I missed Will, though not in the ways I’d expected. I didn’t miss things that were uniquely Will. It was the absence ofanyonein my life that hit me the hardest.
“Where’s Courtney?” one of my managers asked from the next aisle over, drawing me from my thoughts.
My coworkers’ responses chimed in. “Courtney’s working today?” and “Hopefully fired” and “Who cares?”
I checked my phone and realized it was time for my scheduled break. While old-me would have gone running to see whatmy manager needed, the new me forced herself to ignore the tug that urged me to comply. He’d convince me to help him with something for “just a second,” and then two hours would go by, and I’d miss my break entirely without being compensated for it.
Instead, I made my way across the store to the vending machines, which were by the gardening section. The best thing about my new job was, as long as you showed up and pretended to be busy for at least a few hours, no one would actually fire you.
After buying a few candy bars, I made myself comfortable on the floor, leaning against the vending machine for support. Usually, I liked hiding in a coatrack near the lighting department on my breaks, but I’d seen Dave from appliances lurking around there earlier, and I didn’t want him to spot me. I loved the lighting department—there was something whimsical about all those twinkling chandeliers—but Dave was just the kind of guy who’d rat you out if you stretched your break a few minutes long, which I was certainly planning on doing. So I settled for the less-aesthetic vending machine alcove.
I’d just taken my first bite out of a KitKat when I experienced the unmistakable sensation of being watched.
I looked up, and there he was—some pale redheaded guy looking lost in the garden department. It took me a minute, but I recognized him as my neighbor—a guy I’d seen coming and going a few times from the other side of the duplex. My landlord had mentioned his name was Bryce. Bryce Flannery.
Bryce turned and looked at me—focused, sharp, intense—in a way that no one had looked at me before. A little thrill went through me because he looked at me as though hesawme, the real me, unlike Will, who saw the pretty cape I wore. To be fair, judging by Bryce’s frown, he clearly wasn’tlikingwhat he was seeing, but I didn’t mind.
I knew what I looked like: a lazy degenerate slacking off at work. But he wasn’t leaving. He wasassociatingwith me, if onlyin a small, negative way. He seemed to view me as something worth hating rather than something not worth the effort.
“What do you want?” I asked when he continued to stare.
“Your mom’s phone number,” he fired back, before looking slightly surprised, like he couldn’t believe he had actually just used my mother to insult me.
Something stirred inside me, that competitive spirit that used to get super horny for math tests and tight deadlines. “She doesn’t date men who look like a child’s crayon drawing of a leprechaun.”
“I find it hard to believe her standards are high, considering you came out looking like you belong under a bridge, demanding answers to riddles.” He was on a roll now, but I wasn’t backing down either.
A few weeks ago, I would have suffocated my snide comebacks under an agreeable cape. Now, I let them fly because there was nothing to lose. I didn’t care if this guy liked me or not. “Riddle me this: After listening to your own voice all these years, why do you still think it’s a good idea to talk?”
Despite my insult, I hoped he would continue thinking it was a good idea to talk, because Bryce Flannery was my new favorite jerk. His feelings for me, though negative, were based on who I was, not on the things I did. He’d never ask me to be more,domore; he’d just hate me for who I was.
This one thirty-second interaction was the only honest relationship I’d ever had.
CHAPTER 3INWHICHAGARDEN-VARIETYRAKEMAKESAFOOLOFHIMSELF
BRYCE
From the moment I met Courtney, I knew.
I’d seen her last week when she moved into the other side of the duplex. At a distance, she’d just been my sad, pathetic neighbor. Now, actually meeting her, I learned who she was on the inside, where it mattered most.
I’d come to the big-box store to buy a towel holder after my old one broke. One hundred and four people died of moldevery day. Proper towel management was crucial.
That was when I noticed Courtney, sitting wedged between a vending machine and a trash can. Her green uniform vest was the only clue she was an employee; she certainly wasn’tworking.
She was undeniably attractive, and I watched, transfixed, as she sliced open a red KitKat wrapper with a long, equally red fingernail. Warm sunlight danced off her pale skin. Her indigo-blue hair gleamed as she tossed her head back and raised the chocolate to her mouth. As her full lips closed around it, she moaned softly. And I knew. As shebit into the whole damn KitKat bar without breaking it apart first, I knew. Courtney was the fucking worst.
And, okay. Maybe it wasn’t the act of eating a KitKat incorrectly that made me want to keep my distance. She was an enigma. She viewed the world like it was one big joke, and I wanted in on it. That scared the shit out of me.
I was too curious about her. Curiosity famously killed cats and, less famously, killed my crush-prone heart. I was pretty sure I was reaching my emotional ninth life, so I was done with risks.
My exes always accused me of self-sabotaging—that I was always looking for something to go wrong in relationships. If that was true and my heartache was my own fault, I’d just sabotage my self-sabotaging ways and simply never allow a relationship to form in the first place. Heartbreak: cured.
I needed this woman far, far away from me, so I did what anyone in my position would do. I insulted her mom.
Instead of never talking to me again, she fought back. And now she was—
Oh god. She had her hand out,introducing herself, while I stood here, internally monologuing like some kind of Joe Goldberg weirdo.
