“Jay?”
He holds up a hand, finishing off the water. He sets theglass on the counter and braces his hands on the sink, keeping his eyes on the view. “I’m okay.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I had to deal with a sudden urge to push you up against a wall and make out with you.”
Oh.
Oh.
He turns toward me, one corner of his mouth turned up. “We’re good. Go back to work.”
Arewegood? I slowly turn to my map. Maybehe’sfine now, but chaos overloads my system again, except it’s not construction noise and the weather. It’s the pounding of my own pulse drowning out thought, and the heat is internal, coming from my nervous system or whatever makes it feel like currents of electricity are humming through my body.
Then something clicks, and I twist around. “Hold on. You got the urge to make out with me because I made a map and a plan?”
“You’re forgetting the against the wall part. I like that part a lot.”
I try to swallow but my mouth is dry, and that smile plays around his lips like he knows it. He’s enjoying knocking me off balance. I narrow my eyes. “Jameson Paul Martin, you are in violation of Friend Code Number One. No making out with your friend.”
“Did you see me walk away to get a drink of water so Iwouldn’tviolate Friend Code?”
“Fine, we’ll call it an infraction, not a violation, but saying you want to make out with your friend is not in keeping with the code.”
“My bad.” He strolls back to his seat at the table.
I push up to my knees so I can face him over the sofa without the awkward twisting. “Hey,friend, we need to go over the rules again.”
He opens his laptop but keeps his eyes on me. “If you want. I can see that you really need them to keep yourself in check.”
He’s not wrong, I realize, but it only irritates me more. “I do not.”
“Cool, so can we get back to work? Your obsession with making out with me is slowing me down.”
“Ugh.” I flounce down in my seat. I dart a glance at the wall beside the fireplace. It’s bare. Is he thinking that one, or …
No way will I get any work done around him now that he’s planted that picture in my head.
I gather up my map and close my laptop.
“You’re leaving?” he asks.
In answer, I stand and slide it all into my workbag.
“Aw, come on, Phoebe. I’m sorry I messed with you. I didn’t mean to chase you off. Stay. I’ll behave.”
Doubtful. But the bigger issue is that I’m not sure I will.
“You didn’t chase me off. I do better when I change tasks often. I’m going by the main library to see if they can tell me where to find the old newspaper archives.”
“You keep saying ‘I,’ but you made it clear we’re friends.”
I don’t miss the emphasis he puts on the last word, like he’s almost wrapped a laugh around it. “Yeah …?”
“A friend would never leave me out of the hunt for something in a library. Lignin, Phoebe. You would hog all the lignin?”
That makes me flat out laugh. Lignin is the old book smell that all basic nerds love, but only true nerds know its name. “Fine. If I find the newspapers, I’ll text you to help.”
