Page 11 of Until We're More
Chelsea
Did I even want Kevin’s number? The adrenaline from striding up to him in the bookstore for my second chance was beginning to wear off, and now I couldn’t tell. Yeah, I’d made a big deal about how he’d been the first guy to approach me in months—my last date came after chatting online for a few weeks, and I’d been the one to initiate meeting up—but as he droned on about the series we’d already discussed in-depth, I was having trouble summoning up excitement.
As if that wasn’t enough to cause doubts to creep in, I slipped and did the thing. The thing I always accidentally did with guys. I compared him to Liam.
Liam’s not an option. Hello, he sent you over to get this guy’s number.It didn’t matter if Liam was serious in a different, fascinating way; that his drive and the way he cared for his family was as attractive as it was consuming; if his deep voice caused a cascade of tingles and he had this way of making me laugh, even as he was frustrating the crap out of me.
I was getting caught up in the wrong details and losing perspective on why I’d pushed myself to come over to Kevin. Like Liam said, it would be good training on how to push past my comfort zone and be more assertive. To just unapologetically put things out there, no holding back as I thought of all the ways I might fail.
“…really takes a cool turn in book five.”
Then again, maybe he truly does just want to talk literature.
Disappointment flickered through me as the spark of interest relit. A lot of the other guys I’d dated didn’t appreciate my bookish conversations, and here I was blowing off a perfectly good prospect before getting to know him.
“As I mentioned earlier, book three was my favorite so far, but I’m looking forward to the next one. I think a lot of the big things the series has been leading up to are going to come to a head.” I leaned my back against the shelf, but it wasn’t as sturdy as I’d expected, and when it wobbled, I nearly tipped it and myself over. I flung myself forward, ramming my shin into the step stool someone had left in the center of the aisle, which knocked it right into the journal display, and several of the books fell to the floor.
Ouch, shit, ow.
I dropped down to scoop up the colorful journals, and Kevin helped by grabbing a few. I looked into his hazel—not blue—eyes, and then told myself to stop comparing and blurted out, “We should go out sometime.”
His eyebrows arched all the way up to his dark hair. “Uh. Yeah. I’d like that.”
“Cool.” I shoved the last couple journals into place, victory coursing through my veins and providing a nice distraction from my still-throbbing shin. “So later, then,” I said, turning to leave before I went and messed it up.
“Chelsea?”
I spun back around.
“Shouldn’t we exchange numbers? Or pick a time and place at least?”
Okay, so I’d skipped a few steps and went right to asking him out. A weird, totally not normal laugh escaped as I reached up and twisted a strand of my hair around my finger. “Probably a good idea.”
Kevin entered my number into his phone as I rattled it off, and then texted me his info. His eyes lifted to a point over my shoulder and widened, making it clear who was behind me. Liam had given us plenty of space, but if I didn’t know even his resting face naturally radiated menace, I might think he was angry, the way Kevin obviously did.
“That’s my friend Liam.” I raised my voice. “Liam, this is Kevin.”
My best friend gave one of those barely there bro nods, and Kevin swallowed hard.
“He’s nicer than he looks,” I said.
“No, I’m not,” Liam muttered, and my smile turned into gritting my teeth at him. See? Drove me completely crazy!
“Anyway, Kevin, talk later?”
He nodded and, watching my step so I wouldn’t wreck any more displays, I picked my way over to Liam.
“Mission accomplished,” I whispered. “I asked him out. Then I got his number, because I sorta forgot that part.”
“Get it.” Liam held up his hand for a high five, and I had to jump to reach it, something his crooked grin made clear he did on purpose.
Still, he’d helped me, so I let it slide. I slipped my arm around his waist in a side hug. “Thank you. For the nudge and for the books.”
When he switched the bag to his other hand, wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and said, “Anytime,” I had to smother the whorl of affection that tried to go through my stomach. If this was supposed to be aversion therapy, I was pretty sure I was doing it wrong.
…
The teen boy sitting in the theater chair to my left kept giving me an odd look every time I took a drink of my giant Coke. My next swig was on the aggressive side, and I made sure to follow it up with an obnoxiousah!noise that he probably didn’t hear over the movie, but whatever.
