Undecided(37)

“Why?” I ask, echoing his earlier joke. “Did you miss me?”

He looks at me from the corner of his eye. “Desperately.”

I laugh. “Well—”

“Hey, Crosbie.”

We turn as two girls stroll by, arms laden with costume options. While I don’t appreciate them interrupting the conversation, I do appreciate that they have at least steered clear of the slutty French maid outfit.

“Hey,” Crosbie responds, stretching one arm along the back of my chair as he grins at them. If I were an idiot I might think the gesture was a possessive one, an action meant to say, Hey, I’m busy here. But because I have two eyes, I know the gesture has more to do with allowing his coat to gape open, revealing a well-defined chest beneath his thin white T-shirt.

I sigh inwardly as the trio makes small talk. My gaze shifts around the store, landing on a display of sunglasses. I need a pair anyway, and now suddenly seems like the perfect time to check them out. When I stand, however, Crosbie circles my wrist with his calloused fingers and keeps me in my seat.

“Don’t go,” he says in a low voice. To the girls he adds, “See you at the Halloween party, ladies.”

They take the cue and say goodbye, but I don’t miss the way their eyes flit to the still-closed door of the change room before they leave.

“I need to look at the sunglasses,” I say before Crosbie can accuse me of being jealous or anything equally ridiculous and untrue. But this time it’s not his fingers that stop me from standing, it’s his words.

“They’re only talking to me to get close to Kellan.”

I freeze. “What?”

He strums his fingers on the back of my chair and focuses on something over my shoulder, avoiding eye contact. Which is probably for the best, because there are only about ten inches separating us, and I’m all too aware of the warm length of his arm along my shoulders, the way his big knee presses into the outside of my thigh.

“You heard me.”

“And that’s…a problem?” The Crosbie I know—thought I knew—wouldn’t have cared why he was getting the attention, as long as he was getting it.

His nostrils flare slightly as he exhales. “I wasn’t complaining about it last year. I met a lot of girls I wouldn’t have met otherwise. But this year…the girls Kellan attracts just don’t do it for me.”

I recoil, stung. “I see.” My chest suddenly feels tight and I blink to clear my vision.

“I didn’t mean—”

The change room door bangs open to reveal Kellan propped against the cheap plywood wall, hands tucked into his pockets, one foot crossed over the other at the ankle. He’s wearing a navy suit with a red and white striped tie, shiny loafers, and a pair of black-framed glasses. He looks more like a fashion model than a journalist, but who’s complaining?

“Thoughts?” he asks, strutting out of the stall and taking ten steps down the nearest aisle before executing an exaggerated turn and strolling back. He poses, jutting out his jaw, then tipping down the glasses to fix me with a laughably intense stare.

I snicker, my hurt feelings subsiding for just a second. “Very nice.”

He studies the price tags stapled to the jacket sleeve and the tie. “All for a grand total of…twenty-two dollars.”

“You make it look like an even forty.”

He winks at me. “I know.” Then he turns to Crosbie, who’s looking more than a little uneasy. “Don’t tell me I look fat, bro. This is navy. You said it was slimming.”

Crosbie clears his throat. “Ten out of ten. Good call with the tie.”

Kellan fingers it thoughtfully. “I like it.” He disappears back into the change room and I stand.

“Nora,” Crosbie says.

“Good night.” I hang the jeans on the closest rack, no longer interested in playing dress up or any other games. The burning humiliation I’d felt at his words is welling right back up, threatening to bubble over. I just want to go home.

“Nora.” He follows me down an aisle of children’s clothes, fingers folding around the hem of my coat. “Would you stop?”

“No,” I say, even as I stop. “Fuck off. I was just being nice—”

“I didn’t mean you,” he interrupts. “You’re not the kind of girl he likes—”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” I yank my coat out of his grasp. “I mean it, Crosbie. Shut up.”

“Come on. You know what I meant.”

“No,” I bite out. “Obviously I don’t.”

“He likes you,” he says, running a hand over the side of his face, frazzled. “And so do I. You know I do.”

I glance away, more angry than I should be. No, not angry. Sad. Because I missed Crosbie, for reasons I don’t want to dwell on, and he hurt my feelings.

“Come on,” he says again. “Thelma is super hot. I want to see you in those jeans. Don’t go home empty handed.”

I scowl. “If you noticed me at a party, it would be the first time.”

“What? There will be a lot of people, but—” He shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll set a trap. I’ll put family photos on the wall and wait until you approach.”

“I don’t want to see your photos.”