Written in the Stars(34)

Brendon grimaced, one hand reaching back to grip his neck. “Yeah. She texted me. Apparently, she ran into a friend and . . . she’s not feeling it, I guess.”

Darcy’s eyes flashed, jaw dropping. “She left. Without saying good-bye?”

Blink and miss it, Darcy glanced across the table, the nostrils of her pert nose flaring.

Elle stiffened. Was that meant to be a comparison, a dig at how Elle had dipped during their date while Darcy was in the bathroom? Because if so, it was apples and oranges. Unfair because the situations couldn’t have been more different. Brendon was sweet and thoughtful and fun. Darcy had been rigid and skeptical and downright rude.

And it hadn’t been a matter of not feeling it when Elle had left, bladder screaming, ego battered, and hopes crushed. She’d felt it, that spark, but Darcy had done everything in her power to douse it. Sparks hadn’t mattered, not when Darcy’s beliefs, or lack thereof, made them incompatible. You could bring a horse to water, but you couldn’t make it drink.

Oblivious to the thread of tension connecting her and Darcy, Brendon shrugged affably, lips quirking. “Wasn’t meant to be.”

He was a better sport about it than she’d been, that was for sure.

“Onward and upward.” Elle gave him a nod. “If she couldn’t see how awesome you are, she didn’t deserve to revel in your awesomeness.”

Brendon laughed and Darcy shot Elle a curious glance, one Elle couldn’t quite parse. Darcy patted her brother on the arm. “You’ll, um, you’ll find her. Your . . . person.”

Lips pinched together, Brendon met Elle’s eyes. They burst out laughing.

Darcy shifted on her barstool, arms crossing over her chest.

Brendon threw an arm around Darcy’s shoulders. “Thanks, Darce.” He pressed a quick kiss to the crown of her head. “Got to say, I’m starting to think my person is something of a unicorn.”

“Ooh, now that could be a problem,” Elle joked. “Unicorns are only attracted to virgins.” She waggled her brows and reached for her drink.

Darcy did a poor job of muffling her laughter with a cough. “Now that would be ironic.”

“Darcy,” he warned, face flushing. “Don’t you dare.”

She waved him off. “It’s not embarrassing.”

“It’s humiliating,” Brendon grumbled over the lip of his bottle. “And I told you that in confidence. Drunken confidence.”

Darcy turned, focusing on Elle. “Brendon didn’t lose his virginity until he was twenty because he was saving himself for my best friend, Annie, who he had the biggest crush on for practically his entire childhood. For years, he was convinced that they were destined to be together.” When Brendon’s head thudded against the table, Darcy snickered. “That’s what you get for telling her I was smitten.”

Brendon lifted his head and glared. “You’re making me sound pathetic. Besmirching my good name.”

“Good name?” Elle teased.

Brendon gasped. “Elle. I thought we were friends.” He shook his head. “I see how it is. You’ve picked a side. My own sister turning my friends against me.”

“Oh please. Besides, Annie thought you were cute.” Darcy pinched his cheek before smacking him lightly.

“You’re cruel, Darce. After everything I’ve done for you”—he gestured to Elle—“and this is how to repay me? By mocking me?”

Another burst of feedback filtered over the speakers followed by the first question.

Between Elle’s knowledge of the physical sciences, Brendon’s knowledge of the tech industry, their shared knowledge of pop culture, and Darcy’s knowledge of everything from seventeenth-century painters to fashion designers to baseball, they answered nearly every question correctly, tying them for the lead with two other teams.

Elle had reached the fun stage of tipsiness where the lights in the bar were bright and the tip of her nose was numb, when the emcee cleared his throat to ask the final question.

Elle sucked the dregs of her cocktail through the straw as Darcy gripped the pencil in her hand, teeth sunk into her bottom lip.

“The 1999 Emmy for Outstanding Lead Actress in a Drama Series went to Susan Lucci for playing what character on the ABC daytime drama All My Children?”

Several things happened in quick succession.

The bar fell silent, save for several exasperated groans filtering through the crowd.

Standing so fast he knocked his chair over, Brendon dropped to one knee and pointed at Darcy.

All eyes in the bar on her, Darcy froze. “Get up,” she hissed. A pink, mottled flush crept up her neck.

Brendon tilted his head, gaze narrowing. “Darcy.”

She shut her eyes, mumbled something beneath her breath, then scribbled something on the paper before flinging it at Brendon, their designated runner who flailed his way to the front of the bar, panting as he reached the bewildered emcee.

They were the only team to submit an answer, the question stumping everyone.

Everyone except Darcy, who stared down at the table, lips pinched and face red, wringing her hands together anxiously atop the table.

The emcee shook his head and brought the microphone to his mouth. “Erica Kane was correct. Table three for the win!”

It took a split second for Elle to realize the exultant scream was coming from her own mouth. Darcy Lowell, gorgeous tight-ass with a head for numbers and no room for Elle’s frivolity, watched soap operas?