Problematic Summer Romance (Not in Love, #2)(36)

My heart lurches. Then falls silent. I wonder if she knows about Tamryn. Then I wonder why it’s my business.

“I’m sorry I seemed out of sorts, Avery.” I swallow. Smile. “I…Don’t take this personally, but I was looking forward to exploring the city alone. I enjoy that kind of stuff. Then Conor thought it would be too dangerous, and decided to come along.” Technically, it’s not a lie.

Maybe that’s why she buys it so easily. She gives me a knowing look, like we’re sharing a secret. “I get it. I used to do lots of solo traveling. It’s such a unique experience.”

I nod.

“And that’s so dumb of him. I mean, you’ve been living abroad.”

“Right?”

“Tell you what: If you want to sneak away, I’ll come up with some excuse, or say you went back home. Or I can distract him.”

“Are you going to flash him?”

“What other diversion methods are there?”

I laugh through the lump in my throat, and glance at the other end of the orchestra, where Conor looks unusually tiny and insignificant—a feat for someone who makes any room feel smaller. It’s because of the stage, and the view behind him. The blues and the greens. The Ionian shoreline with its hilly coastal settlement. And then, in the backdrop of it all, Mount Etna.

I think about the men and women who built this theater. The Greeks who sailed all the way over here and found the place too beautiful to leave, the Romans who joined them, the Arabs and the Normans and the House of Bourbon. The world is so big, and we are just clumps of atoms. What’s a tiny little bit of heartbreak, when faced with the vastness of mankind? Does it matter that a love is unrequited, if the universe started with a hot fireball and will end the same way?

The one thing I can control is being kind to those who are kind to me. And it sounds like Avery wouldn’t mind some time alone with Conor. “That would be great, actually. Is it okay if I slip out after the photo?”

“Absolutely.”

“Here.” I take off the sunglasses. “Could you return these—”

“Hey, you two,” Conor calls.

We both turn to him. Under the glaring, punishing sun, his scowl still makes my heart beat faster.

But my heart, too, is nothing more than a clump of atoms.

“How about you start posing for that picture?”

Avery and I share a smile. I think we might really be best friends now. “Avery?”

“Yeah?”

“If you had to guesstimate, how often would you say Conor Harkness thinks about the Roman Empire?”

She bursts into laughter.





Chapter 15




Three years, two months, two weeks, and six days earlier

Edinburgh, Scotland

The guys are a few feet from us, currently talking about the Antonine Wall, the fort in Newstead, some other shit that always seems to loop back to the Roman Empire, and I must admit it: it’s kinda hot, watching Conor lay his dick on the table.

The way my male friends gather around him like he shits good advice and life skills gives me some secondhand embarrassment, but it’s nice that he doesn’t look too out of place, even in a bar that’s literally in a student union—a converted library where the median age is nowhere near his. His clothes are simple, but too high quality to really blend in, and there is an assurance about his presence that sets him apart. Still, since he settled everyone’s tab and kept the bill running, Alfie has been giving him resentful glances, and witnessing that feels almost as good as sex.

I don’t think Conor enjoys being at the center of attention. He’s well practiced, socially adept, but it’s obvious to me that he sees my friends as infants who just outgrew their diapers. I’ve been developing a theory about him, which is still half-baked, but here goes: The smooth manner in which he conducts himself, the ease as he walks about the world, is only superficial. He has learned how to be congenial and businesslike, but that’s just the surfacing tip of the iceberg. Deep down there is something else. Wilderness, maybe. A block of ice. A lot of control, for sure.

The worst part is, I am the one he should be hanging out with. He keeps looking in my direction, maybe bored, maybe just checking in. We both know that if it was just the two of us, we’d be having way more fun.

Like we did today.

Sorry, I text him from my table.

When he reads the message he turns toward me to mouth, You better be, and I don’t hide my grin.

“You know,” Rose tells me, sipping her hot toddy, “I briefly wondered if you had lost your mind and were letting some old guy dip his cookie into your milk just to get back at Alfie, but…”

I follow her gaze all the way to Conor. “But?”

“Now that I’ve seen him, no notes. I’d do him.”

I laugh. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“No, I wouldn’t. The idea is repulsive. But less so than most men. I can appreciate him, aesthetically.” She ponders it. “Maybe it’s because he had more time.”

“More time to…?”

“Become attractive. Maybe hotness is something you marinate toward? The longer you have, the more likely it is to accumulate?”

Maybe. But: “You know, he’s not just handsome. He’s actually really fun to talk to, too.”