Page 87 of Revenge Puck
“I swear to God if you let it go to voicemail—” Blaire hisses.
“I’m answering! Stop bossing me around.”
“Put it on speaker!”
“I am not putting it on speaker.”
“You owe me!”
I panic.
I swipe to answer and immediately stand, pacing at the other side of the small living room as if the distance will make me sound sober, and prevent Blaire from eavesdropping and taking over the conversation.
“Um, hello? This is Juliette.”
Behind me, I feel Blaire rolling her eyes theatrically toward the ceiling and groan.
I swat the air in her direction.BE QUIET!
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Aaron’s deep timbre asks. Completely unaware that my best friend is about to hyperventilate, already exhausted by what a loser I am.
“A bad time? No!” I say too loudly. “This is a great time, actually. Totally great.”
Blaire slaps her own forehead.
“I’m still at Blaire’s. We were, um, arguing about dinner plans.”
“Ah. So, the two of you are planning on eating somewhere?”
“Planning on eating somewhere?” I parrot him, stupidly. “We were about to have dinner, but…” I glance at my best friend, who is flapping her arms up and down, the universal signal for NO! ABORT. STOP SAYING WORDS.
I turn back toward the window so she can’t interfere with her angry faces.
“We were discussing options,” I say diplomatically.
“I don’t want to interrupt your plans,” he adds casually.
“You weren’t. There is no food here.”
A small pause.
“If you don’t have plans,” he says tentatively, “I was going to cook.”
“Cook?” I repeat.
“Yeah. Nothing fancy,” he says quickly. “I’m exhausted. Long day. I was going to throw something together and figured I’d ask before I did.”
My heart does a slow, stupid somersault.
“You cook?” I ask, because apparently that’s what my brain decided was important.
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
“I’m not shocked.” It’s one more unexpected layer to him.
“I’m sweaty and tired and probably not great company,” he adds. “But if you don’t have plans, I wouldn’t mind seeing your sweet face.”
My sweet face.
