Undecided(38)

“And I’ll buy all the best chips.”

I blow out a breath. “I have to go, Crosbie.”

He shuffles closer. “Wait until Kellan’s ready and I’ll drive you back.”

“I rode my bike.” I turn to go.

“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

The words make me pause. Maybe it’s just because he’s had a lot of experience issuing apologies, but he’s good at this. I’m already calming down and starting to feel a little embarrassed by my reaction. “Maybe I overreacted,” I mutter.

He nudges my foot with his. “Yeah, you’re a f*cking psychopath.”

I meet his eye. “I live with Kellan, Crosbie. I don’t need to be nice to you to get close to him.”

He frowns. “I know.”

I watch him for a moment. “I really don’t think you do.”





chapter ten


At eight o’clock on Halloween night, I’m sitting on one of the stools at the breakfast bar in my Thelma get-up, a half-finished bottle of beer in one hand as the other hovers over my phone, ready to type a furious “How dare you do this, Louise!” message to Marcela.

“Hey,” Kellan says, coming out of his room.

“Hey,” I mutter, too disappointed and frustrated to manage many more words than that. I’m reading Marcela’s text— “Sorry, babe, but I’m dying—like for real dying, vomit everywhere dying—and I cannot be your Louise tonight. Find Brad Pitt and bang his brains out for me”—and trying not to cry.

Kellan eyes me warily. “Everything okay?”

I sigh. “Marcela can’t make it,” I mutter. “There’s no Thelma and Louise without Louise.” And there’s no way I’m about to show up to Alpha Sigma Phi solo—Marcela’s more than a wingman, she’s the tour guide, and I hate to admit it, but I still want her to hold my hand until I get warmed up for the evening.

Kellan sets his briefcase down on the dining room table. It takes me a full five seconds of staring before I realize he’s in costume—and he looks good. Imagine the sexiest Clark Kent in the history of the world, and transplant him to my living room. He’s wearing the navy suit, polished black wingtips, and the red and white striped tie. Paired with gelled back hair and horn-rimmed glasses, he is the epitome of smart and sexy.

“Wow,” I manage. “I know I’ve seen it before, but you look great.”

“You too, Thelma,” he returns, gesturing to my dated ensemble. “Don’t even think about letting all this go to waste.”

I’m wearing the tight, high-waisted jeans and a denim shirt Marcela transformed with a pair of scissors and a spool of thread so it’s sleeveless and ties in the front just below my belly button. We’d found a curly orange wig at the drugstore and topped off everything with red lipstick, sunglasses, and a plastic pistol. I thought I looked pretty good, but without Louise, I just look like a trashy criminal. The reason the movie’s so awesome is because they’re a team. And now I’m flying solo. As always.

I force a smile and take another sip of beer. “I won’t,” I lie. As soon as Kellan leaves I’m shucking this denim and pouting in bed.

“Nuh-huh.” He sets his jaw and stubbornly shakes his head. “The second I leave you’re going to take off that costume and cry yourself to sleep.”

My mouth falls open. “That is so far from true—”

“Fine,” he says. “You don’t go, I don’t go.” He starts to undo his tie.

“You have to go,” I protest. “Every girl on campus will bawl her head off if you don’t. And half the guys, too.”

“I’m not going to leave you home alone on the one night you’re supposed to have fun. I know you aced those assignments, now get your ass out the door.”

“I can’t go as Thelma—”

“Where’s Louise’s outfit? I’ll go as Louise if you need a partner.”

I laugh at the idea of Kellan squeezing into Marcela’s size four jeans. “The outfit is at her place. There’s nothing here.”

“Fine. Do you have a business suit? I need a Lois Lane.”

I think we both know there will be at least a dozen Lois Lanes at tonight’s party. As soon as word got out that Kellan was going as Clark Kent—and maybe a few people knew Crosbie would be Superman—Lois became the campus’s most popular costume idea.

“Of course I don’t have a business suit. I work at a coffee shop.”

Kellan crosses his arms and manages to look terribly sexy doing so. “Then figure something out. Because we’re spending this night together, Nora—whether it’s here or there is up to you.”

I run an exasperated hand through my fake hair. “Kellan, just go, please. I’ll come later.”

“Liar.”

I totally am. “I don’t have—”

“You have a white sheet? Be a ghost.”

“I—”

“Or put on that outfit you wore the day we first met. We’ll stick a book in your hand and call you a librarian. Wait—that’s too close to the truth.”

“Har har.”

He sticks out his tongue, refastens his tie, and tosses me my coat from the back of the chair. “Get your ass out the door, Thelma. You don’t need Louise to have fun.”