Page 11 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

Delilah: What the hell what?

Me: Did you know I was coming here?

Delilah: Have you seen the size of this town? This is the coolest bar. Who’s to say meeting here isn’t a coincidence?

Me: Your horrible poker face says so, that’s who.

Delilah: Fine. Yes. Sue me. I knew you’d be here.

I fucking knew it.

Me: And you thought bringing Maggie here would help me on my blind date?

Delilah: No. I came to make sure your date went well. Maggie’s with me cuz I need to convince her to break up with her loser boyfriend.

At least I’m not the only one who sees how awful those two are together.

Me: Have you shaken his hand?

Delilah: THE LIMPEST OF THE LIMP FISH

I snort out a laugh.

Me: Pretty sure he also believes the world is flat.

Delilah: See? He’s all wrong for Maggie. And I maybe thought bringing her here would make her jealous and she’d finally admit she likes you, not him.

My stomach swoops. My breaths come hard and fast. Maggie doesn’t “like” me. Maggie Edelstein avoids me. She told me she wanted to forget our time together happened. She also bit her lip around me and seemed oddly emotional at Sugar and Sips, suggesting Delilah’s not completely off base, but Maggie made her stance clear.

Me: News flash. Maggie wants nothing to do with me.

Delilah: News flash. Maggie wants everything to do with you. She’s just scared of you for some reason.

Honestly. One hint that Maggie has feelings for me and I’m flustered, searching the bathroom entrance for any sight of her infuriatingly beautiful face. The same face that made the parameters of our relationship, or lack thereof, crystal clear.

Delilah: Things with Maggie are more complicated than you realize. Give her a chance.

A chance? I gave her a lifetime of chances in high school. I tried to apologize and reconnect the other day. All I ever get from Maggie is stonewalled.

Delilah pokes her curly head out of her booth again, her expression soft and patient, like she’s explaining basic math to a child.

“Lennon?”

I snap my head up. A pretty brunette in a flowery blue dress, who matches my date’s description, is standing by my table, setting me further off-kilter.

“You must be Sloan,” I say loudly, my voice sounding strained.

I hit mute on my phone and flip it over, cutting off Delilah from tossing more confusing insinuations my way, but I’m already distracted. I stand abruptly to greet Sloan and knock over my chair. Ten seconds of me wrestling the upturned furniture into place and nearly spilling my beer, I lean not so smoothly with my hand on the back of my chair and go for suave. “Glad you found me.”

Sloan holds her purse against her stomach, smiling shyly. “The beard gave you away. And Delilah said you usually wear plaid or printed T-shirts.”

I might be wearing a light blue plaid button-down that brings out the blue in my blue-gray eyes, but honestly. I cut a hard glance toward Delilah’s booth, sure she made a hipster joke about me to Sloan. Instead of seeing Delilah creeping us, Maggie’s there, back in her side of the booth. And guess what? She’s staring at me.

Her eyes dart to Sloan, then back to me, then back to Sloan. Her cheeks seem to redden, but it’s tough to tell from this distance. Not that my pulse cares. It punches my neck insistently. My face flushes hot. Just as quickly, Maggie’s attention cements back on Delilah.

I don’t know what those darting eyes mean, or how I’m supposed to focus when Delilah’s hinting that Maggie secretly likes me.

I hold out my hand to Sloan. “I wear other things besides plaid and printed T-shirts, but glad Delilah’s intel helped.”