Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(37)
“What?” I said with flaming cheeks. “I don’t like him. Not like that.”
A little voice in my rib cage whispered, Liar.
Elle frowned. “Oh.”
“We’re just friends, you know?” My confidence wavered as I considered her question. “I mean, there were a couple of times he looked at me like…I don’t even know how to explain it. Like he wanted to ask me a question, but he never did. And he held my hands in his hoodie, but they were ice-cold. He was just warming them up. Right? Like, he wasn’t trying to hold my hand or something, was he?”
She looked skeptical. “He spent all day showing you around the city, sitting with you at a tattoo parlor, riding you home on his skateboard. If I had to guess, I’d figure he probably likes you. I mean, if he’s not gay. He’s not gay, is he?”
I laughed. “No, I definitely don’t think he’s gay. But wouldn’t I know if he didn’t just want to be friends? He’s never asked me out or anything. In fact, I had to beg him to take me around. There are a million reasons he wouldn’t want me—the topmost being that, when he was eighteen, I was eight. What would a grown-ass man want with someone like me? He needs a grown-ass woman, one with a real job and goals and relationship history and references.”
“Well, you definitely aren’t eight now, so I don’t really think your age difference matters.” She paused, assessing me. “You really don’t like him? Because it sounds like you like him.”
“Of course I like him.” A frown touched my lips as I really thought about it. “He’s funny and kind and smart. And he’s super hot, but…I don’t know. I had fun with him today, and I like being around him. I’d totally run around with him again without hesitation.”
“But?”
“But I guess I honestly don’t know if I like him or if I don’t, and I don’t know if he likes me. Which leaves me certain that I am not interested in him in the romantic way.” The statement was so decisive, I almost believed it myself.
A laugh shot out of Elle. “That is not the conclusion I would have come to.”
I propped myself up onto my elbow. “If I really liked him, I wouldn’t question it. There wouldn’t be any wondering. You know that old saying, If you have to ask yourself the question, the answer is probably no? Well, I shouldn’t wonder. I want to be with someone who I have to scream from the mountaintops that I need them.”
“And you think that should be totally clear after one date?”
“It wasn’t a date. And yes, it should. If two people are really vibing, isn’t it totally obvious? There’s no checking in with yourself to consider if you might have feelings for them. I’ve read about a trillion romance novels, and pretty much every one of them says so.”
“Since when should you use romance novels to replace life experiences?”
“Since it’s my only relationship experience at this point, and romance novels are gospel,” I said, impassioned. “They’re about overcoming, about learning what it means to love and to trust. They show us the very best we can expect from someone we love and sometimes the very worst. Every page, every word is powered entirely by love. How could I not have learned from them?”
“Well,” she said, ignoring my argument, “some people expect to get to know someone before deciding we love them.”
“Decide? There’s no deciding. Either you love someone or you don’t.”
She frowned. “Don’t you think people fall in love after a time? Surely you believe that not everyone falls in love at first sight, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. Like people like you, people who weigh things out and make pros and cons lists and wait.”
“So, sensible people.”
“Yes, exactly.”
She made a noise that sounded like a laugh and a scoff at the same time.
“But I am ruled by sensibility, by feeling. I trust my instinct, and my instinct has no clear opinion on Greg. So that’s my answer.”
Elle watched me with a sadness in her eyes, but she smiled. “Well, I’m glad you had such a wonderful day. I can’t wait to hear more. Tomorrow.”
I kissed her forehead. “I love you. Go back to sleep.”
“Your wish is my command.”
9
Wishes And Dreams
Annie
I woke the next morning after sleeping like I was dead, feeling refreshed, if not a little foot-sore and jelly-legged. Everyone was awake when I exited my room, and I found Elle, who helped me wash my tattoo and rub on a little salve. But as I dressed and got ready for work, I found myself musing over the day before.
It really had contained its own magic, something simple and subtle, something I hadn’t even really noticed or acknowledged until it was almost over.
Greg was a good friend, the best kind of friend. The kind you could spend a whole day with and never lack for conversation. The kind you’d lose track of a whole stack of hours with.
I tried not to think about the notion that he liked me as more than a friend. I also tried not to consider that I might like him as more than a friend too.
Like I’d told my sister—when you know, you know. And I didn’t, which could only mean that it was all wrong for the romantic kind of relationship. On top of the fact that he had become my real and true friend, a friend I didn’t want to do without.