Page 11 of Not So Happily Ever After (British Bad Boys)
“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. You got into one of the top universities in the world. You’re allowed to have a non-genius day sometimes.”
I push worries of myjust averagegrades to the back of my mind and give a little huff of laughter because he’s being kind of adorable.
In a totally platonic, my brother’s best friend kind of way.
“Genius is pushing it. That’s Harry’s specialty.”
“You’re still enjoying the course, though, right?”
Shock streaks through me. No one’s ever asked me that before. It’s always assumed I love what I’m doing, and I’ve never contradicted that view. Why would I? Gaining my medical degree has been my fate since I was nine-years-old.
But for Will to ask. It blows my mind. Either he’s become scarily empathic over the last couple of years, or my “everything’s fine” mask slipped.
It must be my mask. Keeping up this masquerade is exhausting. And I’ve another four years of it.
You’ve a lifetime of it.I smother the flare of panic and give him a careless shrug.Mask on.“Sure. It’s my raison d’etre, remember?”
It’s the last promise I made to my mum.
Chapter Four
Mackenzie
What’s Will doing here?
I stop dead on the driveway and stare at his car. Did he come ’round to see me? Why didn’t he phone?How long has he been here?
It’s midafternoon on Sunday, and I’ve spent most of the day out with a group of girls I went to school with, catching up on gossip over brunch. Brooklyn couldn’t make it, but I’m meeting her later.Why didn’t I take Dad’s car today?The wind on the walk back from the bus stop has left my hair in a tangled mess.
My stomach free falls, even though I know I’m being completely illogical and dramatic. It doesn’t matter how I look. We’re just friends, nothing more. I repeat that mantra a couple of times as I unlock the front door and step inside. The house is quiet, and there’s no sign of Will or Dad in the sitting room, where everyone tends to hang out.Weird.
There’s no one in the kitchen, but the back door’s open. And standing in the middle of the garden, next to the lawn mower, are Dad and Will.
Is he actually cutting the grass?
That doesn’t make sense. Why would he be doing that? Right now, he’s drinking a bottle of water, his head tipped back, and it’s like his throat is a magnet because I can’t tear my fascinated gaze away.
Almost as though he knows I’m standing here, he lowers the bottle, slowly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and gives me his sexy smile.Crap. It’s like I’ve been caught doing something disgusting, even though I’m totallynotperving on him at all. Just because he’s wearing a pair of faded jeans that hug his muscled thighs in a way too distracting manner doesn’t mean I was checking him out.
Keep telling yourself that.
Dad turns, sees me, and raises his hand in greeting. There’s no escape now, and I take a deep breath and saunter across the garden toward them.
Stop hyperventilating.My hands are clammy, and I have the suicidal urge to grin at Will. The closer I get, the harder it is to keep my eyes off the white T-shirt that stretches across his chest like an illicit caress.
An unwanted flashback streaks across my mind, of how I once worshipped his breathtaking pecs in all their naked glory.
Stop right there.Nowayam I going to think about the night almost two years ago, when we took advantage of that hanging sprig of mistletoe. Especially when we’ve only just managed to put the past behind us.
Dad kisses me, and after he’s asked me how my day was, he turns back to Will. “I’ll get some of that Danish oil you suggested,” he says.
Huh?
“A couple of coats will do it before we pack them away for winter.” Will nods at our wooden garden furniture on the patio. “If you want, I can pop round in a couple of weeks and sort it out.”
I can’t stop myself. “What’re youdoing?”
He shrugs and avoids my eyes. “Nothing.”
