How to Date the Guy You Hate by Julie Kriss Page 0,65

fail.” The thought gave me a quiver of fear I wasn’t used to. This job mattered. It was scary, caring about a job that could be a career, but it was scary in the best way.

Some things you just do, Jason had said when I’d talked to him about it, because not to do them is too hard. As always, he was right. I felt a little bubble of pleasure, like champagne.

“You’re not going to fail,” Holly said. “You can do anything you put your mind to.”

“You’ve never seen me put my mind to anything,” I pointed out.

She shrugged, and then pointedly changed the subject. “We had dinner at my mother’s last night. With Jason.”

I stabbed the last pin into the fabric and glared at her as my heart did a quick trip in my chest. “For God’s sake, Holly. You are so obvious.”

She grinned. She was completely obvious, and she didn’t care who knew it. She’d been trying to get me set up with Jason ever since we’d come home. “He looked good,” she said.

I wanted to know how he looked. I really, really wanted to know. But the details I wanted, his sister couldn’t give me. “That’s nice,” I said, though I couldn’t help but add, “He always looks good.”

She tapped her chin. “I think he’s lonely.”

“Oh, please.” Was he? I moved behind her shoulder behind the camera and looked at the digital screen. “Take the picture.” She did, and we both stared at the result.

“He quit Zoot Bar,” Holly said. “He’s just going to school for now.”

“I know,” I replied. Jason and I texted each other every day. We talked about whatever was going on, or we mock-argued, or he made me laugh. Sometimes we flirted a little. It had become our usual pattern in this new relationship between us, except that Jason now had no idea that his texts were the highlight of my day, or that even his mild flirtations made me giddy. That I read over our string of dirty texts from the night of the wedding over and over until I had them nearly memorized.

There was no sex between us. He hadn’t even tried. And now… it was what I wanted more than anything.

It wasn’t easy, being in love with the guy you’d pushed into the friend zone. I didn’t know what to do about it.

“I don’t get it,” Holly said. “You two would be so perfect together. And something happened at that wedding.”

“I don’t like how that sleeve is hanging,” I said, pointing to the picture on the camera. “That fold makes the shadow too deep.”

She waited for me to crouch next to the dress again, fixing the sleeve, and then she said, “He likes you.”

My pulse beat hard in my throat. This was the fear. Maybe he did like me—but maybe it wasn’t in the way I wanted. Not anymore. “You don’t think it would be, um, weird?” I asked, hedging. “Me and your brother?”

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “We’d just make a rule. That’s what Dean and Jason did when Dean and I got together.”

“A rule?”

“Dean is not allowed to mention our sex life to Jason. Ever.” Holly crossed her arms and smiled mischievously. “Actually, I think the two of them have a polite fiction that Dean and I live here together platonically, watching TV like roommates.”

“That’s their rule?” I said, laughing.

“Jason says it’s the only way he can live without having to bleach his brain.”

I adjusted the sleeve and waggled my eyebrows at her. “Well, you can always tell me. I like deets.”

She blushed, but she said, “No way. Not if you’re dating my brother.”

I stepped back and sank into a chair, taking a sip of wine while she snapped the picture again. “I don’t know,” I said, the words coming out honestly. I was tired of holding everything in, of having no one to talk to about this. I’d never been in love before, and it was overwhelming and terrifying and exciting. The one time I’d seen him in person, when he’d come over to watch a movie at my apartment, I’d been so nervous I was sweating. But he hadn’t seemed to notice, or he’d been too polite to say anything.

He’d sprawled on the sofa with me, explaining the characters throughout the movie—which mutant had which powers, and why—while I’d tried not to fidget and wondered if I should make a move. At the end he’d kissed me, long and slow and sweet,