“Like I said, any time. It looks good on you.”
Her heart swelled. It wasn’t the first time he’d paid her a compliment, and he always sounded so genuine and sincere when he gave them. There was no trace of teasing or malice in his tone. How could a man who looked like him think she was in any way pretty?
She stumbled backwards away from the bike toward her door, not wanting to take her eyes off the beautiful man smiling at her as though she lit up his world. Was this a dream? A cruel joke? She tried pinching her palm but didn’t wake up.
“You gonna stand out there drooling on the sidewalk all afternoon, Miss Thang?” Molly appeared next to her, giving her a gentle hip bump. “Thanks for bringing her home, Linc.”
“Any time, Miss Morrison.” He nodded. “Thanks for the cupcake.”
Did he wink at her?
“Did he wink at you?”
The bike roared to life and Linc pulled away from the sidewalk.
Molly’s fingers snapped in front of her face. “Earth to Cho-Cho. Blink once if you can hear me, blink twice if you need medical assistance.”
“What the hell just happened?”
“Girl, you were there, not me. What the helldidjust happen? It looked like you got up close and personal with Lincoln Scott’s fine ass.”
She turned Cleo around by the shoulders and led her inside. “Did you kiss him again? Did you grope his butt on the bike? You’re gonna need to give me something more than this vaguely-traumatized stare you’ve got going on. Did he hurt you? Is this a good stare? You’ve got just-fucked hair but youdidride a bike home so that’s probably where that came from, but he was abso-freakin’-lutely eye-fucking you when I walked out. Like, I need a shower to scrub you guys’ smut off me.”
“We didn’t kiss again, but we shared a cupcake.”
“And that traumatized you?”
“I’ve never been more turned on by a cupcake in my entire life.”
Molly cackled. “Girl, is this our new code for Linc’s dick? When you fuck him – and believe me when I tell you – youwillfuck him, you just gotta text me ‘cupcake’ and I’ll have the 4-1-1.”
Cleo covered Molly’s face with her palm and pushed her away. “Shut up. That’s never going to happen.”
Molly waggled her eyebrows. “Never say never, girlfriend.”
She left her friend making kissing sounds, and made her way to her room. Pulling her phone out of her pocket her stomach dipped, with guilt, and disappointment at the lack of messages from Mr. Darcy. She’d have to choose, and soon. The tug of war in her chest over the two men in her life was dizzying. Stress squeezed her shoulder blades. How was it possible to be so fond of two men?
She unfolded the fliers she’d picked up at the Institute and snapped a picture of the one that talked about a local art competition. The first prize was a small, short-run exhibition in one of the local art galleries. She sent it to Mr. Darcy with a text.
Cleo: You should totally enter this competition. You’d be great at it! Feel the fear and do it anyway, Mr. Darcy. Do the scary thing!!!!
As she pressed the send button she couldn’t help but feel somewhat hypocritical. Pressing him to do the big scary thing with his art while she kept herself at arm’s reach from considering what she wanted to do for herself. The more she pushed it away to convince herself she wanted the same things her mother wanted for her, the less sure she felt in her decision.
Reaching under her bed she pulled out a tatty shoebox of notebooks, grabbed her laptop, and sat against the headboard of her bed. She flipped open the cover of the oldest notebook in the pile, fired up her laptop, and started typing.
Chapter 15
Cleo
Cleo was going to kill Molly. It had only taken a split second. She had taken leave of her senses for just a moment and Molly had pounced, making her agree to attend a blackout party across campus.
Where Molly was now was anyone’s guess. Making out with the guy who made a beeline for her as soon as she arrived, no doubt.
Why did she need Cleo to tag along if she was only going to abandon her as soon as they got there? An excellent question she’d be asking later, if she ever found her again.
She leaned against the wall, sticking close to where it met the hallway leading into the kitchen. The lack of light was disorientating, and while a few people had worn white clothing, and donned glow sticks and UV paint over their bodies, visibility was still low. She cradled her red solo cup in one hand and her phone in the other. The more she tried to ignore the tug in her chest to Mr. Darcy, the stronger it pulled.
Cleo: I hate my best friend right now.
