I almost choke. “No, not Nate.”
“I didn’t think so. He doesn’t strike me as the type to worry about stuff like that.” Yuna grins easily, like the entire point is silly. “Tell your friend not to worry. People do that all the time.”
I gape at her. I’m so stunned that I almost drop the glossy bag the salesclerk hands to me. “They do?”
Yuna nods. “Don’t you?”
“Don’t I…what?” I say, feeling like I’m losing control of the conversation.
“Say you love them but don’t mean it.”
“No…” Maybe Yuna doesn’t understand what I’m trying to say. Even though her English is amazing, it is her second language.
“I did, once.”
“Why?” Couldn’t be because she needed anything. Her family is filthy rich.
She looks at me pityingly, like I’m an overly dense bear. “Because I wanted to know what it felt like to say it. And I thought that if I said it out loud, I might feel it.”
That makes even less sense than Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, which I had the misfortune of reading in college. “Huh?”
“But it just felt so…blah. Like a substandard performance of a Mozart sonata. So I took it back before the guy got any weird ideas.”
I don’t think that’s why Skittles said what she said. Or did she really think I might get weird ideas? And what constitutes a weird idea anyway?
Yuna sighs and pats my shoulder. “Love is like a skincare product. You gotta try it first, before you know for sure. Sometimes the description sounds great, but when you use it, it doesn’t agree with you. Or you use it for like a week, and you start to get allergic reactions or develop hypersensitivity. You know what I’m saying?”
Not even a little. I don’t use skincare products, so this analogy is like using calculus to explain geometry.
“But Pascal is your destiny, so it’s different with you and her.”
“I said it’s a friend.”
“Ooh, right, a friend.” Yuna waggles her eyebrows, then pats my arm. “Of course. That’s what I meant. That friend of yours and Pascal are destined.”
“I didn’t say Pascal, either.”
“Of course. What could I be thinking?”
Shit. I should’ve known she’d figure it out. “Don’t tell anybody.”
“I won’t. I won’t breathe a word of your friend’s concern.” She makes a zipping motion across her mouth, but her lips are wide apart in a grin.
Somehow I doubt she’ll keep the promise.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Pascal
“Why do you sound so listless? Aren’t you ready to kick ass?” says Curie in her signature cheery voice.
I’m laid out on my couch, staring at the ceiling, phone on speaker mode and lying on my chest. “I am ready. It’s just…”
“Yeeesss?”
“It’s Court. We haven’t talked in—”
She screeches. “Did you guys break up?”