“Can I help it that the professor asked dumb questions that were easy to answer?”
“I didn’t find it easy,” I bemoan. “Are you going to sit down or what? You’re hurting my neck.”
“Oh, hey, Callan!”
When he jumps at Lex’s greeting then turns hot pink, Wynter, Shay, and I share a look and hide our smiles.
“Hi, Lex!” he croaks, half-turning to watch her as she sails past to serve another table.
“Callan,” I prod.
“What?” He shakes his head. “Do you want me to sit somewhere else?”
My lips part. “Huh?”
“I know I rushed through my shower this morning, but do we smell?” Wynter inserts, bemused.
Callan rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t want to impose.” He whips around again when Lex squeezes his arm. “Hi, Lex!”
“You already said that,” Shay grouses. “Sit down before she thinks you’re being weird.”
“I agree.” I lean over and yank on Callan’s hand. “Sheesh. Denny wasn’t wrong about you needing our help, huh?”
“She told you?” he squeaks.
“About Operation Callan Lex? Sure.”
“I thought it was Operation Lex Callan?” Wynter muses.
“Oh, no. The more people who know about that, the likelier it is she’ll hear about it!” He turns pale. “This is going to end in disaster.”
“Hardly. We’re keeping bigger secrets than your obvious crush,” Shay drawls with a cool flicker of a brow.
He does that so much better than I do. His goes halfway up his forehead. Mine barely twitches.
Callan’s shoulders hunch. “I’m going to die alone.”
“I’ll take pity on you,” Wynter chirps. “You can come and stay with me if you think you’re about to expire.”
He peeps at her. “You mean that?”
“Sure thing.”
When Lex comes over with our orders, she stands close to Callan.
Body language alone tells me she likes him. She gently pats his shoulder and turns toward him, a fact he’d notice if he ever looked anywhere other than over her shoulder.
Boys, honestly.
It makes me glad I’m married to Maxim, who I’m not entirely sure was a boywhenhe was a boy.
“The usual, Callan? Or are you having dinner for breakfast too?”
Callan pulls aface. “Who does that?”
“Your three tablemates.”
“Don’t judge me, Callan,” I gripe. “Salome kept me up all night puking and then I had the philosophy exam from hell, and I’m somehow expected to function without a burger?”
