Page 6 of Merrily Ever After
Her mouth drops open and she finally meets my gaze. “No!”
“You’re reading a smutty book.” I don’t know why this thrills me, but it does. It’s always the quiet ones. I should have known.
“It’s a romantic fantasy adventure,” she insists. “And they didn’t have sex. They just …” She gestures randomly with her hands and then settles for scowling at me when she can’t find the words. “It’s really good.”
“It sounds it.” My eyes trail to her lips. I want to kiss her again. But judging by the stiff hold of her shoulders, I have a feeling it wouldn’t be welcomed. “You studying Literature then?” I ask instead.
She shakes her head, relaxing ever so slightly. “Medicine. What about you?”
“Viking Studies and Spanish.”
“Viking Studies?”
“And Spanish.”
She stares at me. “Why are you doing Viking Studies and Spanish? Why are you doingVikingStudies?”
“Why not?” I shrug.
That seems to stump her. “Why not,” she whispers back, and we both look toward the path as drunken shouting sounds in the distance. “We should really go.”
“I can move now,” I tell her. “But this was fun. We should do it again some time.”
She bites her lip, hiding a smile as she helps me to my feet and back to the dorms. I make her tell me the plot of her sexy book the whole way there.
Chapter Three
Now
It was simultaneously the worst and best night of my life.
The best because from then on Lara Stevens became a part of it, slipping into my world despite all the odds. The worst because despite some heavy flirting on my part in the following weeks she never tried to kiss me again. Not even when she had ample opportunity to. And then a month later, she got her first in a series of thoroughly unremarkable boyfriends and that was that.
We remained friends, something which greatly confused everyone who knew us. I suppose we were pretty different. Lara was quiet. Smart and strong. I like to think of myself as both of those things, too, but I didn’t get to where I am in life by playing the wallflower. I got there by smiling and joking and bringing in muffins on Tuesdays. No one expects a muffin on a Tuesday.
We both graduated. We both moved to London. She continued her medical training. I got a job getting coffee for some rich guy’s son who sculpted versions of himself out of beeswax and tennis balls. I think he works in banking now.
We moved from being teenagers to young adults to whatever the hell we are now. People with actual responsibilities. With lines on their forehead and opinions on dish soap.
The thing is, I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with her for ten years. Since the moment I saw her. Or, at the very least, since she kneed me in the groin. I just don’t think I realized it. Not at first.
I thought that love was supposed to be this desperate, painful thing. It was supposed to ruin your life. Make you chase a plane down a runway. Take poison in a crypt.
I never felt that way around Lara. I just knew that Iwantedto be around her. And if she didn’t want me like that, then I’d take her any way I could. A friend. A confidant.
And right now, from the look on her face, a pain in her backside.
I sit up as she appears behind the little window at the top of the cell door. A second later, it swings open, and she steps into the room.
“Am I going to jail?”
“No,” she whispers, with a disapproving look. “I told them you were housesitting. That I was tired and got my datesmixed upwhen my next-door neighbor called me and asked if I had guests staying.”
I sigh, relieved. “You always were an excellent liar. You should—”
Lara claps a hand over my mouth, shutting me up as she glances over her shoulder.
Right. Police.
