far worse than reading and rereading and re-rereading my text conversation with Gavin.
Which is what I’ve been doing this morning when I should have been going running with Harper or even showering for work.
No, I’ve been lounging in bed, squirming as I look back over our decidedly not professional texts. I took screenshots of just in case my phone ever died. The last time I obsessed so much over a text conversation was in college. And I didn’t have it this bad. Not even close.
What was that guy’s name again?
Oh, right. WHO CARES.
The thing is, when I read through the string of messages, I can hear Gavin’s voice in my head. He’s saying everything with that low, sexy tone I have heard often enough to commit to memory. It’s his conference room voice, what I think of as his alpha voice. A bit on the fierce, serious side, though I picture him with smile number six, that utterly kissable one.
How am I going to look at him tonight?
How am I going to look at him at work? Maybe I should call in sick. Except … Nancy already is sick.
“Um, Zo? You okay?”
Sam glances down at my leg, and for a tiny moment, I wonder if she has some kind of secret X-ray vision. Because, I swear, she knows.
I force a yawn and then give her a sheepish smile. “I’m fine! Sorry. Just … slow to wake up this morning.”
Her eyebrows twitch, but just when I think she’s about to say something about the telltale phone beating underneath my thigh, she smiles and shoves a plate toward me with a stack of crepes and a single lit candle. “Happy birthday, sunshine!”
Right. My birthday.
I sit up in bed, making sure my phone stays hidden under my leg. Because, of all the nosy roommates, Sam is the nosiest. And of all my roommates, Sam is the very last one I want knowing about my date—or non-date?—with Gavin tonight. I feel like she’s already on to me.
“Wow.” I take the plate, staring down at the crepes, which looked better from a distance. “This is … awesome.”
Sam sits down next to me and tucks her legs underneath her. “Yep. I had to make them because your favorite place isn’t open this early.”
“You made me crepes?”
“I know, right? I found a crepe recipe with three ingredients. One egg. One cup of flour. One cup of milk. Oh, and salt. Four ingredients. The flipping part was not so easy. Don't look in the trash.”
I blow out the candle so I don’t end up eating wax. The crepes are a little crunchy looking, but they look edible. Sam making crepes is like a dog walking around on only its front legs. She’s the least domestic of all of us, and the least likely to go out of her way to do something like this. Not that she isn’t nice … Sam is just very focused on Sam.
Which makes me instantly suspicious.
I could see Abby making me crepes (except she’s not awake yet) or even sweet Delilah, who performs acts of kindness with the enthusiasm with which some women collect shoes. Even Harper, who we jokingly call Harpy for a reason, spends a lot of time in the kitchen. I could see her making crepes. Except she’d probably ruin them with unpronounceable health-food ingredients. And she’s still out running. The mornings I don’t join her, our three miles turns into five or more.
The point is: Sam doesn’t cook, and she isn’t really into thoughtful gifts. Did she even remember my birthday last year? Sam spends most of her waking hours either managing her persona, the famous Dr. Love, relationship advice columnist, or with her soon-to-be fiancé. I love her, but there are times when I feel the slightest bit used. I mean, she has legitimate emails that come in from strangers, but she also has gotten us to write fake letters with fake emails to give her more content.
Then there’s the book. I swallow, looking down at the crepes, which I strongly suspect are some kind of Trojan Horse. I eat them, and then I owe her my firstborn child … or just information about anything that happens between me and Gavin. Now that there actually are details to share, this is more dangerous.
But they’re crepes. My mouth is practically watering and does not care at all about the danger. Or the fact that they look a tiny bit crispy. Nutella covers a multitude of mistakes. I take a