“That you can’t know whether you have chemistry until you kiss.”
“Says who?” Then I narrow my eyes. “Did Quinn kiss you?”
“Now he’s Quinn, huh? Not Quasimodo? You seem rattled, Little Sis.”
I am. I feel rattled.
But not because of Adam. It’s a certain bad-tempered, bearded someone who’s occupying my thoughts day and night, even though I can’t figure out why.
“Well, come on.” Gigi shakes her long hair and winks at me. “Race you to the ice cream shop.”
“You’re crazy.”
“If you win, I’ll tell you if Quinn kissed me and how it was.”
“And if I lose?” I ask as I start running after her.
“Then you promise to give Adam another chance.”
With a curse, I push myself to go faster.
I can’t remember the last time I ran so hard. Gigi beats me by a few seconds, grinning as she leans against the wall outside the shop, acting cool and pretending not to be panting for breath.
Shaking my head at myself, I head inside the shop. That ice cream sounds even better now. My T-shirt sticks to my back with sweat, and my mouth is dry. Gigi giggles as she follows me inside.
“Is it really such a hardship to give Adam another chance?” She pores over the flavors as if she doesn’t have ice cream from this same place all the time. “You see him every night. I thought you liked him.”
“I don’t see him every night.” I huff. “And I do like him. He’s nice.”
“Hm.” She eyes me as I give our order to Jessica. “I see.”
Jessica has been running this joint since I was a toddler. See, I remember her, but not my dad. Isn’t it weird?
Just as weird as being unsure about Adam. I mean, I do like him. And he is cute.
Then why do I feel so defensive when Gigi asks if we’re dating?
Maybe she’s right. If he made his move and kissed me, I’d know what he wants, too. I’d know he wants me.
I just have to have patience. Gigi is right, instant chemistry is a myth, like insta-love. Besides, what if he’s unsure himself? It’s not like I’m helping things by refusing to even hold his hand, sending off confusing vibes, feeding the loop.
“I’ll give Adam another chance,” I say and glare at Gigi who’s grinning widely, showing her sharp incisors. “Happy?”
“Delighted,” she purrs and grabs her cone and the tub for Merc. “Now let me tell you about Quinn on the way home.”
The next day I walk the short distance from the bus stop to Matt’s house, my stomach knotted up. I blame it on the time of the month, and the heaviness on the air, sign of an approaching storm.
Until I ring the doorbell, again and again, and decide something is really off.
I think of the threatening messages, and the kids, and I panic. I bang on the door, then step back and pull out my cell phone to call 9-1-1.
Hesitate.
What if he’s in the bathroom? In the shower?
Well, better safe than sorry, right?
But before I dial the number, the door handle turns.