by Lena Maye
“Mackie?” I mouth.
She shakes her head and holds the phone out. I snatch it from her, my words spouting before I get the thing to my ear. “Whoever the fuck this is better have a good explanation.”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. Cassie paces the kitchen—she doesn’t even get on me for the yelling. Kepler stops in the doorway.
“Who is this?” a male voice asks.
“Cassie’s arbiter.” I try to take the fuck you out of my voice, but I’m not sure I succeed. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m the manager over at The Bistro. We’ve had a change in plans for the SafeRide fundraiser.”
“What do you mean ‘change of plans’?”
“We’re afraid we can’t accommodate the fundraiser at this time.”
“It’s in two measly weeks. You can’t back out.” I place one hand on the counter to keep myself from flying out the door and over to the damn restaurant. “Do you want kids to die in car accidents?”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. Then some shuffling.
Okay, even I know that last part was pushing too far. But still—this is important to Cassie.
“We aren’t capable of meeting all the demands of the event,” the voice says.
“Tell me the truth.” I glance towards Cassie, who’s biting her nails and shaking her head at me. “Or how does a smear campaign on Facebook sound?”
A sigh. It makes me realize that the truth might not matter because it’s already been decided. The click of the phone confirms that. Bastard hung up on me. Although I don’t exactly blame him. I scroll through Cassie’s recent calls, about to call the guy back when she grabs my hand.
“I’d been on the phone with him for ten minutes.” She squares her thin shoulders, which makes her blotchy face even more apparent. “You get on for thirty seconds, and he hangs up. Calling him back and yelling won’t work.”
“But it will make both of us feel better.” My temperature is boiling. All the work she’s done. The gigantic purpose that came down and struck her—it can’t wash away that easily. “Did you find out why?”
“Pancakes.” Cassie chomps on a clump of hair. “And other stuff. They said I demanded too much.”
Oh, hell. I called them about the pancakes. And the place settings. And the drink menu.
I sink down to a seat at the breakfast bar. “I’m sorry, Cassie.”
“It isn’t your fault. I need to figure out…” She shakes her head and stares up at the skylight, her red hair falling around her shoulders.
“We’ll solve this problem,” I say. I can’t let her down. “We’ll find another restaurant.”
Kepler steps into the room. “Every problem has a solution. It’s just a matter of finding it.” His eyes settle on me.
I glare at him and hug Cassie. When I pull away, we both suck in a decisive breath. Her lower lip trembles, but she sucks it in and focuses on her binder. “There are four restaurants in Rock Falls that have enough space. I called all of them when I first set this up, and The Bistro was the only one that got back.”
“That was before, Cassie. Now you have a bunch of guests confirmed and money donated and all sorts of help behind you. And I’m ready to do some yelling.”
“No yelling.” Cassie reaches her hand out and places it on top of the counter. “But are you sure you’re up to it?”
“Why wouldn’t I be up to it?” I work to keep the hardness out of my voice. I hate it when people question my kick-ass, even if that person is Cassie.
“Last night when—” Her eyes flick to Kepler.
“We’ve all had shitty last nights.” I’ve got no desire to sit around and have conversations about whatever the hell happened to me last night. Especially in front of Kepler.
I circle the breakfast bar, dig in the back of the freezer, and set a carefully labeled Tupperware on the counter. Kick-ass kale soup.
Then I flip open Cassie’s binder to the tab for venues, my fingers clicking a rhythm on the countertop.
Kepler stops behind me, his breath warm on my neck. “I’ll be back later, Lo. As I always am.” He places a closed-mouthed kiss on my shoulder.
I nod, but I don’t look up until he’s already out the door.
Cassie and I spend all day on the phone. I don’t worry about missing lectures. Well, not much. I’ve got near-perfect attendance, so one day won’t ruin me. And it’s something that will help Cassie. So I call every restaurant within a sixty-mile radius to find out that Cassie’s right. There are only a few restaurants with a large enough meeting space, and every one of them says no.
I hate people right now.
By five o’clock, it’s over for the day. We’ve got the good sense not to call a restaurant over dinner hour, and both of us are wiped. We slump on the couch with energy drinks in hand and debate who should shower first. We’ve got two bathrooms, but running both showers with our fifteen-year-old water heater is problematic.
When the doorbell rings, Cassie and I eye each other. I can’t ignore there’s a little flutter in my heart at the sound of the chime. I haul myself up to still-aching feet.
I open the door to find Mackie. The little flutter plummets to the floor. He’s got a matching expression.
But he’s also got a large pizza from The Pizza Shack. My flutter re-earns its wings, although I’m not eager to share pizza with a traitor, even if it is the best pizza in Rock Falls.
I let the hatred I’ve avoided all day sink into my voice. “I’m not letting you into this apartment.”
Mackie glares at me over the pizza. Those cute-guy dimples are completely absent. “What did I do now?”
“You had Devon pick up on me so Kepler would see.”
“He had to know.”
“Know what?”
“What he’s getting into.”
I recoil, fuck you on the tip of my tongue. I don’t know what holds it in. Maybe because I still have this tiny little nugget of guilt over breaking up with Mackie. Or maybe because as much as I hate him, Mackie’s right.
“You’re trying to protect him,” I conclude.
The pizza tilts an inch. Am I a terrible person for being happy the box is probably getting too hot for him to hold?
Cassie’s footsteps rush up behind me, breaking Mackie’s glower. I’m stuck between huge grins as she motions him through the door. I reluctantly step aside. But I steal the pizza.
Mackie wraps my roommate in a hug. A bottle of wine swings into her hip. Pizza and wine. How obnoxiously cute. And totally boyfriend–girlfriend crap.
I carry the pizza into the kitchen and flop it on the counter. I snake a piece of veggie supreme out of the box—Cassie’s favorite, of course.
She giggles. The giggle is followed by silence. The kind of silence where something is off. I listen, my ears perking for sound. Although I’m creeped out I might be listening to a Massie make-out session.
A low male voice far too deep to be Mackie. I drop my slice on top of the box and peer around the corner. Kepler stands between Cassie and Mackie.
“I don’t give a shit.” Kepler’s voice is icicle-sharp. I’d thought I’d heard his cold voice before, but what he’s used on me is nowhere close to this. “Why was he talking to her in the first place?”
“So, no one can talk to her now?” Mackie grips the neck of the wine bottle hard. My words did nothing to him—nothing but a little disappearance of dimples over a pizza box and a usual glower. With Kepler, Mackie’s whole demeanor changes.
Kepler pushes into the doorway. “He forced himself on her, Mackie. And you put him up to it.”
“Jean told you.” Mackie shakes his head like he can’t believe I would actually be honest with Kepler.
I suddenly get it. Mackie doubts me. He assumed that I would lie to Kepler. He assumed that I would cheat on Kepler. He looks at my string of boyfriends the same way I look at his secrets—something that might hurt his friend. And he loves Kepler—even if guy
s typically avoid describing it in such simple terms. He loves Kepler as much as I love Cassie.
Mackie and I are stuck with each other.
Fuck.
“Of course she told me.” Kepler’s hand smooths over the back of his neck.
Mackie sighs. “What do you want me to say? It was something you needed to see.”
“No, it wasn’t.” There’s still no thaw from Kepler. Not until he glances at Cassie, who stands pressed up against the wall chewing on her hair. I get the idea that whatever he is going to say, he doesn’t want Cassie to hear. Which might mean he doesn’t want me to hear.
But he seems to relent. “I’ve never had a girl tell me to ‘fuck off’ in the same way Lo does.”
“Yeah, I’ll give you that.” Mackie’s words are calmer, but he doesn’t release on the wine bottle.
“I need you to stay out of this, Mac. Don’t fuck with her again or else we’ll be having a different conversation.” Kepler’s steady words are like a magnet pulling any fight out of me. I don’t trust Mackie—I never will—but I trust Kepler. So I’m not going to fight him on this Mackie thing. It’s a strange thing to let something go. Let the argument float up into the stars. I take a breath that, for once, fills all of my lungs.
Mackie nods, and Kepler claps him on the shoulder. Somehow the ten-pound weight of tension cuts in half. I’ll never figure out how guys can patch up their dude-love with a grunt and a handshake.
Mackie steps back. “Fine. But she’s going to dump you.”
“She always does,” Kepler says, then he turns quickly to Cassie. “Is she here?”
Cassie unsticks herself from the wall. “Kitchen,” she says.
I duck around the corner and sprint to the far counter, snag a slice of pizza, and take a bite in an attempt to look natural, whatever that looks like. Footsteps approach.
Kepler’s in the kitchen before I finish my damn bite. I have to swallow a large chunk of wilted pizza spinach down. I set my pizza on the counter, suddenly aware that I’ve got pizza sauce on my lips, grease coating my fingers, and nerves partying in my stomach. I grab a paper towel.
“I Googled what you said last night. Bo-go-pa.” His eyes narrow on me accusingly. “You said you missed me.”
I wipe off my hands. “Google is a dirty liar.”
“Is that so?” He stands in the doorway. So far away from me. He rubs the back of his neck.
“Yes.” I tilt up my chin. “You have a Googling issue. I clearly said fuck off.”
I wait a beat, my lips slipping up into a smile. I don’t know if it’s that or the phrase that lights something in him, but Kepler carves across the kitchen. His hands catch my waist. He lifts me up and sets me on the counter, my legs spread to accommodate him between them. He cups my hips and pulls me to him. My heart jumps up to the fucking ceiling and plasters itself there. My fingers smooth up his stomach—along the edge of a button-down shirt and up to the stiff edges of his collar. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in a collared shirt.
God, I want so fucking much from him. Everything. I want to take, take, take.
But I lean back. “Kepler—”
“I’m not going to kiss you, Lo.” His low voice is steady, but he swallows hard. “You better fucking want it the next time we kiss.”
“The next time?” I squeeze my thighs against him. “Isn’t that being presumptuous?”
Movement behind him makes me look over Kepler’s shoulder. Cassie stands in the doorway, flushed and chomping on the inside of her lip. She hasn’t had sex in over a week. Maybe longer.
“Stop dry humping next to the pizza,” Mackie says. “It’s ruining my appetite.”
“Getting you too excited, Mackie?” Kepler doesn’t take his eyes off me, but he grabs the pizza box and moves it to the counter closer to Cassie. “You can calm yourself down. Lo and I are going out.”
“You don’t decide for me.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I refuse.”
“I have a surprise for you.”
“A plan?”
“Yes, a plan.”
I shake my head. “I hate surprises.”
“No, you don’t. You love surprises.”
I stare him down, but he doesn’t blink. His hair dips into his eyes. Oh, hell. Curiosity always wins. “What’s the surprise?”
“You don’t get to find out unless you go.”
“Fine, but I’m eating pizza first. Then I’m showering, and you’ll wait until I’m ready—with no complaints—no matter how long it takes.”
“Conditions accepted.”
“Now get me another piece of pizza,” I order.
“Of course.” He shifts out from between my legs, reaches the box, and picks the biggest piece. I snap my legs shut. I’m very aware of Cassie still chewing on the inside of her lip even though she’s got a slice of pizza in her hand.
When he turns back, Kepler glances at my closed legs and then leans on the counter next to me. He takes a huge bite out of my slice before passing it to me. “Your dinner, Lo.”
“I hate it when you call me that,” I snap. I take the pizza.
Kepler raises an eyebrow, but no one says anything.
Instead we talk about SafeRide and our inability to find a restaurant to host the fundraiser. It’s odd how well the guys listen. Mackie even looks at me when I speak as if he is considering my words instead of how much he dislikes me. The whole thing is strangely comfortable. Although I’m wondering about my surprise the entire time.
Thirteen
“Why is there a fishbowl in the backseat?” I ask when Kepler opens the passenger door for me. I twist a lock of my hair like Cassie does. Why am I so nervous?
“It’s part of our date.” Kepler holds the door, and I slide into the car.
“This isn’t a date.”
He gives me an all-knowing eyebrow hitch as he pushes the door closed. Holy date etiquette. I’m not sure if I like it or if it pisses me off. Regardless, it definitely ups the nerves.
He walks around the car and ducks in next to me, and I inhale a quick breath, not wanting to draw attention to the way his scent fills the small space—warmth and spice and intensity. He drives without looking at me, his fingers steady on the gearshift. My fingers inch over to him, settling on his forearm.
He steers towards campus, pulling off at a little bar just before. A non-townie bar I've never been to that has tall windows and martini menus.
“Can’t we go to some normal place?” I ask before he parks the car.
“We’re meeting people.” Kepler turns off the ignition.
My confusion flips from huge windows to him and back again.
“We’re meeting people in a non-townie bar with a fishbowl filled with paper?” Is he trying to make me uncomfortable?
“Yes, that’s exactly what we’re doing.” He licks his bottom lip and leans closer. “Can you just trust me for once?” His voice is soft and low, and I want to forget the fishbowl and the date. I want to forget everything except for his lips against mine. Maybe because I’ve got that itchy feeling again. I’ve been on so many first dates—what if this one is no better than the others? I know that’s a stupid amount of pressure to put on Kepler. But, still, it’s there.
He reaches for the bowl, and I shove open my door. “No way this is a legitimate date if we’re bringing a fucking fishbowl.”
I circle the car and wait for him on the steps. And of course he opens the door for me.
“This is a date, Lo. And I’m prepared to prove it to you,” he says as I slide past him. Inside is a wall of wine bottles and soft lighting.
“Do you take all your dates here?” I fidget, but Kepler’s free hand settles on my back, and he pushes me forward—following close behind with his fishbowl tucked under one arm.
“Most of the girls I’ve dated wouldn’t find this as amusing as I’m hoping you will.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said, Lo. As usual.” His hand wraps around
my waist and pulls me to a stop in the middle of the room. I spin to ask him what the hell is going on, but someone else is standing by us.
“You must be Lo.” His voice is rough—like guy-morning-voice. Then he flashes me a smile.
“Jean,” I correct. You’ve got to be kidding me. He’s familiar. He was potential boyfriend once.
Kepler’s hand squeezes my hip, pulling me next to him. “This is Sebastian.”
“What the hell are we doing here?” I whisper to Kepler. “Are we meeting your friends? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Sebastian shakes his head. “She’s exactly like you described her, Kep.” There’s laughter in his gravelly voice, so I give him a glare before turning on Kepler.
“I’m about done with this date.”
Kepler pulls my elbow so I’m facing him. Glower full force: sexy. Light stubble along his jaw: sexy. Disheveled hair flickering golden in the lantern lights: dead sexy. I need to learn how to say dead-fucking-sexy in Korean so I can call him that without him knowing. I’ll lie and say it means shithead or something.
“I asked you to trust me,” he says. “Can you?”
I sigh. “For like five minutes, maybe.”
Sebastian takes the fishbowl and leads us to a small table. And, holy crap, I am meeting Kepler’s friends.
We sit across from Sebastian and a guy from one of my argumentation classes I hadn’t bothered to meet before.
“Jon,” the guy says with a sharp handshake. “Nice to meet you, Lo.”
“Jean,” I hiss. Another one who knows my name. I side-glance at Kepler. Does he talk about me?
Two more people introduce themselves: Sarah, a girl from class who always dresses in red, and her date, a dour guy named Max. To my relief, neither knows my name.
Sebastian pushes the fishbowl to me. “You get first pick.”
I blink at the bowl. “First pick of what?”
But he just pushes the bowl closer. I reach inside for a slip of paper, and then fold it open to find a statement.
Undocumented immigrants who start businesses in the US should be granted visas.
I suck in a breath. Kepler has brought me to a freaking debate. My entire body lights up.