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“Hey, guess what?”
“What?”
“Chris asked me on a date yesterday.”
When I don’t say anything, she chucks a paintbrush at my head. I drop my current project—I’m whittling a wooden penis I plan to hide under her pillow—and frown at her.
“Don’t go out with that loser.”
Her mouth drops open. “What? He’s friends with you and Jer!”
“Not really. He’s a perv who will try to touch your tits on the first date.”
She turns beet red, which amuses me to no end. I don’t let it show, though. She’s standing too close to heavy objects.
“Seriously, Peapod, you can do way better.”
She throws her hands up. “You say that every time someone shows an interest in me! I’m starting to think you want me to stay single forever.”
I shrug, looking away. “Maybe you should. Guys are lame.”
“You’re not lame,” she says, trouncing to my side. I quickly cover the penis. “Hey, I have an idea.”
“Uh-oh.”
She punches my shoulder. “No, it’s a good one. When we’re old, like in our thirties”—she shudders at the word—“if neither of us is married, let’s do it.”
“Do what?”
Another punch. “Get married!”
“Sure,” I choke past the surge of blood beneath my belt.
“Pinky swear?” she asks, the tiny digit wiggling in front of my face.
“You okay?”
I blink out of the past and look down at her upturned face, the concerned frown and clear blue eyes.
“Yeah,” I answer hoarsely. “Sorry, did you ask me something?”
She shakes her head. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
The ghost of us.
I can’t help myself. She’s close enough to smell, to touch. Before I even know what I’m doing, my thumb instinctively finds the little mole on her left cheek, and my fingers sink into her hair. Her eyes widen. For a breathless second, neither of us moves.
Then a car door slams outside. Celeste lurches back, knocking into a table and sending up a cloud of dust, then beelines for the door.
“Celeste, wait?—”
She’s already gone.
Hands on the top of my head, I clench my fingers in my hair, relishing in the pain. My heart pounds. My blood is on fire. For the briefest moment, I thought I saw need in her eyes.
“Fucking idiot,” I mutter.
It was too soon.
