Undecided(50)

“What’s the hold up?”

The four of us turn at the sound of the door and the wash of crisp fall air that sweeps in alongside Crosbie. Like Kellan he’s wearing shorts and sneakers, but instead of a sweatshirt he’s got a black T-shirt that clings to his broad chest.

Our eyes meet for a split second, then he turns his attention to Kellan. “You said you were getting a snack,” he accuses, joining our awkward little group. “Not robbing the place.”

“I am getting a snack,” Kellan replies. Then he shoots Marcela a charming little smile. “And maybe a phone number?”

I cannot believe he just did that. The same disbelief is stamped all over Nate’s face, and this no doubt spurs on Marcela as she grins and writes her number on a nearby order pad. She rips off the top page with a flourish and slips it into Kellan’s waiting hand, their fingers lingering about twenty-eight seconds longer than necessary.

I feel bad for Nate and annoyed with Marcela and exasperated by Kellan. But they’re all just background noise when Crosbie shifts a little bit closer, near enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the faint tang of his sweat.

“Um…” I say when the silence lingers awkwardly. “Do you want a brownie?”

Crosbie grins at me, but there’s nothing special in the gesture, nothing to suggest anything happened between us, nothing to suggest it will ever happen again. “A brownie?” he asks. “Or a phone number?”

Everyone laughs and I grit my teeth, annoyed.

“Dude,” Kellan says, still laughing. “As if!”

Another customer comes in and Nate looks at us all sternly. “Let’s break this up, shall we? You two have work to do.”

“And you?” Marcela snaps. “You have to figure out the answer to thirty-three across?”

Nate narrows his eyes. “Get back to work.”

“Sorry,” Kellan says, polishing off his brownie and putting a five dollar bill on the counter. “We’re out of here. See you at home, Nora.” He smiles at Marcela. “And see you later. I hope.”

Ugh.

I turn to go back to work, halting when a firm swat on my ass makes me jump. I whip around, stunned, to see Crosbie casually strolling out the door after his friend. He doesn’t look at me until they’re outside, but when he turns his head to catch my gaze through the glass, the slight arch of his brow says everything I’d hoped to hear.





chapter thirteen


“I’m sorry,” Marcela says immediately. Ten seconds later we’ve hustled into the kitchen, away from Nate’s evil eye and any actual work.

I look at her blankly. “For what?”

She gestures toward the front. “For that! I know you’re into Kellan and—” She lowers her voice as though there’s someone around to eavesdrop, “and you two hooked up. This isn’t me trying to hurt your feelings or steal him—”

I stand frozen as she rambles on. Somehow, over the course of moving in with Kellan McVey, sleeping twelve feet away from him, and sharing the occasional bowl of cereal, I’ve absolutely gotten over whatever lingering remnants of attraction I’d had. If I looked annoyed out front it was because Marcela was putting on a show for Nate’s benefit and Kellan was, well, being Kellan.

“Stop,” I say, holding up a hand when she shows no signs of tiring. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” she replies, looking pained. “That was a terrible thing to do—”

I hesitate, hoping to walk the fine line between girl-who-used-to-be-into-Kellan and girl-who-is-now-into-his-best-friend. “I’m over him,” I say firmly. “I’m just…over it.”

“But you—”

“You know that saying, absence makes the heart grow fonder? Well, living together has had the opposite effect. He’s a nice guy and a surprisingly tidy roommate, but that’s it. I’m not into him.”

She looks like she wants to believe me but can’t. “Are you sure?”

“A hundred percent. Honest.”

She lets out a breath. “I wasn’t actually going to go out with him,” she says anyway. “It was just—”

“To make Nate jealous?”

“No!” she protests, too loudly. “To show Nate I’m fine with him and what’s her name. I’m less fine with the discount she gets on her shitty drinks, but…”

I don’t believe her for a second but I’m feeling guilty about keeping the Crosbie thing in the dark, even though not for one second do I consider coming clean about it. “Her drinks are so shitty,” I agree instead.

Marcela grabs the tray of uncooked donuts from the oven where they’ve been rising. “And can we talk about the fur coats?”

“Of course—” I break off when my phone buzzes in the front pocket of my apron. “One sec,” I say, frowning at the screen. The number is local but the caller is unknown. I open the message anyway.

Sorry, it reads. Shouldn’t have slapped your ass.

Crosbie. Did he really memorize my number when I rattled it off two mornings ago? More likely he stole it from Kellan’s phone. Not that I’m complaining.

As for the apology, it’s completely unnecessary. I’m not interested in being tossed over his lap and having my ass spanked, but the faint sting of his hand is a pretty heady reminder of the other things those hands can do.