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I bend lower, dramatically feeling around by the bumper of the car I’m closest to. Which is, of course, is next tohis.
“Need help?”
He sounds so genuine, and the guy even starts toward me, looking ready to help. I hate him. Deeply. Because from everything I’ve seen tonight, he seems like a great guy. The kind who would be perfect for Chelsea.
I should wish her well. Ishould. But I can’t.
I want her to be happy … but I selfishly want her to be happy withme.
I yank the keys out of my pocket, feigning surprise. “Huh! They were in my pocket the whole time.”
“Right. Okay, then. Have a good night,” my nemesis says.
I practically sprint back to my car. But even as quickly as I drive back, Chelsea’s door is closed and her light is off when I walk inside the apartment. For a moment, I hover outside the door, wondering if I could or should knock. Then I remember that Chelsea has her camping trip tomorrow and has to be up early.
So I head to my room—John’sroom—where I’ll try to sleep while not dreaming about my best friend’s sister.
CHAPTER4
Chelsea
Please don’t be home,I think as I punch in the keypad two mornings later. I push the door open.Please don’t be home. Please don’t be—
“Why do you smell like skunk?”
I sigh. Mason is home. And he can smell me from all the way across the room, where he’s seated at the kitchen island, concern etched on his features.
It is absolutely not fair. Here I am—unshowered and filthy after my overnight camping trip. There is dirt underneath my fingernails. Probably a whole microscopic ecosystem living in there—I canfeelit. I have twigs in my hair. And let’s not talk about the fact that I’m pretty sure when I ducked behind a bush to pee, Imightnot have had great aim.
Even without the skunk smell, this isnotme at my best.
But add in eau de skunk and I’m like something out of a horror movie.
Thanks, Mary, for suggesting I go on this super fun guided camping trip to hike and climb Enchanted Rock! Best idea ever!
While I bear the stains and smells of a camping trip gone really,reallyawry, Mason looks like a supermodel. The cool winter sun pours through the big windows behind him, lighting his olive skin and creating highlights in his dark brown hair. I bet even awful, flickering, fluorescent lights would highlight those cheekbones, that strong jaw.
Meanwhile all this morning light just highlights my mess.
I briefly consider just collapsing in the entryway of the loft because WHY GO ON WITH MY LIFE? But I’ve always seen the sunny side of things, so I press on.
Optimism for the win!
“You can smell me from all the way over there?”
Mason nods, his expression shifting slightly to something more like sympathy. My optimism shrivels a bit, but I guess that’s better than disgust. But both are bad and definitely NOT how I’d like Mason to look at me.
If I had my preference, Mason would be looking at me with a heated gaze, like he’s barely restraining himself from crossing the room and kissing my face off.
In a romantic and nonviolent way, of course.
Also? In this fantasy, I don’t stink like I got sprayed with secondhand skunk, which is exactly what happened on the camping trip from hell.
But Mason has never looked at me that way, which, according to Dr. Love—Sam—is a bad sign. Not once have I caught a longing gaze cast my way. No matter how many pennies I’ve thrown into fountains and birthday candles I’ve blown out, making wishes.
So it’s no wonder that right now, when I look and smell likethis—Mason is not going to start looking at me longingly.
“It’s pretty potent,” he says.
