off the nightstand and said, “And Ididtell him. He must’ve just forgotten.”

“Let me get this straight.” His voice was deep and a little gravelly, like he’d just woken up. “You told Josh Sutton, arguably the smartest kid at our school, that you’re allergic to silver. And then he bought you a silver necklace for Valentine’s Day.”

“Bracelet.”

“Whatever. He’s clearly trying to kill you.”

I started laughing, in spite of wanting to choke him for making me doubt Josh. “He is not.”

“Are you sure?” I could hear the smile in his low, quiet voice. “I mean, you can never be too careful.”

“I’ve heard that.” I cleared my throat and couldn’t believe I was talking to Nick Stark on the phone. ThatIhad calledhim. “So where were you all night?”

“Whoa—back off, creeper.”

“Shut it,” I said through another laugh. “Were you working?”

“I was.”

“And…? Where do you work?”

“Should I be alarmed by how interested you are in my comings and goings?”

“Absolutely not.” I remembered what he thought about small talk, so I said, “I was just hoping you can get me a hefty discount at one of my favorite places. Bookstore, coffee shop, pizza delivery—any of those would work for me. I like having connections.”

“So.” He sounded a little more awake. “You’d like to use our acquaintance for your personal gain, is that what you’re saying?”

“Precisely.” I smiled into the quiet of my bedroom and said, “Although you needn’t make it sound so mercenary.”

“Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I work at 402 Ink. A tattoo shop.”

He worked at a tattoo shop?

Everyone knew that he’d gotten tattoos last year—as a sophomore—so that made him seem wildly edgy since the legalage without permission was eighteen. But to work there? That was some straight-up street cred.

“I’m not disappointed,” I said, picturing the smirk that would curl his lip when I said, “I’m planning on getting two massive sleeves next week, so this is perfect.”

“Sure you are.”

“You don’t know.”

“I think I do.”

I gave a nod in agreement, even though he couldn’t see it, and asked, “What do you do there?”

“Everything that isn’t a tattoo. Answer phones, social media, website, cash register—I’m their bitch, pretty much.”

“Oh.” I lay back on my pillow and pulled the covers up to my shoulders. “That sounds interesting, actually.”

“You’d think.” He sounded like he was walking when he said, “What about you? Job?”

“I work at Hex Coffee.”

“Really? Huh—I’m surprised I’ve never seen you there.”

“You go there a lot?”

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