Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(41)

And handsome and funny and alarmingly kind, when he wants to be.

“Uh huh,” Phoebe repeats, sounding unconvinced. “So, he has nothing to do with the fact that your constant stream of man candy has dried up, in recent months.”

“It hasn’t dried up,” I grumble. “Not completely.”

“Well, it’s gone from a waterfall to a trickle. When was the last time you went on a date?”

“I don’t know,” I hedge, not wanting to admit the answer.

“Liar.”

“I don’t see how this is relevant. At all.”

“I’ll decide whether or not it’s relevant. When was it? Just tell me.”

“Fine!” I toss my hands up. “If you must know, my last real date was probably… December.”

A slow smile works its way across Phoebe’s lips.

My answering frown is severe. “Why are you grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat?”

“December.”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“You know who we met in December, don’t you?”

“No,” I lie. My heart is pounding double-time. “I can’t be expected to remember the exact date I met everyone in my life.”

Her grin, if possible, gets bigger. “Allow me to refresh your memory, then. We met Luca Buchanan in December. He flirted with you, after we watched him fight against that IceMan guy. He asked if you’d be at my Christmas party the following night. Any of this ringing a bell?”

“Nope.”

“Uh huh. Well, as I recall, the morning of my party I got a call from you, saying you couldn’t make it. Something unexpected came up. Very light on the details, but you wouldn’t be in attendance.”

“Is there a point, here?”

Her smile widens even more. “Yes. My point is, you missed my party after you found out Luca was going to be there. And you’ve never missed one of my parties, even when you had a hundred degree fever that one year and almost passed out in the punch bowl.”

“I…” I swallow. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

“Do I?” Her eyes start to glimmer, like a bloodhound who’s caught the scent of its prey. “In fact, now that I think of it, every party I’ve had since we met Luca Buchanan, you’ve found an excuse to bail on.”

“I’ve been busy,” I say weakly. “It has nothing to do with him. You’re seeing patterns that simply aren’t there, Phoebe.”

“Actually, I think I’m seeing things pretty clearly.” She leans toward me. “I think, if we’re being honest, your sudden vanishing act has everything to do with him. Because I think it’s finally happened.”

My brows lift.

“Delilah James Sinclair has an actual, real life crush on a man!” Phoebe squeals and fans herself. “I never thought I’d live to see the day!”

“A crush? What am I, fourteen?” I scoff. “Plus, weren’t you just saying that I always have a boyfriend?”

“You do. But that doesn’t mean you always have feelings for them. In fact, I’d guess just the opposite. As soon as feelings are involved, you bolt.”

“Have you been huffing glue again? I know you were determined to make your own centerpieces for the rehearsal dinner, but…”

“Oh, come on. Admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you think Blaze Buchanan is hot hot hot.”

“No. He’s not my type. You know that.”

“Maybe the fact that he’s not the kind of man you’d typically go for is the reason he makes you so wiggy.”

“He does not make me wiggy! No man has ever made me wiggy. I don’t do wiggy.”

“You didn’t used to,” she murmurs lightly, eyes still gleaming with humor. “…Until December.”

I groan. “You’re relentless.”

“At least I’m not in denial.”

I groan again, louder this time.

Of course Phoebe would be convinced that my sudden single status is due to some secret, closely-harbored crush on Luca.

(Which is just plain crazy. Clearly.)

I can’t blame her for attempting to explain my strangely antisocial behavior over the past few months; I haven’t given her a real explanation, so she’s been forced to fill in the blanks with her own half-baked theories. It would be different, if she knew about my financial situation… and the fact that even if I wanted to start seeing someone new, I currently have zero cute first date outfits in my wardrobe, since I’ve been slowly selling off my designer bags and shoes on eBay for a fraction of their value, just so I have enough to make ends meet.

Dating is never easy, but it’s a hell of a lot harder when your life is in shambles and you’re sleeping on an air mattress with a slow-leaking hole.

Tell her, a stubborn inner voice suggests. She’s your best friend. She won’t judge you. Just tell her what’s been going on with you, idiot.

But I can’t. Not now, at least, with her wedding mere days away. She has enough on her plate without me adding my drama to the mix.

“Your conspiracy theories are running wild, Phoebe West. I’m just in a dry spell. I’m sure things will pick up again, in the near future.” I steel myself. “In fact, I’ve just decided — put me down for a definite plus one at the wedding.”