Page 24 of Seeds of Love
Your place or mine? 7pm.
For fuck’s sake. Not even a pretense of conversation anymore. Just a booty call masquerading as a question. Most guys would be doing backflips for this setup—regular, no-strings sex with a hot girl who doesn’t want to talk about feelings. So why do I feel like I’m showing up for a dentist appointment?
I type back something noncommittal. The truth is, I can’t deal with relationship shit right now. Not with Dad’s medical bills piling up and Megan’s college dreams hanging by a thread. I’ve seen what happens when you let someone in—watched my parents’ perfect love story turn into a medical drama nobody wanted to watch. No thanks.
The café door opens and—holy shit.
Lexie walks in and something’s different. She’s drowning in that UMS hoodie again—the one that seems to be her second skin. The embroidered mountains on the front catch the light as she moves, making them shimmer like real snow-capped peaks. I’d never admit it, but seeing her in that giant navy hoodie, with the sleeves pulled over her hands and the hem hitting mid-thigh, did things to me no piece of university merchandise should be capable of.
Same hoodie, same messy bun, but... those jeans are definitely new. They’re hugging curves I’ve been trying really fucking hard not to notice. It’s not working.
“Oh my god, Freddie, you will never freakin’ believe what just happened!”
I force my eyes up to her face, ignoring the way my stomach flips when she says my name. “Oh my god, Lexie, what?! Let me guess—Tara wore black?”
She whacks my arm with her tiny hands. “You. Are. A. Dick.”
“Proud of it,” I grin. She hits me again, but it’s not hard enough to hurt even a little.
“Ow! Okay, okay. I’m sorry. What’s the earth-shattering event you speak of?”
“Eric asked me out!” she squeals.
Great. Eric the Wonderful. Eric the know-it-all douche. Fucking Eric with his perfectly ironed shirts and his “well actually” bullshit in every class.
I paste on a smile. “That’s great.”
“Freddie,” she warns, seeing through my act.
“It’s great, really. I’m happy for you, Lex. You should have fun, date around. Get the full college experience,” I say, meaning it more than I expected. Lexie deserves to be happy. Even if it’s with King Douchebag of Know-It-All Mountain.
Her cheeks turn pink as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Thanks! I mean, we can’t go out for a couple weeks because he’s got this math competition, but?—”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
The guy has a shot with Lexie—Lexie—and he’s putting her off for a math competition?
Oh, come on.
I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. Not my business. Not my problem. Not my?—
Tara bursts in, her pink furry backpack a dead giveaway from the other side of the room.
She rushes over to us, pulling up a chair. Great, and there goes any chance of actual studying. Don’t get me wrong—I love Tara. She’s got that same super perky energy as Troy, all sunshine and rainbows. But holy fuck, the girl could talk a statue to death, and it’s difficult to get anything productive done when she’s around.
“I got your message,” she sing-songs.
Lexie and Tara do that weird telepathic girl thing, grinning at each other like they’ve got a secret language. And maybe they do. Lexie’s different with Tara—looser, lighter. She told me once that Tara was her first real friend since elementary school.
“So does this mean you’re going to be ticking off number one?” Tara whispers, and my ears perk up.
“What’s number one?” I ask, suddenly way more interested in their girl talk than I should be.
Lexie shoots Tara a death glare.
“Nothing,” she says, but I’m not buying that shit for a second.
