“So, you and Hudson, huh?” Serena asked as I climbed back into bed after a much-needed trip to the bathroom.
“It’s too early for this conversation.” I yawned, pulling the blankets over my head as I smiled to myself.
“Uh-huh, sure,” she said, holding out the word playfully.
“It was nothing.”
“It definitely wasn’t nothing, Edie,” she snorted.
“It was nothing,” I said, laughing at her snort. “It can’t be anything else.”
There was a brief silence as Serena adjusted in her bed. “You really feel that way?” she asked.
I smiled at my blanket again. “No, not really.”
“Did you just giggle?” she asked.
“No,” I said, pressing my smile into my pillow.
“You are definitely giggling.”
“Am not.”
“You guys looked absolutely adorable cuddled up on the couch like that,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice. “You in that blazer and those ridiculous boots and him in the oldest flannel on the planet and dad jeans. I mean, honestly, how many plaid shirts can one person own? I bet he has dozens. Oh my God, I hope has an entire closet filled with them.” I smiled at the thought of him.
“I’m a hundred percent sure he has an entire closet filled with them.” I rolled onto my side. “Okay, subject change. You guys are up against Bump ’N Grind tomorrow night, and I really think you should have practice this afternoon.”
“Are you serious right now?” Serena pushed herself to sitting.
I pushed myself to sitting as well. “Listen, when you beat them, you’ll only have one more team to beat to go into the finals.”
“Edie Helena Kits, shut up about volleyball,” she said, tossing her pillow at me. “You are not changing the subject when you just admitted that you like Hudson.”
I swatted it away, and it landed on the end of my bed. “Serena Elizabeth Theresa O’Dell, I said no such thing.”
“He likes you,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. “I have work to do in the lab today; do you want to paparazzi me or what?”
“Absolutely.” She threw her blankets off and hopped out of bed. “But this conversation isn’t over.”
I followed suit. Throwing my blankets off and hopping out of bed. “You’re right, there is plenty more to discuss about the game against Bump ’N Grind.”
* * *
Eleven sewing machines chugged away as I attempted to concentrate on finishing up my fancy underwear project. I had my earbuds in, music blasting and Serena kneeling next to me taking “up-shots” of me working.
I was sharpening a lavender-colored pencil with my hand sharpener when my text message tone momentarily interrupted the music.
It was a text from Hudson. My heart jumped. My stomach flip-flopped. My smile exploded. I set the pencil and sharpener aside before opening the message.
HUDSON: Hey.
I smiled as I looked at the text.
Serena nudged me with her hip, mouthing Hudson’s name. I nodded.
ME: Hey.
ME: Sorry about last night.
Still friends?
I picked up the lavender pencil when he didn’t respond right away and began to sharpen it. Serena reached for my phone, tugging out one of my earbuds when she read what I’d written.
“Cold, boss,” she said, setting my phone down hard.
“What?” I asked. I wasn’t trying to be cold. I was trying to be pragmatic.
Serena pulled a chair behind me and hopped up. “Ten bucks says he isn’t going to respond to that.” She snapped a series of pictures from above.
“He’ll respond,” I said, twisting to look up at her. “He always responds.”
“If you say so,” she said as she hopped down. I watched her drag the chair back.
My stomach sank as I waited for a response.
I should text him again, tell him how much I like him. How funny I think he is, how awesome it would be to hang out and get to know each other better. How much I’d enjoyed his impulse-driven kiss … but then there was Paris. And sad good-byes. And regrets. And broken hearts. Texting him again would be a terrible idea.
I stared at my phone, waiting for a text from him. I shaded in the bustline of my sketch.
I checked my messages. I sharpened a jade-colored pencil. I shaded in some background. I stared at my phone again.
Why wasn’t he texting me back? He’d been quick with the texts, and now, at the worst possible time, he wasn’t going to answer me?
“Told you,” Serena said.
I picked up my phone.
ME: Are we still on for volleyball tonight?
“Why?” she asked, looking over my shoulder.
“Not helping,” I said, dropping my phone facedown on the table.
My stomach turned. Why had I sent him that? I shouldn’t have sent him that. That was probably the last thing he wanted me to text him.
I picked up a crimson-colored pencil and flipped to the next sketch as Serena continued to snap pictures and the music in my ears played uninterrupted.