“I’m flattered, Samuel. Truly.”
I tear a chunk out of my pizza. Damn good, if I do say so myself. “Look, it’s not just about who she is or the papers on her door. I’m not sure about any of this anymore.”
“Any of what?”
I take another bite and chew slowly. I think about my parents and me and Livy, all part of the same unit, but separate. Like pieces of a once-functioning clock taken apart and left strewn out on a table. Broken. All because twenty years ago, two people believed they would love each other forever.
“Nothing.” I swallow hard. “Never mind.”
“You know, Sam, just because you’re scared to like someone doesn’t make the like go away.”
“But not liking someone might.”
He makes a derisive sound, similar to Livy’s rhino huff.
“All right, then, Dr. Phil,” I say. “If you think I like her—and I’m not saying that I do—why are you flirting with her?”
He grins. “Me?”
“Yes, Mr. Girlfriend-of-a-Year.”
His face falls south. “Ah. Yes. Well. See, Sara and I are in the middle of a tiny—just a little one, really, minuscule—hiatus.”
“What? Why?”
He blows out a huge breath. “I just . . . I got tired of feeling awful about myself around her, you know?”
“I do know. I’m just surprised. I thought you’d all but flushed your own ass down the toilet when it came to Sara.”
He frowns at me but doesn’t disagree, which is a huge red flag that Ajay’s dead serious about this break.
“So why’d you stay with her for so long?” I ask.
He purses his lips. Finally, he exhales loudly. “I don’t know, Sam. You know I’ve always been a little . . .”
“Weird?” I grin at him.
“I was going to say eccentric, but yes, fine. Fill in the blank with the appropriate synonym.” He shrugs. “Sara has her good moments. She can be really sweet—”
“Oh, sweet as pie as long as she’s perched on her throne, minions bowing low.”
He shoots me a withering look. “Listen, she put up with my quirks and I put up with her inhuman lack of compassion. I guess I convinced myself that’s what you do in a relationship—you compromise, right? And it worked for a while. Until it didn’t.”
“What changed?”
He looks down and grips the counter with both hands. “Do you know why she was acting strange after we copul—I mean, slept together?”
I stick my tongue in my cheek to keep from laughing and shake my head.
“She said I didn’t talk enough.”
“Huh?”
He snaps his fingers. “Exactly.”
“You mean, like, during sex?”
He nods.
“Did she want to discuss Middle Eastern politics or something?”
He laughs, but it’s halfhearted. “I wish. She said she wanted me to talk about . . .” He leans forward again, lowers his voice. “Her body and how good it felt.”
“Like . . . dirty talk?”
He shrugs and actually blushes. “It was this epiphanic moment. I realized how little she really knew me.”
“Aw, man.” I laugh long and loud. Ajay Desai is good at a lot of things. Need a geometry tutor? Call Ajay. Advice about how to execute panty-dropping charm? Ajay is your man. Power tools? Ajay “the Tool Man” Desai. But he’s a romantic. One of the last true gentlemen. Talking dirty is not something I would imagine Ajay to ever, ever, ever excel at. Thank God.
“What’s so funny?” Hadley asks as she comes into the kitchen. Livy trails in behind her and sticks her tongue out at me. Nice.
“My love life,” Ajay says. “Or current lack thereof.”
I bust up again.
“Yes, yes. It’s just hilarious. Laugh it up. I’m not the one calling up a pretty blonde—”
I cough so loudly, it echoes off the countertops, and level Ajay with a glare that could melt glaciers. Luckily, Livy’s rooting around in the pantry, probably hunting for that nasty canned Parmesan she likes. But from the way Hadley catches my eye, turns red, and then slides her gaze to her phone, she picked up on Ajay’s comment. And it shouldn’t bother me, right? Who cares if she knows about Nicole? Not me. Nope.
“Here.” I hand her a plate. “Eat up.”
“Thanks.” She bites into the pizza. A long, gooey string of cheese extends out from her beautiful mouth, which I am definitely not staring at. “Wow. Amazing, Sam.”
I shrug and smile stupidly for a moment before I realize Ajay is grinning at me like the goddamn Cheshire Cat. I clear my throat and finish off my pizza just standing there while Livy and Hadley take theirs to the table like civilized people.
After we’re all fed and Ajay and Hadley clean up (and flick soap bubbles into each other’s hair, but hey, that’s normal platonic behavior, right?), Ajay retrieves a copy of the Nashville Scene from his messenger bag and flops down next to Livy on the couch. “All right, campers. What shall we do tonight?”
“Tonight?” Hadley asks from the doorway into the kitchen, glancing at her phone. “I don’t think—”
“No, no, my lovely. You’re stuck with us now.” Ajay shoots her a wink over the paper, and I sort of want to rip his eyelashes off.
She just smirks at his charms. “I have to meet my friend soon.”
“Friend? Of the male or female persuasion?”
“Female,” she says slowly, and Livy snorts a laugh. “Interested?”
Ajay chuckles but doesn’t answer. Instead, he flips through the Scene, Nashville’s guide to all goings-on in the city. Hadley smiles and fiddles with her phone, wandering back into the kitchen.
“You can go if you need to,” I say, following her.
She glances up, her expression a mystery. “Thanks for the permission.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, but Ajay can be very persuasive. If you need to escape, I’d do it while he’s distracted.”
She tucks her phone into her back pocket and folds her arms over her chest. Her eyes roam all over my face, brows crinkled, like she’s trying to dig under the surface of my blank expression. At least, I think it’s blank.
“Right,” she finally says. “Right. I’ll just go now.” She starts toward the hallway and I get this sick feeling in my stomach. “Tell Ajay and Livy bye for me.”
“Wait—” But she’s already out the front door, a flash of hair and tight jeans. I catch up with her in the driveway, the cold air biting at my bare feet. “Hadley, wait.”
She whirls around, eyes flashing. “What?”
“Are you mad about something?”
“No. Of course not.” She opens her car door and stops. She seems to deflate a little, her shoulders descending from her ears, but then she slams the door shut. “Okay, yes. I am. Listen, Sam. If you don’t want to be friends with me, fine. But I’d rather you be straight about it.”
I step back a little. “Why would you think I don’t—”
“Really?” She folds her arms again and pops out her hip. “The last time I was at your house, you all but shoved me out the door, and I know you didn’t have a Humanities paper due the other week. But you show up at my locker and help me and take me to breakfast and tell me things I’m almost positive you don’t tell many people. It’s just getting a little hard to keep up with your mood swings.”
I sigh. “It’s not that I don’t want to be friends with you.”
“Then what is it?” Her voice is soft and quiet. She’s inches away—her familiar smell mixed with chlorine, her long hair sweeping against my forearm, her pulse pounding under the smooth skin at her throat.
And all I want to do is touch her.
Any part of her. I’d settle for the soft skin above her elbow, the long slope where her neck meets her shoulder, the lines on the palm of her hand.
My head feels like I just tossed back four shots of tequila. I’m freaking swaying on my feet here and it’s not because she’s standing close enough t
hat I can see these tiny amber flecks in her dark eyes I’ve never noticed before, or even that I’m tired of keeping secrets.
Fuck the secrets.
It’s because I want her closer.
I scrub a hand down my face so hard, my nails dig into my skin. “It’s just a weird time right now . . . with the move and my parents and Livy. I’m sorry. You’re right, I’ve been an asshole.”
She frowns and opens her mouth to say something, but then Ajay is heading toward us, his timing impeccable as always. Livy files out behind him with my shoes tucked under her arm and her camera around her neck. She’s donned her usual black apparel and I notice she’s sprayed a thick section of her blond hair hot pink.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Sorry to interrupt your little tryst, Samuel,” Ajay says, “but we have a show to catch.”
“A show?”
“Aren’t you two doing a project for Much Ado?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly, catching Hadley’s questioning glance. It’s always best to proceed with caution when dealing with Ajay’s plans.
He claps his hands. “The Circle Players are putting it on at the Shamblin. Right this very minute.” He checks his phone. “Well, not this very minute, but in less than an hour.”
“It’s Friday night, Age. I doubt we’ll get tickets.”
“Fear not. I already called and they have plenty of tickets left.”
“That probably means it sucks.”
He grins. “The only thing better than an excellent Shakespeare production is a shitty one. Are you game, fair lady?” he asks Hadley.
“I don’t think so.” She lifts her gaze to mine for a split second before sliding it away. “I have plans with Kat.”
“Bring her.” Ajay takes her elbow and tries to move her toward his Jeep. He fails.
“No. Really. Another time.”
“Hadley.” A little voice in my head is screaming, Shut up, you effing moron! “Come with us. We need to see the play performed, right?”
She shoots me an exasperated look, and I don’t blame her. But still, my mouth opens again. “I want you to come. Who else will ridicule Benedick and Beatrice with me? Sure, Livy’s a well-practiced cynic, but she refuses to mock Shakespeare.”
“It’s true,” Livy says. “Goes against my artistic sensibilities. Please come, Hadley. I don’t want to be alone with these idiots all night.”
“My IQ is a baby’s breath shy of genius level,” Ajay says, “and that’s the second time tonight I’ve been called an idiot.”
“I doubt it will be the last,” Hadley says with a little laugh, but her eyes are on Livy. She walks over to her and takes the pink lock between her fingers. “Hey, this looks great.”
Livy’s eyes light up. “Really? You want one?”
Hadley twists a piece of her own hair and inspects it. “You think it’ll show up? My hair’s so dark.”
“I think so.” Livy digs into her cavernous bag and pulls out the can of spray dye. “It’s really bright and it washes out easily.”
“Do it.” Hadley grins. I stand there, transfixed, while she lets my sister glaze a long section of her hair pink, right there in the driveway. Livy’s expression has those soft lines to it that I haven’t seen since my parents were together and we traveled down to Atlanta to watch the Braves play for Opening Day. Right before we found out about my mom.
“You look amazing,” Livy says with a real smile.
“Yes, everyone is beautiful and dazzling and glittery,” Ajay drawls. “Now, are you coming, my fairy queen?”
Hadley rolls her eyes but smiles her amazing smile—a singular dimple in her left cheek, one bottom tooth just barely overlapping the other. “All right.” She gets out her phone. “But we have to pick up Kat.”
“Done.” Ajay holds out his arm for her to take. “Shall we?”
Hadley mutters something under her breath I can’t make out, but takes his arm. She throws me a soft glance over her shoulder and I meet it, hold it, pull it into my own until she takes it away again.
“He’s shameless,” Livy says, sliding next to me. “You think he likes her?”
“No.” I watch as Ajay waggles his eyebrows at me while he opens the car door for Hadley. “He’s doing it to piss me off.”
“Now, why would that piss you off?”
For a split second, I think her question is a serious one. But there’s this funny glint in her eye—curious and a little teasing—and I realize, possibly for the first time, that she really isn’t as young as I like to think she is.
I sling my arm around her shoulders and tell her what she’s already guessed. “Because he knows me a little too well.”
Chapter Fifteen
Hadley
“Why are we doing this?” Kat says when I call her about our plans.
I glance up from the passenger seat in Ajay’s car to where Sam is slipping on his ratty Vans in the driveway. “I have that project with him and we need to see the play.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Come on, Hadley. Since when do you hang out with guys other than to—”
“I guess since right now.” Lately, Kat’s playful references to the number of guys at Woodmont with whom I’ve locked lips grate on my nerves. I always laugh it off or change the subject, but it’s getting old. “Just come with me. Please?”
“I didn’t think you were friends with him,” she says after a long pause.
“I’m not. I mean, maybe I am. I don’t know. It’s weird.”
“Eldritch?”
“Har, har.”
“All right, fine. I’ll come, but you owe me a pack of peanut butter M&M’s and a Channing Tatum movie marathon.”
“Please don’t make me watch The Vow again.”
“Are you kidding me? That one’s first on the list.”
I groan. “Fine. Done.”
“Hey, maybe this will be a turning point.” Her words are muffled in a way that I can tell she’s slicking on lipgloss. “If anyone can inspire you to believe in real, honest-to-God love stories again, it’s William Shakespeare.”
I snort, loud and clear, before I hang up.
By the time we pick up Kat, we have thirty minutes to get to Nashville, get tickets, and get in our seats. Livy is prone to carsickness, so we let her sit in the front of Ajay’s book-filled Jeep Cherokee. Because I know the idea of constantly bumping into a guy she just officially met while flying down I-65 would completely freak Kat out, I’m wedged between her and Sam in the back.
“Do you run a library out of your car?” I ask Ajay, to get my mind off Sam’s warm skin pressing into my shoulder and thigh.
“What?”
“Did you not notice there are at least twenty books in here?”
He laughs as Livy pulls a book out from under her butt and waves it in his face.
“Care to sign up for a membership?” he asks, swatting her away.
“Ajay’s car is his overflow space,” Sam says.
“Overflow?” Kat asks.
Sam nods. “He refuses to check books out of the library. Says he needs to own them to really experience them. His room is like one giant ream of paper.”
“The experience doesn’t end when you finish a story,” Ajay says. The lilting tone to his voice that I’d gotten used to over the past couple of hours vanishes and turns serious. “The physical book is like a memento. Plus, I’m a collector.”
“So it’s important to own two copies of The Brothers Karamazov?” I ask, holding the proof in my hands.
“New translations, my dear.”
“He has a third stuffed in his closet,” Sam says.
“Wow. You and my dad should meet. You’re like his dream student.” I flip through one of the books, feeling Sam shift closer to the door.
“Sure,” Ajay finally says after a few seconds, before clearing his throat. “So, Kat, I noticed the button on your bag.”
Kat looks down at her burnt orange hobo
bag. On it she’s fastened a green button with a picture of a pig and the words I DON’T EAT ANYTHING WITH A FACE encircling its head.
“What about it?” she asks.
“Is it true?” Ajay asks. “You’re a faceless eater?”
Kat laughs. “If by ‘faceless eater’ you mean vegetarian, then yes.”
“Would you mind explaining your reasons?”
“Here we go,” Sam says.
“What?” I ask him.
“Ajay loves debating vegetarianism.”
“I don’t debate,” Ajay says. “I discuss.”
“Right.”
“Are you a vegetarian?” Kat asks.
“Me?” Ajay says while shifting lanes. “Oh, no, no, no. I relish my saturated-fat-ridden farm friends far too much.”
“That’s gross,” Livy says.
Ajay grins at her. “But my mom is and she’s always trying to get my dad and me to see the light or what have you, so I respect it. I know a lot about it.”
Kat laughs again. “I don’t mind sharing.”
“All right, but when he starts talking about methane and cows, I’d be ready with a subject change,” Sam says before turning toward the window.
“I just really love animals,” Kat says, shrugging. “I respect them, I guess.”
“Pigs in particular,” I say. Kat harbors a borderline obsession with pigs. “Every Christmas since I’ve known her, she asks her parents for a piglet. To no avail.”
Livy laughs, turning in her seat to face us. “Pigs?”
“Um . . . well . . .” Kat flushes and hems and haws and I ready myself to swoop in with a subject change. But then she catches Ajay’s glance in the rearview mirror and, I swear to God, the girl melts next to me. “Yes, pigs. When I was little, I read Charlotte’s Web the same week I went to a petting zoo. A sow had just had her piglets and . . .” She sighs wistfully. “They were so tiny and adorable and needy. I just couldn’t get over it. You know, the whole slaughter-the-cute-little-piggy-for-bacon thing.”
“Mmm . . . bacon,” Sam murmurs to the window, and I choke back a laugh.
“A couple of years ago, I decided to try not eating meat.” Kat fiddles with the button. “I don’t even really miss it, although my mom still tries slipping me beef every now and then. She’s terrified I’m going to become anemic or develop a B12 deficiency.”
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