“Gray’s on break ups. I, however, am all for people getting their happy endings tonight. Maybe I’ll get my own, if you know what I mean.”
She winks, and I chuckle with a disbelieving roll of my eyes. I make my own bet: she’ll come home alone and, in the morning, gripe about how much she needs to get laid.
While my dates never seem to make it past our front door, Natalie’s don’t even step a foot outside it. Last week, a minute before a boy from one of her classes—not Pete, he of the atrocious kissing skills—was supposed to pick her up, he’d texted that he’d come down with a rare form of food poisoning. One that precluded him from rescheduling, ever.
Rylie and I have discussed it, and we believe that Natalie’s own unlucky dating life has caused her to become way too invested in ours.
“And Morris?”
“Theo’s our tie-breaker.”
Rylie and I have also discussed that we think Natalie’s curse with boys stems from her obvious attachment to Lakewood’s star quarterback. Though she asserts Morris is her best friend and will sputter with flabbergasted indignance if anyone suggests otherwise, Natalie and Theo act way more like a couple than anyone else I know. I guarantee in the event her and Grayson’s bet ties, Natalie wins, if only because Morris will indulge her.
“I don’t feel like dressing up,” I say, running a hand over my matching flannel set. It had started snowing right after my last class of the day, so after a quick shower, I threw on my coziest pajamas and settled in on the couch for leftover takeout, homework, and a marathon of my favorite chick flicks. The second Natalie leaves, my bra comes off, which means I’m officially in for the night.
“You want company?”
“You go have fun for the both of us.”
“And you won’t be lonely here by yourself?”
Rylie and Levi had driven into the city earlier. Levi’s mom is undergoing a cancer treatment, so they thought to bring dinner to the hospital as a surprise. I’d caught them just before they left. With well wishes for his mom, I’d handed over the basket of roses from Summer to take with them. I’d lugged it around campus with me all afternoon and was happy to rid myself of it.
They’re ditching classes tomorrow to stay the night in a hotel and will be back in time for this weekend, which Rylie and Natalie both informed me would ring in Tipsy Turvy’s inaugural house party. I’m hoping a snow storm keeps them in the city. Then we can cancel the party.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure Natalie.
She places her hands on her hips. “I don’t need to take your phone, do I?”
I shake my head. I’d hidden it for that very reason.
As if on cue, her own phone chimes and a honk from the driveway catches our attention. “That’s the guys. Last chance, I can throw on sweats and couch potato it up with you.”
“Go,” I shoo her with a smile. She smothers me in a hug, and I have to push her away with hands and feet before she crushes my laptop. “Tell them I’m rooting for you.”
“As you should,” she laughs with a one-footed hop, wrestling on a boot. Shrugging on her coat, she says, “Listen, I know you have your issues with him, but should an emergency come up, call Spencer. He’s home, too, and he can get here sooner than we can from the bar.”
My typing slows. “He’s not going with you guys? It’s Valentine’s Day.”
“And the one day a year he refuses to go out,” she snorts. “Thinks he’ll fall into some vagina and never come back out.”
“That’s a disturbing visual.”
“So is his face.” Natalie snaps her fingers. “Oh, that’s a good one. I need to save that.” She turns back to me, fully braced for the cold, hand on the door. “Seriously, though, call him if you need help.”
“For all my couch-potato-related emergencies.”
“Kennedy Walsh, you wild mermaid, who knows what trouble you’ll stir up?” She leaves with a laugh and a wave.
I’m alone. I turn up the volume of my movie to tune out the silence and wrap a blanket around my shoulders to get back to work. When I finish it, I click on my homework to-do list and realize I’m caught up on all my assignments for now. So I switch over to my newspaper roll. The first item yells at me: S. ARMSTRONG’S LEAP QUESTIONS.
Right. Since Summer distracted me earlier in the library. Not that I hadn’t already been thoroughly distracted, listening to Spencer’s recordings.
I really should complete them. Maybe, since Natalie pointed out he’s at home tonight, I can call and finish the interview over the phone. She’d programmed all of her friends’ numbers in my phone a while ago, though I’d protested I’d have no use for Spencer’s. Now, I appreciate her foresight. Without the face-to-face aspect driving me to want to throw another drink on him, I can potentially finish this thing, hit my deadline, and have Spencer out of my hair.
So I grab my computer and head for my room. At the last second, I turn back and bring my blanket. Because this house is cold. Not because there’s a lingering woodsy scent.
At my desk, with the blanket over my lap, I press play on the recording. As I dig through a pile of notebooks in the desk drawer where I stashed my phone, his voice fills my room.
Instantly, I’m right back where I’d left off in the library.
Long. Hard. Body. Not stopping. Muscles. Twisting. Pushing. Heart racing. Tensing. Burning. Screaming.
Absentmindedly, I set the cell to the side. Maybe a phone call isn’t the best plan, if just hearing that deep
