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“That doesn’t explain it.”
“Okay, in the movie, Harry gets his Firebolt at the end, right?”
“Yeah. Sirius sent it, didn’t he?”
“Exactly! In the books, he gets it in the middle, and it’s confiscated because they thought Sirius had sent it to harm him. It’s a whole plot point in the narrative about how evil Sirius is and how badly he wants to hurt Harry, and do they bother to include it? No, no. They don’t. They just couldn’t be bothered. And the worst part is that Azkaban is actually the best book of the entire series.”
Josh leaned over and wrapped his fingers around my wrist, then made me lift my wine glass to my mouth. Dutifully, I sipped, but in my efforts not to laugh, ended up snorting the wine up my nose.
“That didn’t go as planned,” he deadpanned.
“No shit.” I laughed, wiping my nose with a tissue from the box on the coffee table. “Thanks for that.”
“I was trying to soothe you. You got a little worked up. Even had a vein popping just here.” He tapped the side of his forehead. “It was equal parts alarming and fascinating.”
“Yes, well. Now you know firsthand why I’m a terrible date. I can’t stop when I get started.”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t that bad listening to you rant. You’re passionate about it. If everyone had an ounce of your passion about something in their lives, a lot of people would be a lot happier, I reckon.”CHAPTER NINE – KINSLEYrule nine: not all dates are made equal. look at february 29th, for example.I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. Instead, my cheeks suddenly got hotter until I was sure that I couldn’t hide it even by dipping my head and letting my dark hair fall around my face.
I’d never really thought about it like that, but he wasn’t wrong.
“Not that I’m saying that’s a rant for the first date. Maybe ease them in a little before you go nuts.”
I peered up through my lashes and caught his grin. It was contagious and, alarmingly, a little butterflies-in-my-tummy inducing.
I swallowed and dropped my gaze before I gave anything away. That was a new feeling, and one that wasn’t particularly welcome.
Josh was my brother’s best friend, for God’s sake.
What was I doing getting butterflies when he smiled at me?
I had no business feeling like this. For real. None at all. This was so wrong.
I coughed and shivered right after. It was the only way I could shake off those feelings before they went too far.
The next thing I knew, I’d finished my wine.
“Want another?” I asked Josh as I got up.
His glass was still pretty full, so he shook his head.
With a shrug, I headed into the kitchen and pulled the new bottle from the fridge. The screw cap opened with a satisfying series of clicks, and I filled my glass, then put the bottle back in the fridge door.
I was definitely drinking my feelings away tonight.
Despite what I said to the girls and Josh, my bad date had bothered me. Finding someone who fit my very specific parameters didn’t seem to be all that hard, all things considered, but getting them to like me and not be a jerk?
That, dear Watson, was not elementary.
How many dates like tonight would I have to suffer through before I found someone who’d listen to my rants about bad book-to-movie adaptations? Who’d discuss whether or not Kiera Knightley was a good Elizabeth Bennett or not? Who wouldn’t care that sometimes I couldn’t text you back because ‘just one chapter’ had turned into ‘just two hundred pages?’
I sighed, slumping against the counter.
Maybe it was me.
Maybe I was the problem.
Wait—no.
No, fuck that.
This was who I was, and I wasn’t going to change that for anyone.
Jesus, I needed to get a grip.
I pulled a box of popcorn from the pantry and opened it. It was a brand-new box, so I grabbed one of the pouches, pulled it from the plastic, and put it in the microwave to make it pop.
I sipped my wine as the kitchen filled with sporadic pops. Within twenty seconds, the sporadic popping turned to frantic as the kernels fulfilled their dreams to become little salted bursts of goodness.
Sigh.
I really, really needed a life outside the bookstore if that was my thought process about freaking popcorn.
“Oh, it’s popcorn.”
I turned and met Josh’s green-gray eyes. “What did you think it was? A terrorist heist?”
“With you, anything is possible.”
I rolled my eyes and popped the microwave door open as the popping slowed. The bag was massive and full of air, and I pinched the corner to slide it out to open it. Steam wafted into the air as I pulled it open, and I let it dissipate before I poured it all into a bowl.
“So you wore the white dress?”
