Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(27)

“You sure?” He wags the pencil.

Farrow rolls his eyes, nearing a laugh. “As sure as I’ll be ten years from now.”

“Pencil will be gone by then, man.”

“No shit.”

I laugh, and then Donnelly slides onto the barstool next to me, the seat in front of the pepperoni rose. Of course he did that. Not only is he artistically talented, but he’s a ride-or-die Cobalt stan, and my Aunt Rose is the matriarch. I can’t blame him for his love of the Cobalt Empire. If you want to come out on top, you’d place your bets on the people who are always there.

And that’s just never been the Hales.

When his blue eyes rest on mine again, he gives me a casual nod. “Hey.”

“Howdy.” I wave in a rainbow pattern, then hold out my palm. Before I ask for his pencil, he leans closer and slips the little nubby pencil behind my ear. The way his thumb brushes the softness of my cheek flushes all of me.

The corner of his lip tics up some. “It’s worn out. Trash it when you need to.”

I’ll protect it with my life. I just tell him softly, “I like worn out things.”

Donnelly is harder to read now, but I think he’s about to reply until a bombardment of cats turns our heads. Three felines race in and out of the kitchen. Walrus springs onto the kitchen counter. Thatcher snaps his fingers and the cat immediately leaps off.

So well trained. And I didn’t realize you could train cats.

I am a big gooey blob of jealousy.

Orion is licking his crotch under the bar.

Ughhhh.

If Donnelly notices, he doesn’t say anything. I tug at the string to my hoodie. Thatcher, Jane, Moffy, and Farrow start talking about some luncheon for H.M.C. Philanthropies, and I tune them out. Mostly because my plans tonight have been reinstated now that Donnelly’s here.

Without speaking, we both gather our plates of flattened dough and go to the breakfast table. Sitting amongst the toppings, we work on our pizzas. I mold the crust of mine. It feels more secluded, and I try to remember, we’re friends.

Friendly.

On the best terms.

He went down on me that one time and it’s never been awkward or uncomfortable. Not even when I daydream about him recreating the moment. I’m afraid of the memory vanishing, slipping, because I know it can’t happen again.

I can’t be the reason Donnelly’s whole life implodes, and though I’m not sure the extent of my dad’s dislike of Donnelly and whether it’s a petty thing, a protective thing, or something more personal, I’m almost positive he’d go ballistic if he found out about our hookup.

Donnelly adds another layer to the pepperoni rose.

“Nice pie,” I tell him.

“Thanks.” He tilts his head to peer at my blank dough. His only piercing today is the silver safety pin in the cartilage of his ear. “What toppings you want?”

“Cheese.”

He passes the bowl of mozzarella to me.

“Mushrooms and spinach.”

He leans over the table and snatches those bowls for me too. He bows a little. “I’m at your pie’s service.”

I smile, fighting hard not to blush. He always makes me feel like I’m living on the right planet instead of the wrong one. “My pie thanks you.” After spreading the sauce, I sprinkle the cheese, and I start to construct what I want to say in my head.

So…Donnelly, there’s a triple date thing inspired by your triple date with Moffy, Farrow, Jack, and Oscar and…

No, that’s so rambly.

Donnelly, will you be my date on a triple date? But a friend date. Not a date-date.

Better.

I think I like that one.

I open my mouth.

“Have you found someone yet for next Friday?” Farrow is speaking to Donnelly.

“Is this the triple date?” Jane asks curiously. Excitement twinkles her eyes.

“Yale boys’ triple date,” Thatcher amends.

“Can’t be the one I’m going on,” Donnelly says. “I never went to Yale.”

“Eh, you basically did,” Farrow notes. “You just weren’t enrolled.”

Donnelly smirks. “You adding me into your clique or what?”

Farrow makes a face. “No because I’m not in a clique.”

“Horseshit,” Thatcher chimes in.

Farrow pops a bubblegum bubble. “Okay, roll it back, fuckers.” He motions his finger in a circle, and my brother is staring very fondly at Farrow’s tattooed hand. “I was asking if Donnelly found someone to bring.”

Moffy gestures to Donnelly. “If you still need to find a girl, I can set you up on a blind date.”

That tosses my stomach, and I focus super hard on my pizza. I place the mushrooms like eyes.

“Nah,” Donnelly says. “I found someone.”

Farrow’s brows jump in surprise. “You did?”

My gaze cements on the pizza. Don’t look at him. Don’t think it. But my stupid brain is already forming the words in my head.

It wasn’t me.

Of course it wasn’t me. I know he doesn’t like me like that, and he’d probably want to take a date that he could sleep with afterwards. It’s a reasonable thing. He wasn’t looking to take a friend. Maybe I shouldn’t either.