Page 46 of Heartland
“Do you want to get a hot chocolate after this? It might cheer you up.”
I’d almost said no. I couldn’t afford to buy overpriced hot chocolate at the coffee shop. But talking to Ellie was the best distraction I’d had all week. “I want to. But I’m supposed to meet my algebra tutor later.”
“Which one?” she’d asked, brightening up. “I tutor math in the lab on Saturdays and Sundays.”
“Really?” I knew there was a tutoring lab, but I’d never been there. Because I have Dylan. “How much do you cost?”
“Well.” She’d crossed her arms. “It’s one problem set? In which course?”
“Math 101.”
“Well, shoot. That will cost you a hot chocolate.”
I’d taken her up on it immediately. And then—because I avoid confrontation at all costs—I’d called the house on Spruce Street, knowing Dylan wouldn’t be there. It had worked like a charm. Rickie had said, “No problem, hon. I’ll text him.”
So here I sit in the lap of velvet sofa luxury with my new friend Ellie. I’m seven dollars poorer than I was before, but both the peppermint tea I bought for myself (the cheapest thing on the menu) and the company have cheered me up.
“So why were you having a bad day, anyway?” Ellie asks. “Man trouble?”
“Not exactly. It’s more like a lack of man trouble. I kissed my hot algebra tutor. And I wasn’t supposed to.”
Her big eyes widen. “Which hot algebra tutor? You never said.”
“He doesn’t work at the lab,” I say hastily. “He’s a friend. And he wants to stay that way.”
“Oh.” She looks deflated. “That is a bummer.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.” She makes a face. “It would be nice, though. This year is kind of lonely. My roommate is a total bitch.”
“Oh, I have one of those, too.”
“Yeah?” Ellie’s eyes brighten. “Does yours steal your clothes and then lie about it?”
“Um, no. She wouldn’t want any of my things. We have singles, anyway. Just a common bathroom.”
“Lucky! She must be easier to stand, then.”
“You’d think.” I take a gulp of mint tea.
“My roommate took my brand-new scarf. With the tags still on! And when I called her out on it, she tried to gaslight me.”
“Gaslight?” I feel my cheeks flush like they sometimes do when I don’t understand the idioms that people use.
“You don’t knowGaslight? It’s a movie from the forties.”
“Ingrid Bergman,” says Dylan’s voice. “We haven’t got around to the classics yet.”
I startle, sloshing my tea over my hand. And when I look up, Dylan isrightthere. Clear brown eyes. Tousled hair. Tight, muscular body that’s clothed in a nice sweater and ripped jeans. A handsome face that I finally kissed.
Pain slices through me. Because I’m never going to get over him. There will never be a day when I look at Dylan and don’t wish for more.
“Can I talk to you for a quick second?” he asks, taking the mug and grabbing a napkin off the table. He wipes the tea off my hand.
“Now is not a good time,” I say quickly. Because I don’t want to cry in the coffee shop in front of my only new friend.
Dylan actually rolls his eyes. “Fifteen seconds, Chass. Give a man a break.”
