Page 27 of His Secret Obsession

I remain lying on the couch, head on the armrest and hands holding my phone above me. I still haven’t forgiven him for being an ass. “Whatever it is, no. Leave me alone.”

He leans down, trying to sneak a peek of my phone screen. I angle it away.

“Let’s watch a movie,” he says.

“I’m busy,” I say as I finish my text.

Charlie: Can’t wait to see you.

Lucas crosses his arms. “Let me guess, you’re texting Clover.”

“I see you’re still pretending you don’t know her name,” I say, “but yes, I am texting my girlfriend. And I’m meeting her in ten minutes.”

He groans. “Ditch her. Come on, let’s watch a movie. Or we could play a game. You know you want to.”

“No, I don’t.”

Lucas reaches out and starts poking my arm, and I slap him away like he’s an irritating mosquito. “Could you be any more jealous?”

That shuts him up. “Jealous?”

“I’m the one with a girlfriend,” I say. “As for you, you’ve never had a serious relationship, have you?” In high school, he did have countless girlfriends, but none of them lasted more than a week. “And do you know why you’ve never had a serious relationship?”

My phone buzzes with a text.

Cleo: C u soon xx

“Because you have a shitty personality,” I say as I reply to the text with love heart emojis. “Your personality is so shitty that girls won’t even stick around, no matter how… somewhat okay looking you are.” I meet Lucas’s eyes again. “So, now that you know that, how about you work on yourself so women will find you tolerable? Then you can get into your own relationship and stop being so jealous of mine.”

Lucas looks at me for a long moment, then he raises a hand and drags it over his face. His shoulders begin to shake.

I stare.

A hiccup escapes him. Is he…upset?

If he’s crying, this will be the first time I’ve seen him cry since we were in primary school. Since the time that group of Year 6s pushed him into a puddle and he got his brand-new blue and orange sneakers wet. When that happened, I called the Year 6s pea-brained buttheads with pimply foreheads and they pushed me into the puddle too. Face first.

Lucas wiped my face with tissues after we retreated to the boys’ bathroom. He held me under the hand dryers, and I tried to pretend I wasn’t upset as the rainwater evaporated from my shirt. He hugged me tightly, hands around my middle.

I clear my throat. “Lucas?”

He removes his hand and lets out a deep laugh. “You actually think” — he pauses for breath — “you actually think I’m jealous of your relationship?” He shakes his head and sobers up. The remnants of laughter in his eyes, a shine that made them glossy, disappear and are replaced with something hard. “I will never be jealous of you, Charlie.”

I feel as if I’ve been dowsed with ice water. After a moment, I force my gaze back to my phone, swiping through apps at random. In my periphery, Lucas moves to stand between the couch and the coffee table.

“What are you doing?” I ask, fighting the urge to make myself smaller.

He sits on the coffee table. “Let’s play a video game.”

“What the hell? No.”

“Yes,” he says, reaching for my arm. “Come on.”

I try to tug my arm out of his grip, but he’s too strong. I pull harder, then drop my phone and use my other hand to pry his fingers off. “No. I told you, I’m busy. And you can’t speak to me like that, then expect me to be your friend.”

“You insulted me first,” he snapped. “You called me unlovable.”

“I did not.”

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