Page 165 of Revenge Puck
His gaze drops—unhurried—down the front of my cardigan. The silk camisole beneath it. The thin gold chain with theJinitial dangling from it. The barrette clipped neatly into my hair. Pressed trousers. Sensible loafers.
He lifts a brow. “Oh, yes you are. I bet if I checked your bag right now, I’d find highlighters and colored pencils. And a weekly planner that’s all…What do they call it? Annotated?”
I slide my tote subtly under my desk with my foot.
He notices and laughs.
“How do you know what annotating is?” I ask.
“My sister owns a bookstore,” he says. “She sells all that nerdy book stuff.”
Nerdy book stuff…
“Well, what’s in my bag doesn’t prove anything,” I argue.
We stare at each other for a beat before he chuckles, enjoying himself far too much.
“There’s nothing wrong with wholesome. It’s nice.”
Nice.
“I’m not?—”
I close my mouth.
Really, it’s no use debating him; it’s clear he enjoys getting a rise out of me. It’s also clear he’s attempting to flirt and wants me to flirt back.
I don’t encourage him. Not because he’s not a great guy—he is. He’s funny and quick witted and seems like the kind of guy who surprises you with Starbucks. But I know Garrett has a bitty crush on me, and stringing him along feels cruel.
Two weeks ago, perhaps.
He shifts his weight, leaning against the partition, dangling one arm over the wall, wiggling his fingers.
“You’re like your brother—closed off. You don’t give much away,” he continues. “Half the guys around here can’t figure you out.”
Half the guys around here can’t figuremeout?
The thought of “half the guys” analyzing me makes me uneasy.
“By half the guys…” I laugh. “Do you meanyou?”
His hands go up in the air in bashful surrender. “Guilty.”
He beams at me.
It’s a beautiful, expensive smile: lots of straight, sparkling veneers.
“Um, Garrett. Can Ihelpyou with something, or were you popping in to say hello?”
“Popping in to say hello.” He reaches toward my desk and snatches up a squishy dumpling I keep on a shelf. “What are you up to?”
“Going through my emails.”
He squints at my screen. “Does that say ‘policy?’” His nose scrunches up. “That looksdeeplyun-fun.”
“Yes, it says ‘policy.’” I click my mouse like I’m very serious about this. “I’m reading the updated no fraternizing policy, actually. It came through this morning, so I figured I should, you know, read it.”
“Updated to give you the green light, I hope?” he teases.
