***
The next day I sleep until noon. Shane bailed on hanging out last night. Still, I’m exhausted from the thoughts swirling in my head in a jumbled whirlwind. The XWL gym is like a dancing flame. I’m intrigued, but I don’t want to get burned.
I wish I could get Professor Penniman to let me change topics. I’m not looking forward to visiting the XWL gym again today. Dawson called after our meeting and he’s arranged for me to meet with his two stars this afternoon. No classes, he promised. Just the interviews I asked to conduct with his two elite fighters. Well, at least I won't have to sweat.
I collapse on the couch and consider asking Izzy for advice. She’s sent a bunch of pictures of Japan to my phone. She’s moved on from Singapore to Tokyo.
The doorbell interrupts just as I’m about to call her. The chime shoots me out of my seat.
I’m not expecting anyone.
I gaze through the peephole and see Shane staring right back at me, pretending to hump my door theatrically. Laughing, I open the door, watching him troop into my luxury apartment— nine foot ceiling, designer finishes and all that jazz—holding a box from the bakery near my complex, The Sweetest Affair. His favorite. My favorite.
“Such a pleasant surprise.” I offer a devious grin.
“Don’t make a guy blush.”
“I’m talking to whatever’s inside that box.”
“Cupcakes. You know how much I love pleasing you, B.” His words seem to hang in the air as he swings my fridge open.
He pours himself some coffee with milk, while I demolish half the box in one go, then let out a delicate burp.
“Always a lady,” he teases, though I know Shane well enough to recognize that he does consider me too much of a tomboy.
He’s always been drawn to the girlie type. Izzy is the one exception. She's about as girlie as they come, but he seems to almost hate her. I never understood why they don’t get along. Neither of them explained why they stopped talking altogether shortly after he traveled abroad, and while I tried to milk some info about their beef, I didn't push the subject with either of them since I couldn't afford losing Shane as a friend or Izzy as a roommate.
“Well, this lady has to go to the XWL gym in Concord to work on that article Professor Penniman assigned. What’s your topic anyway? You never said.”
He rubs the back of his neck, squeezing his eyes shut. "Elizabeth's Passion."
The slow grin spreading across my face says it all. Hello, Shane, meet Fate.
"You mean you'll actually have to talk to Izzy and…” I fake a gasp. "Ask for her help?"
"I'm trying to find a way around it. Maybe my good friend here can help me out."
This explains the cupcakes. What it doesn't explain is why Shane is doing everything he can to avoid my twin. They used to be cool with each other growing up.
"You don't want me anywhere near your assignment. I'm college poison, remember?"
He grimaces, knowing how right I am.
"Whatever issues you have with Izzy, get over ’em. I'm sure she's way past the subject. I talk about you all the time and she’s never said a word about you. She probably doesn't even remember who you are."
By the flare of his nostrils, I realize I just said something incredibly stupid.
I quickly backpedal. "Don't worry. Just talk to her. Anyway, wanna come with me?” I slap his thigh.
I could use his support. The Grind makes me feel uncomfortable, and the possibility of running into Ty makes me feel even more self-conscious, so I'd really appreciate it if my best friend would tag along.
“I came this morning in the shower, but I would love to come again.” The next thing he does happens very quickly. I feel his hand gripping my thigh. And not just for a moment, but he actually takes the time to squeeze. It takes me a few seconds to register what's happening. So sudden, so unexpected, so... crazy. My gape travels from my assaulted thigh to his teal eyes as I sit on the barstool.
Don’t panic. Don’t scream. Do. Not. Pull. An. Izzy.
I bolt from of my seat, rushing toward my bedroom. “Need to get dressed, be out in a sec,” I choke, disappearing into my room.
I rummage through my closet to make some noise. Maybe the clicking of the hangers will quiet the thoughts swirling in my head like a tornado, ripping every single house, tree and car in its way. My best friend made a pass at me out of the freaking blue. Brain. Does. Not. Compute.
I watch his frame in the reflection from my bedroom mirror as he runs his hand through his hair, probably thinking the exact same thing. This is bad. A calamity. A deal-breaker.
“I’ll wait.” His eyes lock on mine in the mirror. And I know exactly what he means...