Page 30 of Love Sick

She gives a dismissive shrug, a move at odds with her smug smile. “I’m her favorite. She’ll do whatever I want.”

Weird flex, but okay. We’re back to humble bragging, and I search for the server, taking a cleansing breath of garlic-scented air.Please, God of Pizza, bless us soon.

When my gaze lands on her again, she’s staring at me. Her shiny blond hair lays in straight layers over bare shoulders, and her pale blue dress shows off her chest. Her brown eyes would be lovely if they weren’t so penetrating.

She’s pretty. Beautiful.

But so unattractive.

Why can’t I be attracted?

She wants me to be. She’s throwing signals at me like confetti.

“I—” My voice comes out croaky and I clear it. “I’d do it, if it were me.”

“Yeah, I probably will.” She takes another sip and leans on the table. The uncontrollable urge to appreciate the presented goods has my attention dipping…sinking…

Don’t look!

It happens, anyway.

I’m a straight man.

I can’tnotlook.

It’s written in my DNA.

And yet—

Nothing. I got nothing. Why doesn’t she do it for me?

“So do you have a cat?” she asks.

That’s why.

“Uh—” My mind stutters. Why does she think I’m obsessed with cats? I suspect the answer has something to do with Grace Rose. “No. I don’t, actually.”

A pizza lands between us, giving me an excuse to not flounder under her stare for an extended period. She picks at her slice, giving me her entire life story while I nod and shove food in my mouth. The woman can talk.

And talk.

If she notices I haven’t spoken in ten minutes, she doesn’t let on, but it’s better this way. She’s happy. Look at her in the zone, summing up her family (one sister and parents still together), her friends (all doctors) and her life’s goal (“I want to be a cardiologist. Romantic, right? Working with hearts?”Chuckle, chuckle) while I polish off half the pie.

She doesn’t ask about me. I’m not sure what to think about that. Not sure if I care.

It’s only when we’re in my truck that she changes tack. “So what do you do for fun?”

I laugh. “What’s fun? All I do is work.”

“Oh come on.” She playfully shoves my shoulder. “I’m sure there’s something.”

“I guess I have this Friendsgiving thing planned with my class this weekend. That should be fun.”

She gasps, and I frantically search for whatever scared her, only to sigh when she says, “Oh, that sounds awesome! I’d love to come.”

Uh.

Backpeddle!

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