Bookishly Ever After (Ever After #1)(81)

“No, no...” I laughed, squeezing out words between giggles. The whole situation was ridiculous. “Just hold the ropes steady so I can get back on without flipping over again.” Maeve wouldn’t have given up, and at this point neither would I.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” I pulled myself to standing, dissolving into another round of giggles at the suction-y sound that accompanied dragging my butt up out of the mud. “Like you said, I can do this.” I plopped back onto the ropes, the mud making them slippery on top of being wobbly. Keeping my eyes trained on his, I slowly made my way across the creek.

It only took three or four more falls into the mud to get to the other side.

Dev reached out a hand to help me out, pulling me up off of the bridge as if I weighed nothing. “That was...interesting,” he said, giving my very muddy form a once-over. “Are you really okay?”

I squeezed water out of my limp and stringy ponytail. “I’m fine. Wet, but—” I plopped onto the ground beside his feet and rolled up the soggy legs of my jeans, cursing at the sight before me. “Oh, frak, these are handknit. And Malabrigo.” I tugged at my now stained socks, the colorway unrecognizable under all of the mud and silt.

He sat next to me on the bank. “You wore handknit socks to go camping?”

I shrugged, slipping off my sneaker to assess the rest of the damage. “Normal socks give you blisters and wool gets warmer when it’s wet. Plus, I kitchener the toe, which is so much better than the seam on commercial socks...” I trailed off, realizing I was babbling and that he was looking at me strangely again. “Um, yeah, it’s a knitter thing. I know it sounds strange...”

“It is,” he agreed, but instead of walking away like I thought he would, he reached over and wiped a glob of mud off of my forehead. “You know, you really are unique, Feebs.”

My skin tingled where he had touched it, but I pushed that feeling away, trying to focus on not turning into a whimpering puddle of knitterly geek. At least I had that much self-respect.

“Thanks,” I said, dryly.

He kicked at my sock-clad foot, not meeting my eyes. “I like unique.”

My head shot up. What?

He paused for a moment before continuing, as if he— Dev, the hottie of the entire clarinet section, the guy who could have any girl in the marching band or theatre club— was trying to drum up the guts to say something to me. Sock-knitting, book-reading, hadn’t been on a date—like, ever—me.

“Most girls would have stopped the first time that they fell off of that thing. You didn’t. That’s impressive.”

“Lexie wouldn’t have fallen at all.” I shivered as a stiff breeze blew over us. It wasn’t too cold out, but being wet didn’t help with staying warm.

He laughed. “What is it with you always bringing up Lexie?” He reached over and started rubbing my arms to help me warm up.

I turned as still as a statue, heat rushing over me. Suddenly, I didn’t notice the cold. “I thought you two liked each other.” I sucked in a breath.

He finally looked up, his eyes greener than ever as they reflected the barrens around us.

“Phoebe…” he reached over, flicking another blob of mud off my nose where it had settled in the last minute, “I don’t like Lexie as anything more than a friend.”

“Oh.” What would Maeve do? I mentally scanned through my library of heroines and landed on Marissa. What would Marissa do?

Dev kept staring at me, a frown tugging at his lips. “You didn’t think that she and I were dating, did you?”

I shook my head, still praying that some Marissa-wisdom would pop into my head. “No, I mean, kind of. I mean, I saw you two on New Years.” Oh, hell. Somehow, every plot in the Hidden House series had totally flown out of my head. I was so screwed. “You know how Em and I are always trying to keep up with everything going on with all of our friends.” And the horrible attempt at butt-saving babble started. “I mean, we’re still trying to figure out who Alec’s been crushing on, and you should have seen us with Grace and—”

“Got it,” he said. His frown grew a little deeper and he stood, holding out his hand to help me. “You need to get cleaned up and I need to get over to the mess to supervise our table.”

“Right.” I waved his hand away. “I can do this.” I pushed myself to standing, my footing a little bit uncertain between my wet sneakers, the mud, and the sand.

Dev reached out to steady me and my arms slipped in his hands, making me fall against him. “Frakin’ mud,” he choked out but laughed as he tried to straighten me up and slipped again. After another few moments of wobbliness, he dragged us both onto the relatively dry sugar sand.

I couldn’t help it. His shirt was now stained with a meshaped imprint and I pressed a cold, muddy hand against his face and back into his hair with a giggle. I was giddy, an electric buzz running from my stomach and practically shooting out of my fingers and toes. “I think you missed a spot.”

He stealth-grabbed a blob of mud from my shirt and squished it into my ponytail. “So did you. Why are we friends when you’re so mean to me?” he asked, staring down at me with a faux-serious expression.

I swatted at that serious nose with a muddy finger and giggled so much that my side started to hurt. I was punchdrunk from the falls into the creek, or maybe there was something off about the water. Whichever one, some part of me that I couldn’t seem to control took over. Marissa would be proud. I leaned closer, feeling the heat rising off of his body.