Page 76 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
Talk to him, Annie. Ask about that night. . .
But before I can grab on to the half second of courage, I realize that we’re no longer alone.
“Katelyn!” he says, turning toward the newcomer. “What are you doing here?”
The cute little brunette standing in the doorway blushes. “I, um, brought you a sandwich?”
It’d be tough to say who looks more stupefied by the paper bag she’s holding out, me or Garrett. But he recovers faster. “Thanks!”
The poor girl still looks embarrassed. “Sorry if I overstepped. That text you sent before your shift said you didn’t have time to eat before your boring-ass job . . .”
I snap my head around to glare at him. Boring-ass job? It hadn’t felt boring fifteen minutes earlier when he’d held the stapler above my head until I told him my middle name (Elinor. Remember, my mom and Sense and Sensibility). It hadn’t felt boring when his body had pressed against mine, just for a flash of a second.
“Nah, this is great. Thanks,” he says to Katelyn, grabbing the bag and his coat at the same time.
She looks at me a little uncertainly, because Garrett the heathen didn’t bother to introduce us, and I give an awkward wave. “Annie. Partner in the boring-ass job.”
“Ah. Well, nice to meet you, Annie,” Katelyn says before flicking her thick dark hair over her tiny shoulder. How did she even get in here? Admittedly the president of Fordham didn’t have Secret Service, but since when had any peppy little coed been able to just wander in . . .
Oh God.
God. Am I jealous?
I’m not. I quickly stuff my water bottle and notebook into my bag and throw the strap over my shoulder. I glance up just in time to see Garrett looking at me, but he glances away the second our gazes meet, and he lets Katelyn hook her arm in his.
Then he walks away.
I stand perfectly still for several seconds before I remember that Garrett is not my almost-boyfriend. Zach is. Zach, who’s . . .
Damn it. Why can’t I think of at least one good Zach-quality right now? Anything.
I’m saved from myself by my cell phone, only it’s a whole other kind of hell on the other end. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, sweetie! I just thought I’d call to catch up since we missed you on Sunday. Sorry about that, but we’ve offered to help fill in at the youth group at church on Sunday since the Morrises just had their baby . . .”
“Uh-huh . . . uh-huh . . .”
I let my mom ramble on for a while as I exit the administration building and settle on a bench. It’s still cold as crap, but sunny, and the biting fresh air feels good on my hot cheeks.
Garrett and Katelyn. Are they together? And since when?
“And did I tell you what I heard about Julia Morbacher . . . ?” my mother says in her I-shouldn’t-be-gossiping-but-I’m-doing-it-anyway voice.
“Nope.” I hope my voice inflects that I don’t care about Julia Morbacher, who is the daughter of one of my dad’s coworkers and someone I’d met all of three times.
“Her parents found out that she’d filled up their vodka bottle with water . . .”
Le scandal!
“And of course, she didn’t think it through, and since water freezes and alcohol doesn’t . . .”
I close my eyes and let my mom finish her gossipy story, which ends with the usual refrain: “I know I’ve told you this a thousand times, but I’ll tell you again: Your father and I feel so fortunate that you’ve never so much as ruffled a single feather—well, other than when you sprang a coed college on us—but you’ve never so much as caused us a worry, or stepped a toe out of line. And we’re so glad that you’re good and kind and smart, but we were just laughing last night that you have the best quality of all . . . predictable, and . . .”
My eyes fly open.
Predictable.
Predictable.
