Heartland (True North #7) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,86
what I was thinking about during church, I would have been beaten.
And then I slipped up a couple times and proved that theory right.
But those lies were told for survival. Lying to Leah feels awful. She’s been nothing but kind to me.
Still, I’m not ready to share how often I’m in Dylan’s bed instead of my own. Now I’m the one who barely comes home to the dorm anymore. I keep a toothbrush and a change of clothes at Dylan’s.
I’ve basically taken Kaitlyn’s place as Dylan’s sexually fulfilled, somewhat insecure girl of the moment.
Sorry Leah! I reply. Spending a lot of time at the library. I’ll try to call you tonight. I want to hear about your foundation!
“Leah? Or Ellie?” Dylan asks without looking up from his book.
“Leah. I’d better sleep in my own bed tonight. That way I can see Ellie at dinner and call Leah.”
He looks up. “You could just tell her, you know.”
“Maybe.” But my reply lacks conviction.
“Wouldn’t that be easier?” he presses. “My mom still thinks I’m dating Kaitlyn, by the way. I haven’t corrected her, but I feel like a heel.”
“I’m sorry. Let me think about it,” I hedge. But in my heart of hearts I know I’m not there yet. Leah won’t judge me, exactly. But she’ll shower me with both questions and concern. She’ll ask about birth control, and she’ll probably make noises about Dylan’s lack of interest in relationships.
I don’t want the questions, and I definitely don’t want the lecture. Because I already know he isn’t the kind of guy who ties himself down.
Birth control is a good idea, though. I have an appointment tomorrow to take care of that. Dylan is a faithful user of condoms, but I know I need to own my part in it.
Rickie sets a tray on the coffee table in front of us, and then flops down on the chair we saved for him. “That line! This is why I hate exams.”
“That’s your reason?” I ask. “I hate exams, because I hate exams.” My hands get all sweaty just thinking about finals next week.
He shrugs. Rickie doesn’t ever seem to worry about school. I don’t even know if he goes to class. It’s just one of the many things I don’t understand about him.
“Yay, coffee,” Dylan says, reaching for one of the two enormous cappuccinos on the tray. They’re served in bowls instead of cups.
“That thing is huge. You’re going to be up all night.”
“That’s kind of the point,” Rickie says.
Dylan shakes his head. “No, I got this size because Chastity likes these but never orders them.” He offers me the bowl. “Here. Drink some.”
“Really?” I take it from him and sip from the edge. “Thank you.”
“I have a kink for feeding you,” he says, giving me a smile. “This is also for you.” He lifts a tiny plate off the tray and offers it to me. There’s a single cookie on it, but it’s a work of art. It’s two layers in the shape of a Christmas bell, with a gleaming pool of red jam showing through a cutout in the center.
“Oh. It’s so pretty!” I feel all warm and squishy inside as I trade the bowl for the little plate. The cookie is exactly the sort of exquisite thing that I would never buy myself. I’m too practical. The coffee shop offers a tray of day-old scones and muffins at half price, and they’re the only thing I’ve ever eaten here.
I take a bite, and after the first crunch, the buttery shortbread seems to melt against my tongue. The jam is tangy, too, like raspberries. “Wow,” I say, chewing. “Try this.”
He shakes his head with a smile. “I’ve had them. This one is all for you.” Then he leans in and kisses the side of my face. “It’s your reward for solving question number seventeen.”
“But I haven’t done that one yet.”
“When you do, I’ll just have to think up another reward.” His smile turns slightly wicked.
Across the way, Rickie waves his arm in the air, as if clearing invisible smoke. “Jesus. You guys are basically off-gassing cuteness. And everyone else in here is reeking of Christmas cheer. How do you expect me to keep up my surly facade under these conditions?” He picks up his own giant coffee bowl and takes a gulp.
“Why do you hate the holidays so much?” I have to ask.
“I don’t have anything against the holidays.” He shrugs. “Except Burlington will be a ghost town. No fiddle tunes from Dylan