Bring Down the Stars (Beautiful Hearts Duet #1)(28)

“My parents are always there, you know,” Connor said in a low voice.

I swallowed down the bitterness, because I knew. “Anyway, Ma wants me to come to Boston and meet this new guy, Paul, but I’m not in a fucking hurry to meet the latest bum who’s probably leeching off her, just like every other guy she hooks up with.”

“If they’re still together at Thanksgiving, you can meet him then.”

“That works.”

Every year, the Drakes invited my sisters and my mother—with her cigarettes and too-loud laugh—to Thanksgiving dinner at their gigantic row house. Every year, my mother drank too much, no matter how many times I told her to take it easy. They’d call a car for her—a sedan, not an Uber—to take her home, with Mrs. Drake making sure Ma had a week’s worth of leftovers with her and an invitation to Christmas Eve dinner a few weeks later.

The Drakes were good people.

“It would be awesome if things were good with me and Autumn by then,” Connor said. “And I know what you’re going to say, but I like her. She’s beautiful. And super smart.”

“Did you guys talk a lot at the meet?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said with a one-shoulder shrug, which meant he was full of shit. They hadn’t gone below surface topics.

“Maybe you should get to know her a little bit better before you start weaving her into your grand plans to please your parents.”

“I’m not planning anything, except for a first date. I’ve never hung out with a girl more than twice and not gotten to first base.” He grinned. “I like a challenge.”

I rolled my eyes, ready to tell him that Autumn was a human being, not a challenge, but he held up a silencing palm.

“I’m kidding,” he said. “Autumn is…I don’t know. Different. She’s kind of shy, but she stands her ground. I like that about her.”

“Yeah, I like that too,” I said quietly.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”





Later that night, Connor lay sprawled on the couch with SportsCenter blaring, scrolling his phone. I sat at the kitchen table, tapping my pen against an empty page in my notebook and contemplating running as my Object of Devotion. I couldn’t muster the blood and guts to put it to paper. I liked running. It served a purpose, but did I want to make it my life?

“Oh shit,” Connor cried from behind me.

“What is it?”

“I accidentally texted her.”

“Who?” I said, knowing damn well who.

“Autumn. I was fucking messing around and I hit that stupid predictive text thing, then panicked and hit send.”

“So what?”

“I don’t text or call a girl until at least three days have passed.”

I set down my pen and turned around. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. It looks desperate to text her the same day.”

I hid a smile. “What did you text?”

“Just ‘yes.’” His eyes widened. “Shit. She’s texting me back.”

Connor jumped up from the couch and came to where I sat, standing next to my chair as we both watched his phone.

Yes…? :)

Connor typed, Hey.

I smirked. “Really?”

“Yeah, so?”

A pause, then a new text bubbled up. What’s up?

“Now she’s annoyed,” I said. “Or impatient.”

Connor looked to me. “What do I say?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“You’re good at this shit. How many papers did you write for me at Sinclair?”

“This is not the same thing.”

“Ballpark.” Connor made a face. “Dude, she’s waiting.”

I frowned, thought for a moment. “Tell her the truth.”

“Hell no—”

“Tell her the truth but make it better. Tell her you were messing with your phone while thinking about her. Tell her that you wanted to talk to her so badly, your subconscious made it happen.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

Connor’s fingers flew, and then he hit send.

There was a pause and no answer.

Connor frowned. “What’s this mean?”

“It’s good. I mean she’s thinking about what you said.”

The rolling dots of Autumn’s reply came in.

The old ‘accidental text’ move? I feel like I’ve seen that before… ;-)

“She’s not letting you off the hook so easily,” I said, smiling despite myself. “Don’t deny. Tell her she’s one hundred percent right. You’ll make any excuse to talk to her.”

“That’s perfect, man.” Connor typed and hit send.

I like your honesty, came the reply.

“Hey, it’s working.” Connor beamed. “Now what?”

It was working, and I didn’t like what it was.

“I don’t know, man,” I said, waving a hand. “Type something. Whatever you’re thinking.”

“I want her to go out with me.”

“Then ask.”

With a horrible fascination, I watched Connor type, So, dinner?