Written in the Stars(16)

Darcy cracked her knuckles. Painless might be easier said than done. Already a headache bloomed between her eyes.

A rhythmic, five-note knock sounded against the front door. Darcy’s heart tripped, stuttering out the couplet response. Game time. She stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her heather-blue lounge pants, and padded over to the door on bare feet. She took a deep breath and flipped the lock, yanking the door open like ripping off a Band-Aid.

Slouched against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, Elle glared up at Darcy with a withering stare. A stare made all the more disconcerting when Elle performed another one of those head-to-toe perusals of Darcy’s body. Darcy went dizzy with the ferocity and speed of blood rising to the surface of her skin, her blush a beacon that no amount of affectation could conceal.

Elle’s blue eyes swept back up Darcy’s body and lingered on her face, stare penetrating. “You’re shorter without your heels on.”

Darcy sniffed. “That is how it works, yes.”

Elle snorted and pressed off the door with her shoulder. Without waiting for an invitation, she slipped past Darcy through the doorway, their arms brushing.

Elle wore a soft, chunky blue cardigan that fell haphazardly from one shoulder, revealing a wide expanse of creamy skin and the jut of her collarbone. Darcy tore her eyes away and made herself focus on the imperfections, the way Elle’s jeans were frayed and rain-soaked at the bottom and her Converse were scuffed and sure to leave tracks on the carpet.

“Could you—” Darcy’s voice teetered on the verge of cracking. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin to stare down her nose. “Could you take your shoes off?”

Elle’s brows lurched upward before she shrugged. “Fine. Figured you’d want me in and out, but yeah, I can get comfy.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. Whether Elle was comfy wasn’t her concern. “I don’t want you making a mess of my carpet.”

Elle’s tongue poked against the inside of her cheek, her expression souring. Rather than argue, she bent at the waist and slipped her fingers behind the heel of one shoe, then the other, straightening to then step out of them. The move caused her sweater to slide farther down her arm, revealing more soft-looking skin and the subtle swell of her breasts. The chances of her wearing something under that sweater were looking slimmer by the second.

Leaving her shoes smack-dab in the center of the foyer, Elle traipsed farther into Darcy’s apartment, brazenly surveying her surroundings. She studied the art on the wall with a curious tilt of her chin before moving on to finger the spines of the books on Darcy’s shelf. Every so often, her whole face scrunched, occasionally accompanied by a stuck-out tongue that was not adorable.

Hanging back, Darcy swallowed down the lump of discomfort growing in her throat. Elle was a bright splash of color against the clean canvas of Darcy’s apartment. Cobalt sweater, bleach-splattered jeans, and mismatched socks, one neon green and the other a soft periwinkle, with a pink chevron at her toes and a hole near the ankle.

Darcy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “By all means, make yourself at home.”

Elle spun on her holey-sock-covered heel and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t mind if I do,” she said, before taking a seat and drawing both knees up to her chest, feet on Darcy’s pristine sofa.

Darcy stayed standing, arms crossed, and chin raised.

“Nice place.” Elle’s eyes roved around the room, lingering on the neat stack of Darcy’s FSA study guides before darting over to the fern—Darcy’s singular pop of color—in the corner. Her brows furrowed. “Did you just move in?”

Darcy curled her tongue behind her teeth. “No.”

“Huh.” The fact that she was able to pack so much judgment into such a tiny word would’ve been impressive had Darcy not been one, slightly offended, and two, ready to get this conversation over with.

“You have questions.” Darcy didn’t bother asking. For all that Elle had sprawled herself lazily across Darcy’s sectional in an illusion of relaxation, her fingers twitched against her thighs, her feet shifting, toes curling and uncurling as her gaze bounced from one surface to another.

Elle wrapped her arms around her shins. “We’re through with the small talk?”

“In the interest of time.” Darcy dipped her chin. “Like I said, I’m busy.”

Elle’s too perceptive gaze darted from the lone, now-cold cup of coffee to Darcy, her eyes lingering on Darcy’s lounge pants, then her hastily braided hair. “Right. Then in the interest of time, I’ll get straight to it.” Elle lifted her hips, wiggling her phone free from her back pocket. She made several swipes against the screen before clearing her throat. “Question one, what the fuck?”

Darcy shut her eyes and breathed deep for a count of four, held it for a count of seven, and exhaled for a count of eight. She’d have repeated the process had Elle’s stare not been palpable, making the skin between Darcy’s shoulder blades itch. “Can I expect question two to be more specific?”

Elle harrumphed and glanced down at the phone in her hand. “I don’t know, let’s see. Question two, how dare you?”

Darcy abandoned her yoga breathing and cut to the chase. “I’m sorry. Okay?”

Best to issue a broad-stroke apology because Darcy wasn’t entirely sure what Brendon had said, only that Elle’s reaction wasn’t positive.