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“I’ll go get them now,” he said.
“What if they’re broken?”
“I’ll fix them with masking tape, and you can pretend I’m Harry Potter.”
“You’re too tall.”
His mouth hitches up. “Can’t do anything about that one, I’m afraid.”
Then he kissed me on the forehead, soft and sweet, and left the room as if he hadn’t just upended my world.
I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t make the same mistakes I’d made before—moving too fast, living together too soon—but after seeing Byron and Danny side by side, I have to admit that they’re nothing alike. The only similarity was the color of their hair, and now that Byron’s gone patchy platinum blond, that one similarity has also been obliterated, thank God.
The truth is, Danny’s different from anyone I’ve ever known, and if I refuse to fully explore our connection, something tells me I’m going to regret it. Like two years from now when Delia is showing me his wedding photos to Daphne.
Yes, my mind is an untidy place.
But it seems important for Danny to see Daphne first—for him to come to me after he closes that door. I spent a few sleepless hours last night asking myself why, especially since my body is burning for him, and I reached this conclusion—
I’m fucking intimidated by her.
I don’t like being intimidated by another woman. Ilovewomen. Not as much as Azalea, but only because I have an unfortunate addiction to dick.
The thing is…
Daphne is brilliant. I wasn’t ever any good at school. I did get an associate degree in business management—but it’s not worth the paper it’s printed on compared with her PhD fromStanford.
The solution is probably for me to stop Googling her, but I’ve already done the damage, and I know that Daphne is smarter than me.
There, I said it. She’s smarter than me, and Danny is obviously a man who appreciates intelligence. So, I can’t help but worry that he’ll take one look at her, and the last eight years will melt away. She’ll realize the truth—that she was crazy for thinking he’s anything approaching boring. And, hell, his new glasses and shirts will probably cinch the deal, because I’m the idiot who’s gift-wrapped the man I’m interested in before sending him off to another, more suitable woman.
Admittedly, they’ll be meeting in the bar, surrounded by people, but in my head, it’s just the two of them eye-fucking each other across the table before they for-real-fuck on the surface.
So…yeah…what’s going on is that I’m jealous.
It’s not a usual emotion for me, and I am one hundred percent sure I don’t like it.
Sighing, I check my phone, and then sigh harder when I see a text from Byron, who apparently condescended to unblock me.
I’m not playing around, Mira. I know I fucked up this time.
There’s a photo of him with the fried platinum hair, and I immediately save it as his contact photo on my phone before texting him back.
So tell Josie you changed your mind. I might not believe in hexes, but I’d prefer not to have a hypothetical hex on me.
I DID tell her. She said we both need to be present to lift it. Her first availability is on Wednesday afternoon.
I think back to the storefront with the crayon drawings on the sign. No fucking way is her first availability on Wednesday, unless she’s spending the weekend at another dance festival. In fact, this whole thing stinks like the sardines my Sicilian grandfather used to eat.
Is this some messed up attempt to get me in the same room as you?
Not everything’s about you, Mira.
I’d like to think the curse you put on me is.
Love is the curse.
Wait. That’s fuckin sick. I can write a song about this.
