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Mr. Baxley clears his throat and hastily rises to his feet. “Yes, well. Good luck with your research.”
Men.
Nate: Please?
Me: You still have a girlfriend, and that’s a deal-breaker for me.
I might be attracted to Nate, but my self-esteem isn’t so battered that I’m going to be that girl. Especially not for the bass player with the soulful eyes. I’m no one’s cliché.
The phone buzzes again.
I’m about to chuck it across the room when I realize this text is from Ben Tulley. It’s the first time he’s made contact since the ball, although he did mention business abroad. I figured he’d be in touch if or when he had news. It seems now he does.
Ben: Abbey, darling. I brought some homework along while I’ve been in Ibiza and found a few things that should prove useful. I’ve taken the liberty of having them shipped ahead of me. Sophie will be reaching out xx
Within seconds, a second message pops up from an unfamiliar number.
Unknown: This is Sophie Brown, Lord Tulley’s assistant. Expect a package this evening by courier. Should be delivered in the next hour or so. Please contact me if you’ve not received it by 8 p.m.
The news fills me with a jolt of renewed vigor. Without Josephine to keep my mind occupied, I’ve been left to wallow in my own dissatisfaction.
I wasn’t aware how much I needed to solve the puzzle of Josephine until now, and not only for a grade. So I rush to pack up my things and run out of the library to catch the Tube home. Standing in the train car, jittery for a fix, I know I’m addicted. Right when I think I’ve cleansed the mystery from my system, the itch rears its head. Despite the numerous disappointments, Josephine is still the most satisfying part of my life these days.
When I get home, I’m met with the warm smell of tikka masala and what sounds like a live stadium inside our house. I drop my stuff in the foyer and follow the uproar to find Lee at the stove with most of Jack’s rugby team crammed in our kitchen. The last time they were all here, they nearly tore the place down to the studs.
“Hey!” they shout as I walk in.
A chant like a garbled English drinking song I can’t decipher goes around the room. After these boys have had a few drinks in them, I can’t understand a word they say.
“Gentlemen,” I say in greeting. “Save me some?”
“Make room, you lot.” Jack shoves biceps to clear the way for me at the counter. “All right, Abbs?”
“Yeah, good. Thanks.”
His smile still does me in. The glint in his eye that I swear is just for me. In other words, that thing he prefers to ignore but can’t deny when we kiss. Call it inherent chemistry, I guess.
It’s infuriating.
“They were about to start chewing on the doorjambs.” Lee flits about the kitchen in his apron. Mixing bowls, cutting boards, and spice jars cover every inch of surface space. “I swear I saw one of them with a paper towel roll between his teeth.”
“They were this close to cooking that damn cat.” Jack laughs.
“What do you say, dollface?” One of Jack’s teammates with a nasty red welt under his eye sidles up beside me. “Make us a sandwich while we’re waiting. Some roast beef on rye? Or sourdough if you’ve got it.”
The guys get a good chuckle at my expense.
“You ever find a girl that works on, marry her,” I advise him.
“He tried,” another one says. “But his mum’s already married to his dad.”
They go on like that until Lee fixes me a plate of food that I take into the living room to get a little elbow room and wait for my package.
I’ve just finished eating when the doorbell rings. I waste no time jumping off the couch to answer the door. The young man on the stoop asks me to sign for the heavy cardboard box, which I drag inside and then force Lee to carry upstairs for me.
In my room, we find Hugh snuggled up on my bed against my pillows.
Lee barely glances at his cat. “Let me know if you need anything else, babe,” he says absently. “I’ll be in the loo getting ready for my date with Eric.”
