Page 104 of The Fake Out

“She’s not so scary once you get past all the talk. She’s kind of… cuddly underneath.” It would take someone special to burrow through under all Iris’s bluster to get to that soft part of her. But she was worth it.

It was her way of protecting her heart. I did the same thing, but my methods were different. I almost felt sorry for the guy who figured out how to get past all my defenses. I’d had a lot more years to build up my layers. My heart probably had fifty-seven padlocks, maybe a booby trap—at least one involving dynamite, chain mail, and a really angry guard dog that showed up after I broke up with Peter.

What guy wanted to make all that effort?

My phone buzzed in my back pocket—a text from Chris. I fought the smile that usually came when I discovered he’d texted me. After staring at his name for a beat, I put the phone away to read later.

I gave Aidan an encouraging smile. “I think you should ask her. What’s the worst that could happen?”

He held the door open for me. “Are you kidding? She could eviscerate my heart, laugh in my face, chop me up into small pieces and mail me back to my parents.”

“Or she could say yes.” I locked the door behind us.

“Yeah, that might be the scariest thing of all.”

My phone buzzed yet again. I knew without looking it was Chris. A strange, warm feeling curled in my stomach; it wasn’t bad or good, just persistent like it was trying to tell me something. Like maybe I’d already met someone who’d managed to slice through all my armor. Maybe he was closer than anyone had ever been to capturing my heart.

I blew out a shaky breath and patted Aidan on the back. “I know exactly what you mean.”

FORTY-SIX

Giiirrrlll, you be breaking Old Testament laws!

Look at you workin’ it on the Sabbath.

—PEARCIA B.

Next day, I left two more angry messages for my father. He didn’t return either of them. Which made me angrier.

In fact, the whole day ended up being a craptastic crapfest of epic proportions. First, my favorite t-shirt, the one that read FEAR THE LIBRARIAN, had a giant hole in it. Second, Iris used up all the hot water before I could get a shower in. Third, my mother spent twenty-five minutes going over wedding ideas. Fourth, Kevin got something stuck in his craw and decided to shred one of my curtains for fun. Fifth, I hadn’t slept all night.

What I did do was lay awake, wondering what the hell was happening to me. Mostly, I thought about Chris. I thought about how he could get under my skin in less than three seconds. How he still managed to take care of me even when I tried to keep my distance. How I pushed and pushed but he remained unflappable, solid as a rock. How he had become my friend.

I thought about that stupid kiss many, many times. Friends didn’t kiss friends like that. They didn’t. I could say otherwise but I knew it hadn’t felt that way.

What was I supposed to do with all of these feelings? I didn’t have time for feelings. Feelings led to irrational things. And the worst part about these feelings? The questions. Was Chris feeling feelings too? Where the feelings mutual? What if they weren’t? What if they were?

And threaded through all that was fear. Honest-to-goodness fear at even the thought of opening my heart to someone, of giving anyone the ability to hurt me again.

I missed my Before Chris life. It was rough but uncomplicated. I worked and worked some more and survived and that was enough.

At some point, I drifted off to sleep for a couple of hours, but even after I got up and dragged myself to work, the thoughts didn’t stop. That afternoon, Chris texted and then called and then texted again. I couldn’t bring myself to reply or answer.

In short, I was a coward.

By the time Peter Stone moseyed on into the library fifteen minutes before closing, I was not in the mood for his pettiness.

“What do you want?” I asked. See? Not in the mood.

Peter leaned an elbow on the circulation desk and gave me a cat-in-cream smile. “I thought you’d be a whole lot happier, seeing as how you found a way to get what you wanted.”

“Look,” I said, my voice hard, “I’m tired, I’m irritated, and yours is the last face I want to see. So tell me what you want. Did you come on a quest to start banning books? Are you hoping for a good old-fashioned book burning and barbecue?”

Peter (wisely) took a step back, hands raised. “I didn’t mean anything except I thought you’d be happy. Wanted to let you know the check came and it’s already deposited.”

I rubbed my forehead. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What check?”

His eyes widened in surprise. “The donation from Chris Sterns to the library. Surely you knew about it.”