Page 38 of Practice Makes Perfect
Louis just sips his coffee, giving me that look—the one that’s somehow both pitying and smug, a superpower he’s perfected over our twenty-plus years of friendship. “Right. And I’m sure your ‘professor’ is perfectly qualified, given he’s practically pursuing his PhD in campus hookups.” The truth is, I’d already felt that dangerous flutter when Linc texted me this morning. Acknowledging it to Louis would make it too real.
I prop my chin on my hand. “See, that’s exactly why this makes sense. The guy knows what he’s doing, so why fumble around with some awkward nerd?”
“Because the awkward nerd might actually care about you as a person?”
“Linc cares,” I protest, immediately annoyed at how defensive I sound.
Louis raises an eyebrow. “How would you know? You’ve had, what, a few conversations with him?”
“Three,” I correct, then wince at how that doesn’t help my case. “And I ran out on him mid-hookup, which would have sent most guys running for the hills, but he was actually concerned about my feelings.”
“Noble,” Louis deadpans. “They should give him a medal.”
I glare across the table. “You could at least try to be supportive.”
“I am being supportive. I’m supporting your emotional well-being by pointing out the massive, glaring flaws in this plan.”
“Your objection is noted.” I tear my bagel into increasingly smaller pieces.
Louis scrutinizes me, the morning sunlight highlighting the tiny lines of concern between his eyebrows. “You’ve thought this through? Really?”
“Yes. I even made a spreadsheet.”
His lips twitch despite his obvious disapproval. “Of course you did.”
“Look,” I begin, leaning forward, “I appreciate your concern. But this is something I need to do for myself. I can’t keep living in fear of intimacy.”
Louis’s expression softens slightly at the mention of my high school trauma. “I just worry you’ll end up more hurt than before.”
“I know the risks.”
“Says the girl who cried for three days after watching a documentary about penguins.”
“That was different. Those penguins had a beautiful love story.”
“And you’re so sure there’s zero potential for that here?”
I give an exaggerated sigh. “It’s a crush, Louis. Not love. Crushes are superficial—they’re based on attraction and fantasy, not real connection.”
“If you say so.” Louis doesn’t look convinced. “But as someone who actually knows Linc?—”
“Barely,” I interrupt.
“—I feel obligated to remind you that guys don’t get nicknames like ‘Bed Chem’ for being sensitive, long-term relationship material.”
I twist my napkin between my fingers. “You’re assuming I want sensitive, long-term relationship material.”
“Don’t you? Eventually?”
My stomach knots uncomfortably. “Not right now,” I admit, which isn’t entirely a lie. “Right now I want to get over this fear. I want to be normal.”
Louis’s gaze sharpens. “You are normal, Em. Taking your time doesn’t make you abnormal.”
“I’m twenty-one and I’ve never?—”
“So what?” Louis cuts me off. “Your timeline is your own.”
I sigh, suddenly tired of the conversation. “Can you just trust that I know what I’m doing?”
