I pick at my chicken Caesar salad with my fork, my appetite easing slightly as I remember what else happened today. “Some girl in my History of Fashion class asked Fitz out.”
Brenna answers while chewing. “Really? Who?”
“Nora something or other. This little indie chick with pink hair.” I take a tiny bite of my salad. “He said yes.”
“How do you know he said yes?”
“I heard her telling her friends.”
“Okay.” Brenna swallows and sets the sandwich on her plate. “I’m not sure what the proper response is—do you want me to be happy for Fitzy that he’s gettin’ some, or outraged on your behalf because you still have a thing for him?”
“I don’t have a thing for him,” I object instantly.
“Doth protest, et cetera et cetera.”
I glare at her. “Of course doth protest. I’m not attracted to guys who think I’m fluff.”
“Mmm-hmmm. So you’re saying if he called you up right now and said, Hey Summer, I’d like to take you on a date and possibly show you my penis at the end of it? You’re telling me you’d say no?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Bullshit.”
“Fitz can date every woman at this college for all I care. He blew his chance with me.”
“Bullshit.”
“He did.”
“Bullshit.”
I growl in aggravation. “You’re such a child.”
“Right. I’m the child. Just admit you still like him.”
“Sure, if you admit you enjoyed fooling around with Hollis,” I challenge.
It’s a stalemate.
Brenna shrugs and resumes eating. I keep picking at my salad. My appetite is completely gone now, because the knowledge that Fitz is going out with another girl bothers me much more than I thought it would.
In high school, I was a cheerleader, captain of the dance team, and co-captain of the girls’ swim team. The latter meant that I didn’t just hang out with hot football players, but hot swimmers as well. The boys with the lean muscles and smooth, aerodynamic bodies. So I’m not at all fazed the next evening as I lounge on the couch next to a very hairless Mike Hollis.
The bare arm resting haphazardly on the cushion between us and the bare legs up on the coffee table don’t have a single hair on them, yet somehow this doesn’t take away from his masculinity. Hollis might be annoying, but he does have sex appeal, I’ll give him that.
Also, he and I—and this slightly horrifies me, as I’m not sure what it says about me—have a lot more in common than I ever could have imagined. In the past hour, I’ve discovered that he prefers tea to coffee, isn’t ashamed to say he loves Harry Styles’ solo album, and is as obsessed with the movie Titanic as I am. It’s currently playing on one of the movie networks the guys subscribe to. We landed on it at the halfway point, and the film is now gearing up for all the epic, devastating moments.
“We might need to turn it off before the real shit goes down,” he warns me. Then he snickers at his own pun. “Goes down, get it? Like the ship.”
“Yes, Mike. I got it.” I lift my socked feet on the table, nudging his left foot with my right one. “And we can’t turn it off. The ending scenes are the best ones.”
“Babe. Please. I’m not in the mood to cry tonight.”
Laughter bubbles in my throat. His serious expression tells me he’s not even joking. “Which part gets you? Mother reading to her children? Old couple on the bed?”
“All of the above. And don’t get me started on Jack’s senseless death. Goddamn unnecessary.”
I nod wholeheartedly. “There was room for two on the door.”
“Damn right there was. It was even myth-busted. He didn’t have to die.”
When my phone chimes, I tear my gaze off young Leonardo DiCaprio’s beautiful face. Though really, his face is as beautiful now as it was then. He’s an ageless wonder.
I read the incoming text from Hunter, who’d gone out tonight with a few guys from the team. I stayed home because Brenna had been supposed to come over and hang out. I have a feeling that’s the only reason Hollis stayed behind too. But she canceled at the last minute, hence why Hollis and I are alone.
Fitz isn’t home either, but I’m trying very hard not to dwell on why that is.
“Hunter wants to know if you want him to bring you some chicken wings,” I tell Hollis.
“How is this a question?”
“Is that a yes?”
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s a yes,” I say irritably, “but I’d like to be sure.”
“I won’t even justify his question with an answer.”
I swear one day I’m going to murder this guy. I text Hunter a yes to the wings, then send a message to Brenna.
ME: Due to you ditching me, I’m chilling with your bf tonight and he is mighty annoying.
* * *
BRENNA: Didn’t mean to ditch u, GB. Forgot about study group.