Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“Well, that’s an image.”
He flashes a quick grin. “The things I could tell you, kid.”
“Let’s not.”
March hums thoughtfully, but his smile lingers.
“That only leaves relationships,” I say. “You in one we don’t know about?”
“God, no.” This too is emphatic. And not exactly flattering to those in current relationships. March’s scowl returns. “That’s one road I’m sticking clear of. Jan was right there. Football takes so much out of you. What’s left for someone else? I don’t know what he was thinking getting engaged—”
A look of embarrassed horror breaks out. “Shit, Pen. I didn’t mean—”
“To imply that August and I are stupid to get involved?” I supply blandly. He isn’t saying anything I haven’t worried about myself. August warned me not to fall in love with him because of football. The problem is, it’s useless to warn someone of the danger when you’ve already fallen.
March shifts to turn more my way. His expression is a little wild as though he’s worried his words might make me do something rash. “No, Pen. It’s different with you two.”
“How so?” I’m genuinely curious. “Jan was with Laura since sophomore year. That’s far longer than August and I have been . . . involved.”
March huffs. “Laura and Jan latched on to each other because Jan was the hot ticket and Laura was hot. Every time I visited them, they seemed more interested in who they were around than being together. It’s like they were together because it was the expected thing to do.”
“August and I got together because he needed a fake fiancée.”
March makes a face. “Pen, come on.”
“It’s true! And you know it. Okay, we’re together for real now. But our relationship started on less than Jan and Laura’s.”
Sighing, March ducks his head, sending inky strands of hair over his brow. When he lifts his gaze to mine, his is troubled. “I know we all make jokes about you having a crush on me when you were younger.”
“And I laugh every time. Internally.”
“Because it’s hilarious.”
“Hilariously overstated, if we’re being honest.”
“I think we’re the only ones who realize that.”
Before I can ask him to explain that more, he grows solemn and says, “The true question people should be asking is why I never went after you.”
“Was that ever a question?”
“It should have been. Because, Pen, you’re totally hot in that subdued librarian sort of way.”
Flushing, I glance away. God, I don’t want to hear this. I have never disliked my looks. There are days I feel downright pretty. But being told that I’m “totally hot” feels like putting on an ill-fitting overcoat.
Deflection, however, comes easy. “I don’t know why people always assume librarians are subdued. In my experience, they’re a fairly wild bunch.”
“Sure, sure. Let’s just go with the cliché, all right?”
“Okay, but it’s a tired cliché.”
March gives my hand a tug. “Stick with me here, Penny.”
“Fine.”
“Right. Back to the sexy librarian.” He grins as I grimace. “I was attracted, Penny.”
“What?” I don’t know whether to laugh or gape. “No.”
“Yep.”
“Oh, lord, just no.”
He frowns. “You don’t have to look disgusted.”
“This is the look of utter shock.”
March laughs. “More like horror, which isn’t doing my ego any favors.”
“Your ego doesn’t need favors.”
“True.” He waves a hand. “Regardless. I would have made a play.”
At this, I do gape, trying to picture the scenario and failing. March was never meant to be anything other than a good friend to me. If he’d tried to hit on me way back when, it would have ended in disaster. Mainly because I would have accepted his offer out of sheer shock, a tinge of curiosity, and a good dose of flattered ego. And I would have been miserable because he was the wrong Luck.
“If you were any other girl,” he amends.
Wait, what?
“Any other girl?” I ask, baffled.
“If you were any other girl but August’s.”
That sets me back against the cushions. I grab a throw pillow and hold it against my overfull tummy. “I’m . . . Did we experience an alternate childhood universe? I was never August’s girl.”
March’s expression is one of quiet reproach. “Pen, you were always August’s girl. You just never realized it.”
“You’re talking crazy.”
“No, I’m not.” He says this as though it’s entirely reasonable. “You were his.”
My head spins, so I focus on the least important issue. “That makes it sound like he owned me or something.”
“That’s not what being ‘his girl’ means, and you know it.” March leans forward, resting his forearm on the couch between us. “You’re his girl because whenever you walk into a room, he knows it. Whenever you are around, he becomes more present.”
“Maybe now . . .”
“Always.”
“I . . . I don’t—hell, I don’t know . . . What?”
“Flustered you good, haven’t I?”
“Yes! How can you say that? August acted like I was a . . . a disease he needed to avoid contracting.”