Losing Hope (Hopeless #2)(38)
Chapter Thirteen-and-a-half
Les,
Sky, Sky, Sky, Sky, Sky, Sky, Sky, Sky, Sky.
There. Get used to it, because I have a feeling she’s all I’m going to be talking about for a while. Oh, my God, Les. I can’t even explain to you how perfect this girl is. And when I say perfect, I mean imperfect, because there’s just so much wrong with her. But everything wrong with her is everything that draws me in and makes her perfect.
She’s flat-out rude to me and I love it. She’s stubborn and I love it. She’s a smartass and she’s sarcastic and every witty thing that comes out of her mouth is like music to my ears because that’s exactly what I want. She’s what I need and I don’t want her to change at all. There’s not a single thing about her I would change.
There is one thing about her that worries me, though, and that’s the fact that she seems to be a little emotionally detached. And as noticeable as it was when I saw her with Grayson, I don’t see that at all when she’s with me. I’m almost convinced she feels different about me, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t worried that she wouldn’t feel anything if I kissed her. Because dammit, Les, I want to kiss her so f**king bad but I’m too scared. I’m scared if I kiss her too soon, it’ll feel like every other kiss she’s ever received. She’ll feel nothing.
I don’t want her to feel nothing when I kiss her. I want her to feel everything.
Chapter Fourteen
What you want to do tonight?
I read Daniel’s text and respond.
Sorry. Plans.
WTF, puss flap!? No! Me. You. Plans.
Can’t. Pretty sure I have a date.
Sky?
Yep.
Can I come?
Nope.
Can I be your date next Saturday, then?
Sure, babe.
Can’t wait, sugar.
I laugh at Daniel’s text, then clear the screen and find Sky’s number. I haven’t heard from her since she fell asleep on me last night, so I’m not even sure if she wants me at her house tonight.
What time can I come over? Not that I’m looking forward to it or anything. You’re really, really boring.
After I hit send, I get another incoming text from a number I don’t recognize.
If you’re dating my girl, get your own prepaid minutes and quit wasting mine, Jackass.
The only person I know with prepaid minutes is Sky. And she said her best friend bought her the phone, so I’m seriously hoping this text is from her friend and not someone else. I immediately text back, hoping to find out more.
How do I get more minutes?
As soon as I hit send on that text, Sky’s response comes through.
Be here at seven. And bring me something to eat. I’m not cooking for you.
Rude.
I love it.
She texted me again while I was at the grocery store, asking me to hurry. I really, seriously like that she wanted me here sooner. I like it a lot. I like her a lot. I like this whole weekend a lot.
Her front door swings open just moments after I ring the doorbell. She’s smiling as soon as she sees me and I curse under my breath because that’s just one more thing about her that I just fell in love with. She looks down at the sacks of groceries in my hands and arches an eyebrow.
I shrug. “One of us has to be the hospitable one.” I walk up the steps and ease past her, then make my way into her kitchen. “I hope you like spaghetti and meatballs, because that’s what you’re getting.”
“You’re cooking dinner for me?” she asks skeptically from behind me.
“Actually, I’m cooking for me, but you’re welcome to eat some if you want.” I glance back at her and smile so she’ll know I’m teasing.
“Are you always so sarcastic?”
I shrug. “Are you?”
“Do you always answer questions with questions?”
“Do you?”
She grabs a towel off the bar and throws it at me but I dodge it. “You want something to drink?” I ask her.
“You’re offering to make me something to drink in my own house?”
I walk to the refrigerator and scan the shelves, but my options are limited. “Do you want milk that tastes like ass or do you want soda?”
“Do we even have soda?”
I peer around the refrigerator door and grin at her. “Can either of us say anything that isn’t a question?”
“I don’t know, can we?”
“How long do you think we can keep this up?” I ask, taking the last soda from the fridge. “You want ice?”
“Are you having ice?”
Dammit, she’s cute. “Do you think I should have ice?”
“Do you like ice?”
She’s quick. I’m impressed. “Is your ice any good?”
“Well, do you prefer crushed ice or cubed ice?”
I almost answer by saying cubed, but realize that wouldn’t be a question. I narrow my eyes and glare at her. “No ice for you.”
“Ha! I win,” she gloats.
“I let you win because I feel sorry for you,” I say, making my way back to the stove. “Anyone that snores as bad as you do deserves a break every now and then.”
“You know, the insults are really only funny when they’re in text form,” she says.