Undecided(26)

At ten to nine my phone beeps and I snatch it up like a lifeline, but it’s just Nate asking for an update. I blow out a heavy breath and don’t respond. I’m not in the mood to report my second romantic disappointment of the week.

At five after nine I hunt around the fridge for something to eat, but it’s the weekend and I’m always out of groceries by Friday. All we have are cupboards full of Kellan’s stupid mac and cheese, a few containers of protein powder, and half a box of cereal, no milk.

I eat a handful of dry cereal and try not to cry, the only thing that could possibly make me feel even more pathetic. I imagine Kellan walking in as I stand, mascara-stained tear tracks on my cheeks, a handful of dry cereal in my palm, my hair done, my dress borrowed, my pretty red heels pinching my toes.

It’s that image that has me tossing the remaining cereal into the sink and kicking off the shoes. I stomp into my room and wrench the dress over my head as though it somehow played a part in this disappointment. My hair gets a little more tousled but I leave it, even as I grab a tissue to wipe off the lipstick, hurling it violently into the trash. As violently as one can hurl a tissue, in any case.

My lower lip trembles as I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. My whole body feels hot, flush from head to toe with humiliation and frustration. I return to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water, trying to calm down and think rationally. What should I say when Kellan comes home? Should I pretend that I also forgot about our date? Play it off like it was a casual “maybe we will, maybe we won’t” invitation? Or should I tell him how righteously pissed I am that he couldn’t even be bothered to text his roommate to tell her he wasn’t coming? I know his parents pay for his phone—all he has to do is use it.

A knock at the front door has me lurching in surprise, and I choke on the mouthful of water I’d just consumed. A brief coughing fit later, I yank open the door expecting to find a shame-faced Kellan saying he’d been robbed, losing his phone and his house keys in the process, but it’s not him.

It’s Crosbie.

Of-f*cking-course.

“What?” I snap. I cross my arms, both because I’m angry and because there’s a sharp chill in the air. And because dressed in a gray T-shirt, jeans, and an open brown corduroy jacket, a satchel slung over his shoulder, Crosbie looks far more appealing than he should.

“Ah…” His tentative smile disappears when confronted with my stone-faced scowl, and he darts a glance over my shoulder. “Is Kellan here?”

I arch a brow. “No.”

He shivers a little. “Can I come in?”

“Why?”

“Because we were supposed to play Fire of Vengeance and he has the game.”

“Well, he’s not here.”

Now he sounds annoyed. “I heard you. Let me come in and grab the game.”

I don’t care enough right now to try to hold the game hostage. “Fine. Whatever.”

I step aside and he comes in, kicking off his shoes. “Why are you so angry?” he asks as I follow him up into the living room.

“I’m busy.” I’m the polar opposite of busy, but I’m not about to admit I got stood up. Especially when I’m pretty sure Crosbie Lucas never gets stood up.

“What are you doing?”

“Studying.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, and the most believable. Even if it is Friday night.

“Huh.” He hunts through the stack of games on the console, finding the one he’s looking for. “It’s quiet here.”

“It’s supposed to be.”

“Right.” He hesitates. “Do you mind if I hang out for a bit?”

“I don’t feel like listening to you blow things up right now.”

“Not to play. To study. It’s pretty crazy at my place, and I’m behind on my reading.”

I snort. “Try the library.” I did not mean to say that. Saying “library” in my most snide tone of voice only gives more weight to Tuesday’s incident, and I’m supposed to be pretending not to care. Hell—I’m supposed to be forgetting not just the encounter, but Crosbie Lucas altogether, and here he is in my living room. As always.

Crosbie winces. “I wanted to apol—”

Oh f*ck. I cannot handle an apology right now. Not when I’m hanging onto my composure by the very edge of my fingernails. “You know what?” I interrupt. “Do whatever you want. Just don’t bother me.”

I turn and stalk back into my room, slamming the door. I’m not doing a great job of keeping my feelings under wraps, but at least I’ve put some distance between us.

I’m sorely tempted to hide under the covers until this whole dreadful night passes, but I’m wide awake, my empty stomach won’t stop grumbling at me, and every word I write for my English essay is garbage. I feel like a tiger pacing in its cage, desperate to get out, not quite sure where I should go, and pretty confident I’d like to rip off someone’s head.

A soft tap on my bedroom door has my head whipping around like the girl in The Exorcist, and even though I planned to ignore him, I still call out, “What?”

“I ordered pizza.” His voice is muffled by the door, but he doesn’t turn the knob.

My stomach jumps joyfully at the news. Food! Sustenance! And then it sinks, because Crosbie and Kellan order in their fair share of pizza, and they load it up with ground beef, anchovies and olives, all of which I find revolting.