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He’s not even worth the calories you’re burning checking him out.
“Hey, roomie.” I flash a smile, which, to my disbelief, isn’t forced. Knowing I won’t have to see him for two whole days put me in a good mood. Weirded out, Finn arches an eyebrow as he tries to compute my kindness.
Processing, I read in his eyes.
Then, “System failure, try again.”
“Don’t do that,” he says, cold as ice.
“Do what?” I play dumb.
“Whatever the fuck this is, it’s nauseating.” Finn moves around me, picks up the shot of espresso I made for myself, and drags a long sip. “Shit, were you going to drink that?”
I know from the way he stares that he craves a reaction. He wants to see me get mad, if only to feed his ego.
“I was, actually.”
“My bad. You don’t mind if I finish it, though?” He finishes the whole thing before I can answer.
Annoyance mixes with the blood in my veins.
Don’t give him what he wants.
“No, of course not. Enjoy.”
He looks at me like I just grew a third tit, and I chew on the inside of my cheek to bury my smile as I check my phone. My best friend should be here any minute to pick me up. We’re supposed to be having lunch with my family.
Aveena’s text message comes through the next second.
Aveena:I’m outside.
Shoving my phone in my jeans back pocket, I saunter toward the front door with my bag dangling down my shoulder. Finn’s gaze shadows me across the room.
“Have a nice weekend,” I tell him and pry the door open. I’ve barely taken a step before his voice cuts through the air.
“Wait.”
I glance back at him.
He’s put down the espresso shot and is now spinning his basketball on his index finger without breaking a sweat.
Show-off.
“You coming back next week?” he asks.
I’m stunned, fairly certain that I hallucinated the question. Why would he ask me that? Does he want me to come back? Is he finally putting down the weapons and allowing us to be civil?
“Yes?”
Then he shoots my foolish hopes dead with one sentence. “Then I won’t have a nice weekend.”
Fucker.
* * *
“A whole week? I didn’t think you’d last this long. Damn, sis,” my brother, Jesse, comments as he rests the potato salad dish on the kitchen table. Silly me, thinking I could get through one meal without being hounded with questions.
“Damn?” Charlie, my three-year-old brother, repeats, tasting the word on his tongue for a bit before deciding that he likes it. “Damn, damn, damn.”
