Page 48 of Left on Read

Then he does leave, and it’s just me and Hayes. I assume so, anyway. The house is eerily quiet and shockingly bright. I didn’t think it was possible to have too many windows, but it looks likeHayes is standing in a spotlight in the center of the room. Sunlight glares off of his glasses.

The silence goes from eerie to awkward. I feel it closing in on me, making this bright open space tight and uncomfortable. He keeps sipping his coffee, even though it’s still hot enough to steam up his lenses.

I speak, just to fill the air with something other than sun-dappled dust bunnies. “Your parents at work?” That was the wrong thing to ask, and I knew it as soon as I started speaking. He visibly wilts, looking down at the floor and not at me.

“Yeah. Dad’s on call, and Mom’s working on a grant application or something. I don’t know.”

There’s another aching silence, and my mind races to fill it with something that won’t make him look so wounded.

“Piper asked me if she’s making a mistake with Luke.” I change the subject. “She was lying on the floor right after she puked, so I thought she was asking if drinking with Luke was a mistake. I didn’t say anything, becauseobviously.But I think she meant something else.”

Hayes moves across the open-plan space to a couch that looks more aesthetic than comfortable. He sets his coffee on the side table and flops down inelegantly. I sit beside him, and I can confirm that the furniture in here is made for fashion more than function.

“Doyouthink she’s making a mistake?” He looks at me with that hair and those glasses, and I kind of melt.

“I don’t know,” I admit, drawing my knees up to my chest. Only then do I realize I shouldn’t put my shoes on their fancy couch. I kick off my old Birkenstock clogs, but my white socks still look dingy compared to the pristine cream leather. “Bryce hurt her beyond belief. And she hasn’t been broken up with him for that long.”

“I know.” Hayes starts playing with the bow on the ankle of my sock. “But Luke’s had a thing for her since they met.”

“What?”I shift, slamming my feet back down on the floor. “You mean, like, almost fouryearsago?”

He nods. Picks up his mug and sips coffee like this is all no big deal. The more I think about it, though, the more I realize we’re talking about something other than Piper and Luke.

My feet start to move of their own volition: I rise and begin pacing around the room. There’s a huge fireplace in between the windows, and the mantle is decorated in a way that’s … uh … minimalist. I don’t see any photos or paintings anywhere. On the walls, there are just degrees and copies of publications and articles.

“How do you like someone that long without doing anything about it?” I ask. I look back at Hayes. He’s kicked his bare feet up on the coffee table and crossed his ankles. I don’t really like this house. I get the sense that he doesn’t either.

“Happens all the time, Novella.” He quirks an eyebrow, and my stomach drops.

Oh. That doesn’t mean what I think it means, right?

I stand in silence, my laps of the room having stopped right in front of him. There’s just a coffee table between us.

“I guess that’s what she’s worried about. That it’s too soon.” My voice is barely a whisper, the atmosphere suddenly charged with something I can’t name. The veil of this metaphor gets thinner and thinner with every word. “Or that he’ll be bad for her, too. I mean, her judgment in the past has not been stellar.”

“Is it? Too soon, I mean.” That one eyebrow raises, and he sets his feet on the ground. Leans forward. Without that casual posture, he’s all too serious. “And is he really that awful?”

“I don’t think so. On either count.” This time, my words come out with force. I move around the coffee table and stand in front of him, and my hand drifts to his cheek, then under his chin to tilt his head up until he’s looking at me. “But you’re not Luke, and I’m not Piper. And you haven’t liked me for forever.”

“Actually … I think I have.” He slants that eyebrow again, and then wraps an arm around my waist. He pulls me down onto the couch until I’m draped over him in a way that’snotliving-room appropriate.

I don’t mind.

“What?” I lean back, because I can’t look at him when my head’s resting against his chest. “No, you haven’t. You wouldn’t have been such an asshole if you liked me.”

He chuckles, and I feel the sound rumble through my own ribs.

“Maybe I was just an asshole in general. I think I was trying to get your attention … in the worst way possible.”

“Lies.” I lay my head back down where his neck meets his shoulder. “You’re too smart to be the kid on the playground pulling a little girl’s ponytail because he likes her.”

He laughs again. He tugs onmyponytail, and then he loosens the hair tie that was already half falling out. His fingers run through the strands before he rests his palm at the base of my neck.

“You had to know that would never work on me?” My hands rest on his chest for a moment. Then I reach out one finger to push those glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose.

“Maybe I did.” He shrugs as best he can with all of our limbs intertwined like this. “Maybe I was a self-sabotaging little fucker.”

“Okay, well … stop sabotaging meandyou.” I snort, an ugly sound straight from my nose.