Page 53 of Wrong For Me

Rose clenches her teeth, like she’s trying hard not to snap something rude. “First of all,” she says in a measured tone. “Austen did write about romance, but that was hardly the point. Those books are brilliantly satirical. A biting critique of societal norms and gender roles.”

I let out a groan. “Oh, my God, youarea nerd.”

“No, I just took at least one entry level English lit class and actually paid attention.”

I don’t want to admit that this back and forth with her is the most fun I’ve had in God knows how long. The fellowship application is calling to me, but I’m definitely not willing to drop this yet.

“Okay, so not Austen. And not James Joyce, apparently.” I look her up and down. “Kerouac?”

“You think I read Jack Kerouac novels? For fun?”

I shrug. “He was a beatnik hippie, you’re basically a hippie.”

She bursts into a peal of tinkling laughter that sounds so beautiful my chest actually hurts a little. Shit, what am I doing, letting myself get all starry eyed over her?

“I’m not a hippie,” she laughs. “My fashion sense might be a little bohemian, but that’s as far as it goes.”

I throw up my hands. “I give up. What does the nerdy, bohemian, not-quite-a-hippy Rose Ransome read?”

“Fantasy,” she says proudly. “A little sci-fi. But mostly fantasy.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Fantasy? Like…fairies and dragons and shit? Why in the hell would you want to read that?”

Rose gapes at me, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m serious. “You don’t read any fantasy? Philip Pullman? Brandon Sanderson?Tolkien?”

I point at her. “Those sound like kids’ books to me.”

Her jaw drops. “You did not even just say that.”

“I did. And I’ll say it again. Those sound like kids—”

“And what about you, Mr. James Joyce on your desk? Please tell me you actually read for fun on occasion.”

I shrug. “Joyce is fun.”

“Fun? You thinkUlyssesis a fun read? It’s like, a thousand pages long!”

“It’s a classic for a reason,” I point out. “Besides, who says we can’t learn things and broaden our minds during leisure reading?”

“You’re insane.” She eyes me up and down. “You know what, this actually explains so much about you.”

“Yeah? Like what?” I shouldn’t be smiling this big. I should be annoyed that she’s here, that she’s taking up space in my office and distracting me when I’m supposed to be getting a head start on this application. But no matter how loudly I try to tell myself that, I can’t seem to put an end to the conversation.

“This whole thing you have going on.” She waves a hand around as if to encompass my whole being. “The cranky, stick-up-his-ass curmudgeon—“

“I don’t have a stick up my ass,” I interject.

“Sure you don’t,” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “But at least I get it now. You don’t ever read just for the pure, unadulterated fun of it. Even your leisure time is spent trying tobroaden your mind.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not.” She shakes her head sadly. “But we all need to unwind sometimes, Leo. No wonder you’re a grouch face.”

“A grouch face? Are we seven?”

She smirks. “If the shoe fits.”

I wave at her desk. “Sorry, I thought you said listening to music would make it easier for you to work. Yet here you are, still distracting me.”