Page 26 of The Crafting Con

Oh God, there’s a huge coffee stain on my giant shirt.

What am I even wearing?

“I knew it,” Stasia hisses. She does a quick scan of the kitchen, as if to ensure we’re still alone, then proceeds to once again jab me in the chest. “You have a thing for Declan.”

“What? No.” The audacity of this girl, thinking I’m harboring a secret crush on my childhood friend. “Declan and I are tentative friends, at best. Not even.”

“A tentative friend you’ve got the hots for,” Stasia insists, propping her hands on her hips.

“What hots? There are no hots here, I promise you.”

“If you haven’t got the hots, then why’d you just take your gross sweatshirt off?”

“What are you—” I look down at the shirt in my hands, the bright blue racerback I’d been wearing underneath now on full display. When did that happen? Burying my face in the wadded-up fabric, I let out a muffled groan. “I’m losing my mind.”

“And that,” Stasia says, pulling the sweatshirt away from my face and gently tugging the elastic free from my hair, “is the first honest thing you’ve said all night.”

I bite my lip, staring silently at my overly observant friend. She pulls a tube of lip gloss from a hidden pocket in her skirt and holds it out to me with a knowing smile. I hesitate for all of a moment before accepting it with a resigned sigh and swiping it over my lips.

Strawberry. Nice.

Stasia tilts her head, waiting.

My shoulders slump. “I’m going to prom with Tyler.”

She nods. “I’m aware.”

“And I’m helping Declan with his OA Con workshop.”

“Again, nothing I don’t already know.”

“And…”

“Yeah?”

My hand tightens around the pink-capped tube. “Like I said, it’s complicated.”

“So we’ve established.” When I don’t answer, Stasia nudges my foot with the toe of her boot. “Just tell me one thing.” She waits for me to look up and meet her eyes before asking, “Do you like Tyler?”

“Everyone likes Tyler.”

“Not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Fine,” I grumble. “No. I don’t like Tyler. Not the way you’re implying.”

“Excellent. Now tell me, how do you feel about Declan?”

I look away with a shrug. “I don’t know, he’s… Declan.” My oldest friend. My biggest regret. “It’s not like that with us.”

Stasia’s lips press together, and the look she gives me is clearly unconvinced. “It’s not like that now, maybe”—she plucks the lip gloss from my fingers and wiggles it in front of my face—“but time has a way of bringing these things to the surface. Now, I’m going to go fire up the speakers and make sure Ben hasn’t been messing with my playlist. Feel free to pop upstairs and help yourself to my closet, should you wish to change. Or not. Up to you.” She places my sweatshirt on the counter with a wink and sashays out of the room.

“Such a drama queen,” I mutter, snatching up the discarded shirt. Fully intending to put it right back on. Only my cell vibrates against my leg before I can, and I pause to pull it free of the stretchy side pocket. My heart flutters when I see a new text from Declan.

Declan: Why did the Viking buy a secondhand boat?

My mouth curves into a grin.

Me: I don’t know, why?