Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)(40)

…her cookies made me sick.

My body ached reading those words. They weren’t for me, but yet…they have to be for me. I lay there and thought about the way he looked at me—and the way he looked.

I let Lindsey stay asleep in my bed. Sneaking out of my room to the shower, I slip into my workout clothes so I could head to the gym before my morning class. I packed a bag with everything I thought I’d need, the plan to stay away until I heard from Lindsey about a date—that he’d come, and they’d both be gone.

But that text never came. Not a word. Nothing—not even an excited text from my friend about how he wants to see her now, because he just can’t wait.

I fought the urge to text her leading questions that would prompt answers about Andrew. We only shared labs on Mondays and Wednesdays, so I was on my own today, which made it harder to stretch things like lunch and studying into taking longer than they really needed to. By the time the sun was down, I was exhausted, running on maybe an hour of sleep in total. If they were going out, they’d be gone by now, and Lindsey would have let me know.

My backpack loaded down, I drag my tired legs to our apartment building, through the lobby, and to the elevator where I’m so exhausted I drop my bag from my shoulders during the ride and drag it along the floor as I exit and walk to our door.

It’s a weird season here now—not quite the snowy winter I’ve grown to love, but not warm enough to wear single layers. Every hallway and classroom is pumped with heat, though, which makes me sticky and uncomfortable by the end of the day. I’ve hit my limit for today.

I listen before putting my key in the lock. It’s quiet, which makes me think that maybe Lindsey left without telling me. My mind runs away with this thought, jumping to the conclusion that Andrew mentioned how he knows me—and my friend didn’t want to hurt my feelings, so of course now they’re off somewhere both talking about how they need to keep this a secret from me. I let these thoughts dance in my head until I open the door and see the both of them laughing, throwing strings of pasta at each other in our kitchen. Confronted with what’s real, I actually wish the daydream in my head from seconds before were the truth. At least then, I wouldn’t really know and see it all.

I’m too noisy, and they both turn to look at me, my clothes disheveled from being stuffed in my bag for the morning, my hair limp and stringy from my rushed shower, my back sweaty from carrying my heavy bag all day. Lindsey covers her mouth, hiding her giggle from whatever they were doing before—whatever was funny—but finally lets it go, laughing without abandon as she walks closer to me.

Andrew isn’t laughing at all. She doesn’t notice he’s stopped. He’s behind her, and all he’s doing is staring.

“There you are!” she says, rushing at me with a spoon. “Here! Oh my god, taste this.”

There’s a red sauce in her spoon, but I look at it as if it’s poison, my eyes flitting to Andrew for a second, but looking back to the spoon because he’s still looking at me, not smiling, and if it is poison, I think it’s still my better option.

“What…is it?” I ask, pulling my bag back up to my shoulder and adjusting the weight of it.

“It’s marinara. Drew made it, and it’s so freakin’ good. You have to try.” She holds the spoon to my lips, and I lean forward, letting her feed me like a child, my eyes glancing to Andrew—Drew—as I taste it. His mouth tugs up on one corner into a smirk, and I can’t help but hear his voice in my head.

Her cookies made me sick.

“It’s good,” I say, my eyes on him the entire time. It’s delicious, but good is polite. It won’t make me sick, and it won’t make me well. It’s just a taste that somehow feels very much like the boy I knew…know.

“Made it from scratch,” he smirks. Lindsey joins him in the kitchen again, and he takes the spoon back from her, but his gaze lingers on me. “Dinner’s served in ten minutes,” he adds, waiting for me to react. My stomach sinks.

I was gone the entire day. My body hurts, and all I want is a hot shower. I wanted to miss this, yet somehow, I timed it just right.

“Oh…it’s okay, I’m not that hungry,” I say, looking down to my feet. His stare—it hurts. And he won’t stop.

“You sure? We made plenty. We didn’t want to leave you out,” he adds, turning back to tend to the stove. Lindsey’s looking up at him with stars, hearts, and probably rainbow unicorns in her eyes; it makes my breath feel heavy.

“I’m sure, but…thank you,” I say. His arm stops moving, no longer stirring the noodles in the water. Lindsey steps away, carrying a pile of bowls and plates to the small kitchen table by our window, and the second she leaves the room, he turns to face me, the mask gone.

“You’re welcome, Emma,” he says, his mouth a hard, flat line and his eyes cloudy with what I’m pretty sure is regret.

We stand in our little pocket of silence with our eyes locked for a few seconds, and it’s like he’s memorizing parts of me he’s forgotten while I’m counting how many parts of him have changed—nearly all of him has as far as I can tell.

“Please join us,” Lindsey startles me, her hands wrapping around my bicep. I jump, and she laughs. “Sorry. Really, though, I was about to text you to tell you he was here, and we made dinner. It’ll be fun. We usually eat sandwiches or microwave meals, Drew. This is a big night out for Em and me. Ha…and we didn’t even go out.”