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“What makes you so sure I’m even attracted to you, anyway?”
I feel my face heating up, but I’m not sure if it’s from anger or embarrassment, especially since Loren’s one of the only people I’ve ever felt comfortable being myself around. Hearing that she doesn’t think much of the real Blake is a new low.
I clear my throat. “I guess I misread the situation. Sorry for hoping I’d found someone interested in my big brain for once.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure you’ll be fine, since you still have all those useless muscles to fall back on,” she murmurs, crossing her arms over her chest.
I huff incredulously as I stand up beside her. “Wait, that’s your problem, isn’t it? Youdothink I’m hot, and you hate yourself for it.” Her eyes widen when I take a step closer. “It makes you feel shallow, doesn’t it? So you’d rather pretend you don’t like me at all than fess up and see what happens.”
She swallows hard as I move in so that we’re standing toe to toe. “You’re wrong,” she chokes out, but I can tell I’ve struck a nerve.
“Are you sure? Because it certainly feels like I’m right. I can take my shirt off if you think it’ll help you make up your mind, Lo. In fact, you can have whatever you want from me.”
“You’re so full of yourself,” she breathes, though her eyes roam over my torso, as if she’s already picturing it.
I smirk as I reach out to cup my hand around her hip and pull her in closer. “I’d rather have you full of me though,” I mumble, regretting the line as soon as her expression falls.
She pushes off against my chest. “I’d never be desperate enough for that,” she declares, her lip curling and voice uneven. “You disgust me.”
Then she turns to grab her things and stomps out of my bedroom, and I curse under my breath.
“Wait, Loren, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that!” I yell after her as she scrambles down the stairs with her petite legs.
“You’re right, you shouldn’t have!”
I groan as I start after her. “Get back here and let me apologize, Reed! You’re not completely innocent in this, either. Stop acting like you weren’t into it before I put my foot in my mouth!”
“Sure, and here’s my answer to your invitation to the prom,” she calls, turning to walk backward long enough to flip me off. Then she bumps into my mom and changes her tone. “Oh, hey, Mrs. Monica. Sorry your firstborn’s such a jerk, but thanks for having me over again.”
“Yeah, well, she’s officially uninvited—forever,” I boom as I bolt down the stairs, ignoring the look my mom is giving me.
Loren stops and turns at the front door. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on coming back. After we turn in this last project, I don’t want to see you until graduation. And I’m not even planning to see you then, because you’ll be stuck behind me, in second place.”
“You’re sadly mistaken if you think this is over. You’ll regret giving me the motivation to make sure I’m the one delivering that valedictory address next month,” I fire back, standing over her now.
She scowls at me, but not before her eyes flash down to my mouth. “Don’t ever talk to me again,” she says quietly, tilting her chin up in defiance.
And dammit if I’m not fighting the urge to lean down and kiss her so hard that she sees stars. Her chest heaves beneath me as I step in closer, and I gulp when her eyelashes flutter. Because I still miss the feeling of her lips against mine, and I’m dying to press my mouth to hers right now.
But I refuse to give in and prove her right. If there were ever something between the two of us, it would have to be more than just physical, and kissing her now would only prove her right, regardless of my intentions. Instead, I reach behind her to turn the doorknob.
“My pleasure.” I gesture toward the open door.
Then she huffs and turns on her heels, and I sigh as I watch her get into her car and drive away.
CHAPTER 14
Loren
I’m sorry I never got to take you to the prom, Agnes. But I’d be honored if you would accompany me to the Krewe des Pas Bon Mardi Gras Ball this weekend.
–Gus-Gus
I rereadthe card I plucked from the flower bouquet I received earlier today before slipping it back into my purse. After all these years, I can still recognize Blake’s handwriting, and he’s evidently gone through the trouble of stopping at the florist’s and filling out the card himself.
I know this isn’t a real date. I know this is all part of the show. But, dammit, the naive romance lover in me wants to squeal and pretend that the handsome, charming lawyer really wants to whisk me away to a formal ball where I’ll wear a fancy, sparkly dress and super high heels, we’ll sip fancy, expensive champagne all night, and he’ll twirl me around on the dance floor in front of all his fancy, lawyerly friends, because I’m just so darn enchanting.
But that’s totally unrealistic, since Blake isn’t really my boyfriend. Being pregnant and unable to walk in stilettos doesn’t exactly help my chances either.
