Page 7 of Heartthrobs Don't Date Wallflowers
Without thinking, I bolted to the side of my room, pressing my back against the wall like I was in some kind of spy movie.
What was I supposed to do now? Never look out that window again?
I stood there for a full minute, trying to will the ground to just open up and swallow me whole. But, of course, that didn’t happen. Curiosity got the better of me, though, and I slowly peeked back through the window, bracing for the worst.
And there he was. Still standing there, only now he was holding up a notebook, with something scrawled across the page in thick, black Sharpie.
Looking good
I blinked. My brain couldn’t process what I was seeing for a second. There was no way that was real. But no—there it was, in all its ridiculous glory, with him grinning like this was the funniest thing in the world.
My face burned, probably redder than a tomato at this point. I stared at the note, then at him, my mind racing for a response. Should I laugh it off? Ignore him? Move to a different country?
Great. This was my life now. The girl who gets caught dancing like an idiot by the cute boy next door.
And he was cute. Like, unfairly cute. His dark hair was a bit messy, like he’d just rolled out of bed, the kind that looked effortlessly good without trying. It fell in soft waves, a little longer than most guys around here wore it, brushing just past his eyebrows. And his eyes—dark, almost black—stood out againsthis tan skin.
I was so caught up in wondering whether there was any possible way of salvaging this that it took me a couple minutes to put together exactly who he was.
The boy. Next door. You know, the house filled with celebrities.
I groaned. Of course. Why wouldn’t the universe decide that the most embarrassing moment of my life should be in front of an actual famous person?
And he was smirking at me like he knew exactly what I was thinking.
Nope. I was not about to stick around for this.
My face burning, I bolted from the room, practically tripping over my own feet as I darted into the hall. I slammed the door behind me, leaning against it like that could somehow erase the last five minutes from existence.
I was never going near that window again. Ever.
I groaned and slid down, letting my feet come out in front of me. Sitting here, I was facing Poppy’s room, which looked so empty. She’d only been in this house for a total of three nights, over the long weekend in October, before she went back to school. I wished she was here so I could tell her about what just happened but since she wasn’t, I did the next best thing and pulled out my phone to text her.
Ivy
You will never believe what just happened
Poppy was pretty much the only person I ever texted, other than the very occasional text to myparents, so I didn’t check the thread before I hit send. And I only caught my mistake when it was too late. Way too late. The message was sent to—my eyes widened with mortification at the name on the top of the screen—Not Zesty.
What was it about me and accidentally texting this guy?
I watched in horror as the typing bubbles appeared.
Not Zesty
Oh yeah?
Honestly, I wouldn’t have expected him to answer. Even though we’d joked about it the other day, I assumed it was one of those things you said and never followed through on, likewe should get coffee sometime.But he did and I couldn’t leave the conversation here so I sent the first thing I thought of.
Ivy
This is your official notice that you have been moved down one place on my hit list. Congratulations.
Not Zesty
Time to pull out the champagne and party
Ivy
