Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Easton is quiet again, seemingly deep in thought. Then, just when I think he’s going to end the conversation for real this time, he says, “What about you? Who do you like?”
Who do I like?
My brain short-circuits. I like him—isn’t it obvious? Isn’t that what our kiss implied?
For me, maybe, but for him—maybe not. Maybe he kisses all his female friends. Or he just got caught up in the moment and this call is his attempt to smooth things over.
My heart drops.
“I don’t know,” I lie, face as hot as a thousand suns. “No one.”
He doesn’t believe me, laughing again—but softly, so as not to alert his parents. “Bullshit.”
I groan. Part of me wants to confess—the other part is terrified. “Why do you even care?”
“Dunno. Just curious. I mean, you’re helping me learn how to talk to girls—maybe I could help you.”
I roll onto my side, hugging my pillow and propping myself up by the elbow. “Stop being curious.”
Easton smiles at me. “That’s not how curiosity works.” His laugh is silent, eyes on me; he’s trying to figure me out. “So—no one at all?”
I hesitate. Long enough that his smile widens.
“Ohhh,” he taunts. “There is someone.”
Obviously.
I roll my eyes, because what else am I supposed to do? Admit that it’s him I have a crush on? Not a chance. “Would you shut up?”
“Nope, don’t think I will.” He stretches an arm behind his head, looking way too pleased with himself. “Is he on the hockey team?”
“Oh my god, I swear—” I scoff, scrunching up my face. “It’s not a hockey player.”
Lies, lies, and more lies…
“Huh.” He taps his fingers against his pillow. “Football?”
“No.” Definitely not.
“Track?”
“No.” You were correct the first time.
Easton narrows his eyes. “Mathletes?”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Yes, Easton. I’m hopelessly in love with the captain of the math team.”
“Hey, don’t knock it—smart dudes pull.” He pauses, latching on to the subject like a kid with a piece of candy. “Give me a hint.”
I exhale, stalling. A hint? That’s dangerous territory.
Then again, so is this whole conversation.
“All right. A hint is easy.” I giggle. “He’s kind of an idiot.”
Now Easton is the one rolling his eyes. “That narrows it down to, like, half the population of guys at school.”
“You asked for a hint—you didn’t say how specific you wanted the hint to be.”
“Be serious.”
I prop my chin in my hand, pretending to think. “Fine. He’s a little cocky.”
Easton scoffs. “Still half the school.”
I press my lips together, trying not to smile. “Thinks he’s funnier than he actually is.”
“That could still be a lot of people.”
I arch a brow. “He’s a pain in my ass.”
He lets out a low laugh, tilting his head. “It’s starting to sound like you have terrible taste.”
We both laugh, sharing the joke, but something inside me twists. He’s right—it does sound like I have terrible taste. Because if I keep describing him, there’s no way he won’t figure it out.
Unless he really is that oblivious.
I shift, swallowing hard before I ask, “Then what advice would you give me? About guys?”
His smirk lingers, but his eyes flicker with something else—thoughtfulness, maybe. “The same advice you gave me—be yourself.” He pauses. “And I’d tell you to raise your standards.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, pulse thrumming. “What if I don’t want to?”
His smirk falters, just for a second. Barely enough to notice. But I do notice because there is nowhere to look but at him.
Then, voice lower, just above a whisper, he says, “Guess that’s your problem, then.”
Is he messing with me? Or does he seriously not know?
I shift onto my back, staring at the ceiling. “That’s a dumb answer.”
I risk a glance at my screen, and he’s watching me—really watching me—as if he’s trying to figure me out. But I am not a puzzle I want him to piece together.
“So,” he says lazily, lids heavier than they were before. “This guy…”
Oh god. He is not going to let this go.
I swallow. “What about him?”
“Does he know you like him?”
I freeze.
He asks it so casually, like it’s just another part of the game, but my heart slams against my ribs because no, he doesn’t know. And I am not going to tell him. Not until I’m sure my heart isn’t going to be shattered.
Yes, he kissed me.
Yes, we spend time together.
But that does not a relationship make.
I wet my lips, feigning ignorance. “Does who know I like him?”
“The guy you like.” Easton scoffs. “Dumbass.”
He did not just call me a dumbass…
“You just seem like the type to…I don’t know—suffer in silence instead of taking action,” he continues, slowly ruining my entire evening. “I’m being a good friend and telling you to grow a pair and tell him you like him.”
I want to die.
I also want to wipe that stupid, knowing look off his face.
With my mouth.