“I nearly lost it last time,” he said. “I just hope she wasn’t using oil paints. Those can damage you.”
I tried to filter out the boys’ banter and focus on food. Faux nuggets and macaroni was easily my favorite meal in the known universe, and if I let myself pay attention to the boy sitting a foot to my right, I’d lose my appetite entirely. That would be a grave disservice to the gods of food.
It worked. Right up to the point where Ethan threw a nugget at my head.
“Earth to Kaira,” he said when I jumped back in my seat. “You still there?”
“What? Sorry, zoning out.”
“We noticed,” Ethan replied. “Chris just asked what we were doing tonight.”
“We?”
“You were coming to my concert, right?” Oliver asked.
I nodded, then caught the drift.
“What our eloquent friend is trying to say,” Ethan intervened, “is that you’re more than welcome to join us. Kaira and I were going to meet in the Writers’ House at six thirty to grab some hot cocoa before braving our way to the auditorium. Sound good?”
“Perfect,” Chris replied. A pause. “You don’t really think Tamora painted with her nether regions again, do you?”
It took a moment for my brain to start working and connect the dots, as it had begun to spin on he’s going to a concert with you, he’s going to a concert with you. It made my pulse race, and not in a good way.
“I hope not,” Ethan said. “But as they say, ‘God hates the gays.’ This would just be another fitting form of punishment.”
Oliver chuckled and kissed Ethan on the cheek. I glanced to Chris, who was grinning and picking at his food. When his brown eyes darted to mine, I was immediately grateful for that previous stuffing of my face. My heart leaped into my throat, and any chance of food getting past the obstruction was lost.
I know it was stupid, but something in that smile reminded me of Brad.
? ? ?
“You were totally smooth,” Ethan said as we left the cafeteria. “I mean, like, Oscar-worthy performance in there. I nearly cried.”
“Shut up.” I rammed my elbow into him, maybe a little harder than necessary. I wasn’t pissed, really, but the fact that Chris made me think of my ex had me on edge. “If I remember correctly, you weren’t nearly as eloquent when you first met Oliver.”
“Girl has a point,” Oliver said, grabbing my free arm. “She led that conversation. In fact, she nearly took our first kiss from you.”
“I hate you both,” Ethan muttered.
“Anyway, Chris is cute. And intelligent, at least from what I’ve seen in class.”
If Oliver hadn’t been holding my arm, I might have smacked him, too.
“And talented, which we know is a necessity for you,” Ethan said. “I think he might be just your type, Winters.”
“I don’t have a type, Davis,” I replied. There were only two times we used each other’s last names: when we were jovial and when we were being deadly serious. I was hoping Ethan could tell it was the latter. “You know that.”
“Uh huh. That’s why you jerked when Oliver mentioned him. Someone has a crush.”
Just the word “crush” made me sick to my stomach. Love is for getting hurt. “He’s cute,” I admitted, because Ethan was incredibly good at spotting a lie. “But in that distant, untouchable sort of way.”
“She’s already talking about touching him,” Oliver said with a chuckle.
“Can it,” I warned him.
“Let me guess,” Ethan mused. “This is another topic we add to our no-no list.”
“Your what?” Oliver asked.
“The list of things we don’t talk about. It’s a very short list, to be fair.”
Eager to change the subject, I jumped on the topic.
“Like ‘thesis,’ which you still haven’t seemed to grasp.” I made sure to direct that last bit at Oliver, who just shrugged and kicked a bit of snow to the curb.
“And tiny insects that burrow under your skin,” Ethan added with a shiver. “I hate parasites.”
“And . . . actually, that’s about it. Not much else is off topic.”
“So Chris is definitely going on the list?”
“Definitely,” I said. “Call me cat lady all you like. I will never crush on an Islington boy. Or girl,” I added, before either could beat me to the punch.
“If you say so,” Ethan said. “Though we’ll see if you change your tune after the concert.” He chuckled to himself. “See what I did there? It was a pun. You know, a music pun. Because I said ‘tune’ and we’re going to a concert and—ow!”
The last part was compliments of Oliver and the snowball he launched at his boyfriend’s face.
“And now we know why you aren’t in the writing program,” Oliver said. Ethan just dusted off the snow from his peacoat and glowered.