Lovestruck Summer by Melissa Walker (best management books of all time txt) 📕

lips, all the while pressing down on me as we sink into the cushions. It feels good to be close to him like this, and I will my mind to stop comparing his kisses, his shoulders, his hair to anyone else’s. “Wait,”I say, sitting up and searching for my iPod. I fi nd it and plug it into the stereo, turning the volume up as loud as I think I can without waking Penny. With the Walters on in the back- ground, I can drown out any thoughts of that country cowboy next door, and let myself go. In the morning, I hear Penny coming down the stairs. I open my eyes a crack and feel my shoulder wedged into the back cushions of the couch. Sebastian’s arm is flung across my waist, and our legs are tangled together. I rec- ognize there’s no way I’m going to escape this

205 position before Penny—“Morning, Quinn,”she says in a singsong voice. I grunt a hello but don’t lift my head. Sebastian doesn’t move. I hear Penny grab something from the kitchen and then she’s gone, probably to plan some lavish sorority event or devious Rush hazing. When she pulls the door shut, Sebastian opens one eye. “Hi,”he says sleepily. I sit up and realize that, although my jeans are unbuttoned, they’re still on. Same with Sebastian’s. I stand and head into the kitchen, zipping up and planning on making some sort of fruit bowl for us. Is this what you do following a boy sleepover, which is broken Parent Rule #3? You make someone breakfast? I haven’t dealt with the morning-after eti- quette, really, because, well, I lived with my mom and dad before this summer. Hookups usually ended while it was still dark. This feels weird. “Um, do you want some fruit?”I call to Sebastian, who’s yawning and stretching on the couch.

206 “Nah,”he says. “I should get going.”He grabs his keys from the coffee table and I walk him out. When he steps through the door I lean in to give him a kiss. It feels boyfriend-girlfriendy, and I like it. Then I stand there in my over- size T-shirt and bare feet, watching him zoom away. “Priscilla.”I hear Russ’s voice, gruffer than usual, and I turn to look in his direction. He’s standing in front of his condo wearing a wrinkled T-shirt and cargo shorts. His eyes are bloodshot—he looks like he hasn’t slept. “We need to talk,”he says.

207 Chapter 18 I have the urge to march inside and slam the door, but I’m also curious. Russ hasn’t spoken to me since Friday night, and Katie’s tear-streaked foundation face made me wonder . . . did he break up with her? Not that I care, because after last night I am defi nitely with with Sebastian. “Okay,”I say, deciding to go the completely apathetic route. He steps down to the sidewalk and walks up to my door. “Can we go inside?”he asks. “Oh, is this going to be a long talk?”I ask, folding my arms across my chest. “Please?”he asks. And because I’m committed to my not-car- ing stance, I shrug and turn around, letting him

208 walk into the condo behind me. The couch is a tangle of pillows-and-blan- ket, which I’m glad he sees. I walk straight back to the kitchen and perch on one of the bar stools by the island. It feels less friendly than sharing a seat at the table or on the mussed couch. “Listen,”says Russ, leaning across the island and looking down while he talks. “I know you must be mad at me right now.”“Not really,”I say. I grab an apple and take a bite out of it nonchalantly, like, Who cares what you’re saying because I’m enjoying this delicious apple for breakfast and my day is going to be lovely and you have no effect on it. “I can tell you are,”says Russ, glancing up at my face. I feel a fl icker of a frown cross my lips, but I try hard to shift it into a smile. “I’m okay,”I say. Then I jump up and go to the fridge to pour myself some orange juice, just in case I can’t control my facial muscles if he keeps talking. “Well, you should be mad as hell,”he says. “I know I would be.”I pause at the open refrigerator door for a

209 second, but then I regain my balance and take out the orange juice. I grab a glass from the cab- inet and pour slowly, with my back to Russ. “I’m fi ne,”I say. “If that’s true, then I’m glad,”says Russ. “Because I feel like shit.”“Is that because you broke up with your girlfriend?”I ask, and I can’t help the fl ash in my eyes when I turn around to face him. “We were already broken up,”he says. “I just fi nalized it.”I stay silent. I want to ask him, What the eff happened? We were kissing! I was melting into you! But instead I crunch into my apple again. “Katie was gone for a month,”says Russ. “And before she left, she ended things. Four weeks ago, if you’d asked me what I’d give for a chance to get back with her, I would have said anything. I’d give anything.”This is really not what I want to be hear- ing. I stand up and walk over to the sink, slowly pouring out my orange juice. I can’t eat an apple and have orange juice—mixing fruits is weird. It was just a prop, and now I’m getting rid of it. Because I’m about to ask Russ to leave anyway.

210 I’m not a late-night-radio love DJ who wants to listen to his romantic problems. “But then I met you,”he says. I stare out the window over the sink. Beyond the deck, there’s a squirrel climbing on Penny’s bird feeder, making it swing wildly back and forth. “And you thought I’d be a fun distraction while Katie was away,”I say, still watching the to-and-fro of the