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Is he pretty? I frown as my mind flashes those dark eyes back at me, the wide mouth, the square jaw, and that strong body… “No, I don’t. I’m dating Fred, did you forget?”
“No, I just think sometimes Fred forgets it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” She clears her throat. “Nada. Not trying to be a bitch, okay? I don’t often think things through before I talk.”
“Or act,” I say, because I’m getting pissed all over again.
“Or that,” she says in a small voice. “Listen, I’ll find his number for you, okay? It won’t be easy with everyone hating my guts right now, but I’ll find it. Consider it a reconciliation gift.”
***
My cell rings sometime in the afternoon as I half-doze watching Arrow on TV, but it’s not Cassie’s number flashing on the screen.
It’s Fred’s.
Heart thumping hard, I hit connect. “Yeah?”
“Hi, Madeline.” No idea why he insists on calling me by my full name like that. “How is it going?”
“I’m…” Not okay. Definitely not. “Fine. I’m glad you called.”
“Sorry I had to cancel yesterday. I really thought we’d get the evening free, but with the concert coming up, I guess it’s understandable that Brandon wanted to practice. He’s so nervous about this. Reminds me of my first year.”
“Yeah.” God, I shouldn’t be jealous that this Brandon took precedence over my troubles, but that’d be selfish. And it was nice of Fred to help the guy out. “How about coffee?”
“When?”
“Today. Now.” I’m smiling at the thought of seeing him. “What do you say?”
“Sure. Where?”
“There’s a new coffee shop down my street, if you don’t mind hoofing it over here. They have great espresso.”
“Espresso, huh?” He’s smiling now, too, I can hear it. He loves espresso. “Deal. Be there in an hour.”
I put down the cell, hop off the sofa and do a little dance of joy. I haven’t seen Fred in more than a week, and I’ve missed his crazy stories from the music academy and the dorms.
I flounce around the apartment, turn on some music and throw clothes out of my closet until I settle on cowboy boots and a white mini dress. I gather my hair up in a messy bun and stick two chopsticks in it.
Voilà.
A dash of mascara and lip-gloss and I’m ready. Amy Winehouse is playing on the stereo, and I swing to the slow rhythm of “Rehab” as I gather my stuff and grab my purse and a denim jacket.
As I grab an umbrella from behind the door, I think of the rain and Seth. Hopefully Cassie will manage to get me his number today. I wonder if he’ll be glad to hear from me, how he’ll sound.
And… maybe I should focus more on my meeting with Fred, instead of Seth? Gah. What’s wrong with me? I’ve been waiting for days to see Fred, and I should be overjoyed.
Which I am. Definitely.
I hurry outside, feeling unaccountably angry with myself. Thinking of Seth isn’t a bad thing, is it? I only want to check on him.
Then why do I feel guilty?
The day is cool, and I shrug on my jacket as I think about this one. Tricky. I mean, I’m not attracted to Seth, like I am to Fred.
Of course I’m not. No doubt about that. I’ve been crushing on Fred for so long it’d be ridiculous. And I don’t want Seth.
