Definitely, Maybe in Love

research, but I shouldn’t have begun to think of him as a friend, someone who understood me like no one else.

“Spring, are you okay?” Julia asked.

“Fine,” I muttered. “Good night.”

“Don’t go. Not like this.”

“Let her go if she wants,” Lilah said. Her eyes narrowed as they held on mine. “Henry, I need to talk to you about something important, anyway,” she added, still staring me down as I headed toward the stairs.

Chapter 13

Behind the locked door, I turned the faucet on full blast, and dipped one hand under the tap, focusing on the way the track lighting over the mirror distorted the shape of my fingers beneath the stream of water.

Distracted for the time being, my breathing grew more stable. I grabbed a towel and ran a corner under the water. My eye makeup smeared down my cheeks as I rubbed it over my face. I dropped it into the sink and stared at myself in the mirror.

It had been ten years since I looked like this: the flushing cheeks, the flaring nostrils, the overall scrunchiness of my face. Yep, I was about to cry.

But I wouldn’t.

Getting into a stupid argument with Knightly did not warrant tears. I’d known from the beginning what I was getting into, and just because he could be charming and warm and human was no excuse to have gotten close, close enough to allow him to hurt my feelings so deeply that I felt actual pain in my chest. If I got burned by backfire, I had no one to blame but myself.

After shutting off the water, I climbed onto the counter and sat with my feet in the sink.Time ticked on, but I wasn’t ready to leave the bathroom. It was the only room with a lock. So I memorized every ingredient listed on the back of the bottle of mouthwash behind the mirror. He should really use a kind with no alcohol, I found myself considering. I can always recommend my brand—

But no, I couldn’t. In fact, barring any accidental run-ins with him in the kitchen, I could probably get away with not speaking to him for the duration of my sentence under his roof, and if not for one or two more research sessions, perhaps for the rest of my life.

A knot twisted in my stomach. When my eyes caught their reflection in the mirror, I winced at who stared back. If I’d seen some other girl looking as shattered as me, I would’ve sworn she was severely depressed.

I slid off the counter and onto the rug. My teeth were brushed and flossed with more time and care than necessary before I switched off the bathroom light and quietly creaked open the door.

Usually lit by an overhead light, the hallway was pitch-black. With my first step out into the dark abyss, I crashed into a large object right outside the door and lost my footing, momentum spilling me forward. Someone caught me right before I was about to face plant on the carpet, and together we rolled to the floor.

“Are you okay?” Knightly whispered. His arms were all the way around me, holding me in a tight grip as we lay in the middle of the hallway.

“What are you doing?” I hissed, sitting up and scooting away, untying our tangled limbs.

“Waiting for you. I’ve been out here for an hour.” His voice was still low, and I wondered if everyone was asleep.

“You could’ve knocked if you needed in,” I said, copying his quiet tone.

“I don’t need in. I need to talk to you.”

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I noticed that he was bare footed. He wasn’t wearing his sweater anymore, either, just the light blue collared shirt that was underneath it. It was un-tucked now, unbuttoned a quarter of the way down, and rolled up to his elbows.

I bit my lip, annoyed with myself for taking the time to notice what he was wearing and how many buttons were undone.

“It was wrong of me,” he said, “what I said to you earlier.”

“Which part?” My vision was becoming more accustomed to the dark, and I could see his eyebrows were knit together.

“All of it,” he said after a moment. “Probably.”

I nodded, not knowing how to respond, or if I had to respond at all.

“This is my home,” he continued, “and you are my guest, and…”

And?

“And I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

I wasn’t sure if he was attempting to apologize, or merely pointing out that he had perhaps made a slight error in judgment by first insulting my beliefs, and then by calling me a moron, pigheaded, and a dirty hippie.

“Any reply?” he whispered.

I had nothing to say.

“Are you angry?” he asked.

I lifted my chin, looking directly at his shadowy face. Apparently my expression answered his question.

“Right.” He nodded a few times. “You should be angry with me.” His mouth twisted into an uncomfortable smile. “We all have our hot issues, and it just so happens that you and I have one in common…in opposing common.”

He put a hand on my arm. I flinched and banged my elbow against the wall behind me.

“Why is this so difficult?” I grumbled, rubbing my sore funny bone. “Why do you enjoy tormenting me and making my life miserable? Why is that?”

When he chuckled, I pushed his hand off my arm.

“Oh. I thought you were being…” He examined me more closely, his head cocked to the side. “I don’t enjoy tormenting you, and I’m certainly not trying to make you miserable. That’s the last thing I want.”

A dull pain of loathing for both him and myself made my brain achy and exhausted.

“But clearly,” he added, “you think I am, so I must be guilty on both counts.”

“Why do you always talk like a bottom-dwelling lawyer?” I growled softly.

“Practice makes perfect?” He was trying to joke, but I was having none of it.

“Fils de salope. Tu es tellement arrogant,” I muttered, as I stared at the dark wall over his shoulder. I didn’t mind my French being extra vulgar, since I knew he didn’t understand. “Quelle connerie.”

“Je suis impressionne.”

My eyes shot to him. “Excuses-moi?” I replied automatically. “Tu m’as compris?”

“Oui.” His expression was poker-faced while he lifted a small, apologetic shrug. “Je parlais tres bien francais depuis de nombreuses annees, parce que j’aime voyager et…comme tu sais, le francais est la langue d’amour.”

Stunned into silence, I could only gape at him.

“Tu es sans voix, le Printemps. Quel est le probleme?” His accent was perfect, elegant, incredibly sexy…which really ticked me off.

“I don’t have a problem,” I murmured, purposefully answering his question in English.

“Don’t be embarrassed. Your French is very good, especially the curse words.”

“I asked you once outright if you were studying French, and you said no. You lied?”

“I’m not studying French now. I’ve been fluent for years.”

“Splitting hairs,” I grumbled. “I’m sure you’ll be a great lawyer.”

“Listen, there’s something you should know about me.” He took a beat, waiting until I was looking at him. “I