Page 75 of Wrong For Me

“It’s fine,” she says, glancing over at me. Our eyes meet in the dim light and suddenly it’s difficult to swallow.

“Don’t tell me,” she says, and I get the feeling she’s forcing her voice to stay light. “You’re reading Melville or George Elliot or something equally as insufferable.”

I shake my head, giving her my gravest expression. “Such a shame. You seem like a smart girl, and then you talk about books and the illusion is shattered.”

She snorts and I find I can’t wipe the smile off my face. Teasing her feelswaytoo good.

But now I’m left with a dilemma. The truth is, I never read heavy stuff before bed. I need something a bit more comforting before I sleep. But if I pull out the book I had planned to read, Rose is going to lose it.

She notices my lack of movement. “So are you reading, or…”

“Uh, maybe not, actually,” I say, then give a stretch, trying to sell it. “I’m pretty tired.

Rose sees right through my bullshit. “You’re lying,” she says, pulling herself up onto her elbow to study me. “Why don’t you want to get your book out?”

“I…it’s not that.” Fuck, I’m stammering. I never stammer.

Her eyebrows go high on her forehead. “Then why don’t you get it?”

“I said I don’t want to read. Drop it.”

“You’re hiding something.” A grin breaks across her face and it’s almost worth the hard time she’s giving me to see her smile like that. “What kind of book is it, Leo? Is it…” she lowers her voice. “Erotica?”

I snort out a laugh. “No, Rose, I didn’t bring erotica to read at the psych conference.”

“Then what is it?”

I can tell she’s not going to drop this, so I groan and roll over to pull the book from my backpack. “It’s a graphic novel,” I say. “You happy now?”

Rose looks like Christmas came early. “A graphic novel, huh? You mean like a comic book?”

“It’s not a comic book,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster. “A graphic novel is a totally different medium.”

She cracks up. “You can dress it up in all the ten-dollar words you want, Leo, doesn’t change the fact that you’re reading a book with pictures.” She gives me a devilish grin. “Some might say that sounds like akid’sbook. That’s what you called it, right? When I mentioned the fantasy novels I like?”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I ask drily.

“Somuch,” she says happily. “God, you were so pretentious that day—“

“I’m not pretentious!” I cut in, aghast. I lived in a car as a kid, for fuck’s sake. I eat Raman noodles or cereal for just about every meal.

“You know you can broaden your mind during leisure reading, Rose,” she says, in such a ridiculous imitation of my voice I have to laugh, distracted from the argument I was forming in my head to counteract her accusation of pretension. “Jesus, you tried to tell meUlysseswasfun.”

“I stand by that,” I insist. “But graphic novels are fun, too.”

She pulls herself into a sitting position against the headboard, causing the blanket to fall down to her waist. I swallow at the sight of her little tank top. It’s tight and she’s obviously not wearing a bra, and all of a sudden it feels way too warm in this room.

Then I realize Rose is holding her hand out to me, palm up. “Let me see it.”

“See what?’ I ask stupidly, mind still on the amazing rack I know she has barely hidden by that tank top. I spent quite a bit of time admiring that part of her body the night we—

“The graphic novel, Leo,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I want to see it.”

“I’m not showing you my graphic novel,” I say immediately.

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll be mean about it!”