Authors: Steph Campbell,Liz Reinhardt
And I’m so damn sick of feeling like everything’s falling apart, like everything I worked for is dissolving in front of my eyes, and this girl, this gorgeous, infuriating girl, just gets away with murder over and over again because she has those legs that any guy would want wrapped around his waist and those eyes, the clearest, hottest gray I’ve ever seen.
She’s smiling ear to ear, her finger still held out, dragging this whole torment out longer. So I do exactly what she’s asking for but not expecting, not for a single second. I lean over and watch her eyes go wide. She starts to pull her hand back, but I grab around her wrist, pull her hand toward mine, and suck her finger into my mouth.
There’s enough tension against my hand that I know she would have run like mad if I hadn’t held her. I appreciate the irony of this entire situation: Genevieve was so sure it would be
me
wanting to run away, shocked and appalled.
I’d smile about it, but my mouth is otherwise occupied with her finger.
Her hand is smaller than I’d noticed. Her finger feels delicate in my mouth, and I lick at it gently. Until she sucks her bottom lip in.
My brain feels fried, and the sight of her face in front of me blurs a little. I pull her closer and suck a little harder, just for a second, just to watch her pant a tiny bit. Then I let her finger slide out of my mouth and glance down at the notes in front of me—like my heart isn’t about to kick out of my chest, and I’m not most of the way to a raging hard on.
She stands, the box shaky in her hands, her mouth opening and closing uncertainly.
I glance up at her. “Good cupcake. Baking is all math and science. If you can make a cupcake that good, you can handle differentials. We’re doing this. Today.”
She plops down on the stool across from me and takes out her paperwork, so meek I keep waiting for her to jump up and shout,
“Gotcha!”
But she doesn’t.
She just stares at the blank page until I slide a series of problems her way and say, “Solve, and if you get stuck, I’m going to teach you two different tactics for getting out of that situation, okay?”
She just nods, and my amusement over the whole finger-licking prank is waning. I shake my head, get off the stool and rummage in the drawers, finding two paper plates and two plastic forks. While she works, I scoop some of the crushed dessert on each plate, sliding one her way. She looks at me with her eyebrows low and questioning.
“You’re weirdly quiet. I figure you need a sugar rush,” I say, shrugging.
She looks down at her plate and the smile that unfolds on her face is real and bright. “Thank you. How did I do?” She pushes the paper over and takes a delicate bite of cupcake.
I make sure not to watch her mouth as she eats, and instead focus on the problem, worked out perfectly. I narrow my eyes at her. “You used the methods I emailed you. This is...so well done. Why did you tell me you didn’t get the email?”
She bats lashes that, for no logical reason, make my mouth water and then turns the fork over, scooping up another small bite. “I wanted to say thank you. For the notes. I know they must have taken you forever. Then I came in and you had to ruin my totally sweet gesture by yelling at me like some bully.”
I laugh, just a little. “Really? You don’t think that fact that you almost broke your leg had anything to do with my yelling at you? And I’m not a very good bully if I spend all my time catching you before you fall, tutoring you, and feeding you cupcakes,” I point out.
She blinks slowly. “Yeah. You kind of suck as a bully.” She puts her fingers to her lips, and I remember how it felt to have one in my mouth. “You really do...suck, Adam.”
Her attempt to flirt is so ridiculous, it pops the bubble of tension around us, and I can’t help laughing at her. “Back to work, Rodriguez. You’ve got this week, then another in two weeks, and if you don’t pass—”
“Don’t,” she pleads, her flirty face gone and replaced by a serious pout. “Just don’t. I have parents to tell me what a loser I am nonstop.”
“Hey.” She looks up from the cupcake she’s stabbing. “Are you kidding me? You’re not a loser.”
“Please don’t.” She shakes her head and takes angry swipes at her eyes. “Trust me. I know damn well I don’t live up to anyone’s expectations.”
Tears. Damn it.
I’m not well equipped for tears in general, and especially not when they’re pouring out of the Genevieve’s eyes. I wish she’d say something flippant or roll her eyes. Her sadness is tearing my calm to shreds.
“Hey.” I come over to her and, carefully—robotically—put one arm around her shoulder. “C’mon. That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
She holds her body stiff for a few seconds, but then she leans into my chest, burying her head in my shirt and mumbling something I can’t make out. She pulls her face up and sits straight, out of my arms. I’m shocked at how empty they feel without her.
“You have no idea, Adam. You’re, like, this
genius
. You run the whole lab and all the professors are always talking about how smart you are and how you’re going on to bigger and better.” Something that might be admiration shines in her eyes when she looks at me, and I feel a ridiculous burst of pride. “I bet your parents, like, have a shrine in your old bedroom with all your awards and ribbons and stuff.”
I force myself to smile through the bitter taste in my mouth. I guess Genevieve would be shocked to know that my childhood bedroom is now an exercise room for my father. I sleep on a cot when I go home to Israel.
“I think you’re just getting starry eyed over how brilliant I am.” I hold my breath and let it out slow and relieved when she cracks a tiny smile. “In all seriousness, you drive me nuts. You know that. But I feel a little guilty getting paid to tutor you. You’re by far the smartest student I’ve ever worked with. I feel like I barely do anything, and you get it. And I know for a fact you’re going to ace this test today. And the next one. And the next one. So get to work.”
That tiny smile gets bigger, and, when she looks down at her notebook, it stretches even wider. So wide it moves her ears back a little.
She’s gorgeous.
I scoop up another bite of smashed cupcake and enjoy that smile, the one I helped bring to her face. So my life is over. So I fucked up and will be brought down a whole bunch of pegs when I have to grovel back in Israel. Life isn’t all bad.
Genevieve flips her pencil and chews on the little pink eraser on top, and I remember her tiny, sugar-coated finger in my mouth.
Not all bad. Not by a longshot.
“Nice of you to show up,” my brother Enzo says as soon as the door slams shut behind me.
“Shut up,” I groan. I’m tired, I want to curl up in my bed and forget this day. Stupid cupcakes. I thought it would be a way to get Adam’s attention, to do something nice to show that I appreciate all of the extra hours he puts in to try and help me get a handle on my school work, but all I did was make myself look like a jerk. But that mouth...god, that mouth of his. I drop my purse and keys onto the table near the entryway and glare at the back of his head. “Where is everyone, anyway?”
Enzo stands from the sofa, and, once I catch sight of his pressed pants and white collared shirt, it all clicks into place.
“Shit,” I moan. I press my fingers to my temples to try to release the pressure behind my eyes before it explodes into a migraine. “”The engagement party?”
Enzo nods and gives me this condescending smile I kind of want to punch off his face. “I figured I’d wait around here for you, otherwise I bet you wouldn’t have bothered to show up.”
That’s actually a fair wager.
“Do I have time to change?” I beg, looking down at my sparkly heels and the corset top that’s so tight, I can hardly manage a decent breath in it.
Enzo glances at the time on his phone. “Nope. Shoulda been here on time if you wanted to get all prettied up for Deo. Let’s go.”
“Fine,” I mumble under my breath. “And Deo’s married now, I get it. Ease off on the jokes.”
I pull a sweater down off of the coat rack by the door, grab my purse, and follow Enzo out to his car—a sleek, black Mustang, way nicer than what I drive. Though that’s not surprising.
Enzo hasn’t slaved away at our family’s furniture store or done anything else that remotely resembles work, but somehow, he always has whatever he wants all the time. Both of my brothers ended up the golden children, and good things just seem to fall into their laps. Cohen, my oldest brother, got a cushy promotion he barely deserved all so he could be closer to his girlfriend—or fiancée, I guess—Maren. And Enzo has a nice apartment off campus paid for by my parents, who think that because he’s a guy, he needs his own space.
Me? I’m stuck living at home with Mom and Dad, (where a nice Mexijew girl belongs, safe and out of trouble, of course), working full-time peddling curio cabinets, and basically flunking out of school.
As if the reality of my life isn’t bad enough, I know my family will be full of jokes about how Deo, the guy I’d fantasized about being with since I was a kid, just got married. And for the record, Whit is just some girl he barely knows, who, as far as I know, life’s aspiration is to be a receptionist at a crappy tattoo parlor.
And I guess my brother, Cohen thought Deo and his new
wife,
Whit, had a good thing going, because the newly married Beckett’s had barely made it back from their honeymoon before Cohen got down on one knee and begged Maren to marry him over Chistmakuh dinner.
“Is this party open bar?” I ask bleakly, watching the street lights flicker on in the darkening sky. Dusk has always felt magical to me. Even as a kid trying to race home before the streetlights came on. Or when I became a teenager and everything felt exciting
Enzo chuckles. “Aw, is Gennie upset because she’s the only one without a date?”
I lean forward and switch on his car stereo. It’s set to some blaring guitar and rough, guttural screaming. I switch it off. “I don’t need a date. It’s a ridiculous celebration. They’ve been together, what? Six months? It’s absurd.”
My brother raises his eyebrows at me. “No more absurd than you actually thinking you had a shot with Deo. We all saw how you stomped around at his wedding, you know, trying so damn hard not to be happy for him. And after—”
“Excuse me. I did
not
stomp. And what do you mean, I’m the only one tonight without a date? I don’t see anyone on your arm either.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling satisfied that I’ve won this round.
Enzo clears his throat. “Actually, I do. Have a date that is. She’s meeting me there.”
Fantastic. Meanwhile, I’m the one flunking out of school and going nowhere fast, and I don’t even have a hot love life to blame for it.
“I’m sure she’s charming,” I bite out.
Enzo pulls into the parking lot of the dive that Cohen and Maren insist is quaint and turns to look at me. “Be nice, Gen. You don’t have to try to run off every girl that comes into contact with me or Cohen...or Deo.”
“Enough!” I cry. I reach for the door handle, but Enzo stops me.
“I mean it, Gen. Everyone is worried about you,” Enzo says, pulling the key from the ignition.
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes at my brother before I slam the car door and stomp toward the restaurant.
Worried about me? They make it seem like I’ve got a drug problem or a heart so broken I can’t function. I’m fine! I’m just....a little lost, I guess. Cohen has Maren, Lydia is dating the recently divorced partner in her firm, Cece is shacking up on the sly with some undergrad who’ll graduate this spring, and even Enzo always has a warm body whenever he wants one—meanwhile, I’m stuck at home, trying to build a future that only seems further and further away every day.
“Genevieve, you look stunning!” Maren is the first person I see when I push through the wooden door. Her voice is so full of joy that it instantly makes me jealous. I simultaneously feel like utter crap for not being able to at least feign happiness for her happiness.
I’ll give Cohen credit: he may not have known Maren all that long before he jumped the gun on proposing, but she’s, no question, one of the sweetest, most down-to-earth people I’ve ever met. I want to be happy for them, I really do. But right now, I’m just stuck in a funk so deep and sad, I don’t know how to get out of it.
Maren grins at me as she smooths her hand down her dress, all peach silk and gorgeous, old Hollywood lines. Her dark hair is curled softly. Her feet are fitted in gorgeous black peep-toe heels that aren’t screaming ‘notice me’! She embodies a kind of elegance I always wish I could get a handle on. I feel cheap and flashy next to her.
A waiter walks by with a tray of drinks. Maren grabs two.
“Here, have some champagne with me. I don’t know why I feel so nervous tonight.” Maren shoves a flute of champagne at me and I take a big, unladylike gulp, letting the bubbles tingle in my throat.