Page 25 of Wrong For Me

“It’s still edible,” I say defensively, poking at an admittedly rubbery egg.

“Yeah, but usually you’d be swearing your head off over something like that.” He gives me his best piercing gaze. “In fact, by my count, you’ve only cursed twice this morning.”

I gape at him. “You’re counting my curse words now? Dude, that’s weird. Even for you.”

“No,” he insists. “What’s weird is this whole vibe you have going. You keep smiling when you think I’m not looking, you didn’t get pissed when you burned your breakfast, you’re hardly swearing when every other word out of your mouth is usually an f-bomb, and I don’t think I’ve seen you scowl even once. This is not the surly asshole I know and love.” He points his spoon at me, milk dripping onto our rickety table. “Face it, dude—you have it bad.”

I sigh, pushing my plate away. Even with the cheese, the burned eggs taste like crap. I consider arguing with him, but I know there’s no point. Bodhi is a persistent little fucker—our friendship is proof of that. It certainly wasn’t my charming personality that kept him hanging around. No, Bodhi, for some reason, decided we were going to be friends the day we met in the dorms freshman year, and that was that. Once he had his mind made up, there was nothing I could do to dissuade him.

Oh, I tried. I’d been keeping to myself for most of my life, and I’d managed just fine. The last thing I needed was abuddy. But apparently that wasn’t up to me. Bodhi decided we were friends, and so, we were. End of story.

I’ve never quite figured out why, though. Like he’s constantly telling me, I’m not exactly the most pleasant person to be around. I’m a surly, anti-social asshole, if we’re being honest, and everyone knows it. But for whatever reason, Bodhi sticks with me. And I grudgingly have to admit that I’m glad about it. If a guy has to have an overly curious, marshmallow loving, showtune-singing-in-the-shower best friend, he could do a lot worse than Bodhi.

“You like this girl,” he says firmly.

“I do,” I admit, knowing it’s pointless to argue with my way-too-perceptive friend. He can read exactly how off-kilter I am right now, and there’s no way he’s going to drop it.

“She’s pretty hot,” he agrees and I’m shaking my head before he’s even finished the sentence.

“It’s not that. I mean—she is.” Fuck, is Rose hot. “But there’s something else about her.”

“Really?” he asks in an obnoxious, sing-songy voice. “Tell me more.”

I scowl at him and he laughs. “There he is.” He forces his features into a neutral expression. “Sorry, I’ll be good. Tell me about your dream girl.”

I roll my eyes. “She’s just easy to talk to, that’s all.”

“Mmm,” he murmurs, studying me.

“What?” I demand, annoyed by his tone. “What the hell doesmmmmean?”

He shrugs. “That’s a pretty high compliment from you. You’re not exactly chatty, dude.”

I snort out a laugh. “Understatement.”

He grins. “I was trying to be polite.” Then his eyes get that annoying piercing look to them again. “Are you going to see her again?”

God, I fucking hope so.

I try to play it cool and shrug. “She gave me her number, so I guess we’ll see.”

He’s grinning in an obnoxious sort of way. “Mmm.”

I reach over to smack the back of his head. “Will you stop with thatmmmshit?”

He rubs his head, chuckling. “I’ll just say this—I’m happy for you, man.”

“You’re happy I got laid?”

His expression turns entirely serious, eyes holding mine in a way that makes me want to squirm. “I’m happy you seemed to have a connection with someone,” he says in a soft, meaningful voice, and the urge to squirm intensifies. Hell, I’m practically crawling out of my skin right now, hating the seriousness of his tone, the way he’s looking at me like he knows exactly how rare it is for me to connect with anyone.

Thankfully, Bodhi recognizes how close the conversation is getting to all the things I don’t ever want to talk about, and he breaks the tension, a teasing grin crossing his face. “I’ll drop it before you self-implode with awkwardness,” he says, smirking. Before I can blow out a relieved breath, he holds up a finger. “On one condition.”

I raise an eyebrow, sure I won’t like his condition. “What’s that?”

“I want one detail about her.”

“A detail?”