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Compared to Catherine? Who wouldn’t?
I’d never considered myself ugly, but I’d never be a head turner. I was one of those girls that found a boyfriend because all the better-looking girls were either taken or out of their league. I was average, decent, run of the mill, and I was fine with that. What wasn’t okay was being played for a fool. Was he having a good time at my expense?
“I’m average. Everyone who looks at me knows I’m average, and it’s fine to be average.”
The bridge opened, and I walked through before he could continue this awkward conversation.
I glanced back at Frank right before I crossed, and he was grinning. Why would he be happy that I was stuck in Nowhere? These guys were weird.
Kaden didn’t try to broach the subject as we headed back to his place.
“I’ll get you something to sleep in. Antoinette keeps some things here.” He was walking away when I rushed to stop him.
“You know, I don’t really like her stuff. Do you have a long t-shirt or something I can use? That’ll be more comfortable.”
He froze, but then shrugged. “Sure.”
He returned to me a few minutes later with a few different t-shirts and laid them on the back of the couch.
“I’m assuming you remember where the guest bedroom is?” he asked.
There was something heavy, nearly awkward hanging in the air, like we were two teenagers on the fringe of getting in trouble.
“I’m fine.” I grabbed the shirts and headed toward the stairs.
“Billie,” he said, stopping me before I had a chance to make my getaway.
“Yes?”
There was a long pause before he said, “Never mind.”
He walked away.
I got up the next morning and padded down the stairs in bare feet, poking around, looking for coffee.
He walked in the front door a short time later, his gaze running the length of me.
His t-shirt fell to mid-thigh. I had shorts that were shorter, but I felt as if I should’ve put pants on before I came downstairs.
He continued inside, throwing some sort of newspaper on the table.
“They have newspapers here?”
“Why wouldn’t we?”
Because the place was named Nowhere? I didn’t bother replying. If he wanted to think this was normal, I wouldn’t burst his bubble. He took out another mug, helping himself to the coffee I’d made, and then groaned.
“This is atrocious.”
“What do you mean? It’s great coffee.”
“That you don’t realize it’s bad is alarming,” he said. But he continued to drink it as he made his way to the table.
“Does that thing have a crossword?”
He pulled out an interior sheet and slid it toward me.
I looked around, but before I could ask, he leaned over toward a breakfront and grabbed a pen out of it.
