I gape at her. “How on earth do you know what those look like?”
“My brother has one.” She grins. “I used to go to all his high school games, which turned me into a reluctant fan. He plays for North Dakota now. I’m surprised my parents haven’t disowned us both—we pretty much rejected everything about the South and moved north the first chance we got.” Her gaze shifts back to the screen. “So you have a secret admirer?”
“Admirer, yes. Secret, no. You know that guy I was telling you about? Logan?”
“The hockey player?”
I nod. “I’m making him jump through a few hoops before I go out with him.”
Daisy looks intrigued. “What kind of hoops?”
“Well, this poem, for one. And…” I shrug, then grab my phone and pull up the text I sent him last night, the one that contains the most absurd list I’ve ever written.
She takes the phone. By the time she’s done reading, she’s laughing even harder. “Oh my God. This is insane. Blue roses? Do those even exist?”
I snicker. “Not in nature. And not at the flower shop in Hastings. But he might be able to order some from Boston.”
“You’re an evil, evil woman,” she accuses, a wide grin stretching her mouth. “I love it. How many has he done so far?”
“Just the poem.”
“I can’t believe he’s going along with this.” She flops on her bed, then wrinkles her forehead and stares at the mattress. “Did you make my bed?”
“Yes,” I say sheepishly, but she doesn’t seem pissed. I’d already warned her that my OCD might rear its incredibly tidy head every now and then, and so far she hasn’t batted an eye when it happens. The only items on her don’t-touch-or-I’ll-fuck-you-up list are her shoes and her iTunes music library.
“Wait, but you didn’t fold my laundry?” She mock gasps. “What the hell, Grace? I thought we were friends.”
I stick out my tongue. “I’m not your maid. Fold your own damn laundry.”
Daisy’s eyes gleam. “So you’re telling me you can look at that basket overflowing with fresh-from-the-dryer clothes—” she gestures to the basket in question “—and you aren’t the teensiest bit tempted to fold them? All those shirts…forming wrinkles as we speak. Lonely socks…longing for their pairs—”
“Let’s fold your laundry,” I blurt out.
A gale of laughter overtakes her small body. “That’s what I thought.”
24
Logan
An entire week passes before I’m able to tick another item off the list. So far, I’ve completed four out of the six, but these last two are a bitch to acquire. The wheels are in motion regarding #6, but #5 is fucking hard. I’ve been searching high and low for it, even contemplated buying it online, but those things are a lot more expensive than I thought they’d be.
It’s Tuesday afternoon, and I’m with Garrett and our buddy Justin. We’re picking up Hannah, Allie, and Justin’s girlfriend, Stella, at the drama building, and then the six of us are supposed to drive to the diner in Hastings for lunch. But the moment we enter the cavernous auditorium where the girls told us to meet them, my jaw drops and our plans change.
“Holy shit—is that a red velvet chaise lounge?”
The guys exchange a WTF look. “Um…sure?” Justin says. “Why—”
I’m already sprinting toward the stage. The girls aren’t here yet, which means I have to act fast. “For fuck’s sake, get over here,” I call over my shoulder.
Their footsteps echo behind me, and by the time they climb on the stage, I’ve already whipped my shirt off and am reaching for my belt buckle. I stop to fish my phone from my back pocket and toss it at Garrett, who catches it without missing a beat.
“What is happening right now?” Justin bursts out.
I drop trou, kick my jeans away, and dive onto the plush chair wearing nothing but my black boxer-briefs. “Quick. Take a picture.”
Justin doesn’t stop shaking his head. Over and over again, and he’s blinking like an owl, as if he can’t fathom what he’s seeing.
Garrett, on the other hand, knows better than to ask questions. Hell, he and Hannah spent two hours constructing origami hearts with me the other day. His lips twitch uncontrollably as he gets the phone in position.
“Wait.” I pause in thought. “What do you think? Double guns, or double thumbs up?”