An obnoxious voice sounds nearby: “Who’s sexy?”
Midbite of my sandwich, I clamp my eyes shut, hoping that Renner sliding into the next seat is but a nightmarish mirage.
His lemony scent confirms it is not.
“None of your business,” I snap, too flustered to verbally roast his essence. I shoot Kassie and Nori a look, silently warning them not to mention Clay in front of Renner, of all people. He is not to be trusted with such top-secret intelligence.
“Anyone want an extra fry?” he asks, holding up a second cardboard container overflowing with salty fries.
“Why do you have two?” Nori asks, plucking a fry. She’s the vulture of our group, always poised to polish off our leftovers.
“The lunch lady loves me,” he says with a casual shrug, despite the known fact that crotchety Lunch Lady Libby despises all living beings, especially humans. She’s known for muttering vague insults under her breath as kids roll through with their trays.
“Anyway, we’re trying to find Charlotte a prom date,” Kassie says, like I’m a pitiful charity case.
Renner’s face lights up as he slides the extra fries across the table. “Ha! That’s a task. You sure you wanna take that on pro bono?”
“Anyone would be lucky to go with a hot piece of ass like Char,” Nori retorts, not-so-discreetly jabbing her thumb in Clay’s direction.
Renner is unfortunately more observant than he looks, eyes tracing Nori’s thumb. He raises his brow. “Clay Diaz? That’s who you wanna go with?”
Before I can deny it, Kassie jumps in. “If Clay doesn’t pan out, I started a list of other possibilities. I know you like your Plan B’s,” she adds, eyeing me knowingly.
Renner’s eyes light up.
Prickles of heat crest my cheeks. So much for keeping my crush on Clay on the DL. I begrudgingly lean in to peer at the list of more realistic options, hoping this will distract Renner.
Kassie clears her throat. “Curtis Carlson?”
“Nope. Jasmine will cut me.” Curtis is my friend Jasmine’s most recent ex. And after spending the better part of a sleepover performing a ceremonial exorcism wherein we burned Curtis’s hoodie, slippers, photos, and all the gifts he ever gave Jasmine in a firepit, going to prom with him just wouldn’t sit right with my soul.
“Moe Khalifa?”
I tilt my head. “I did a group project with him in Law. He’s a decent guy. Did his portion of the work. Made me somewhat regain my trust in humanity. Unlike some people.” I flash Renner a pointed look.
He grins like a deranged clown from that Stephen King book. “Khalifa is asking Naomi. I heard him bragging about it in the locker room.”
Kassie continues down her dwindling list of potentials. “Okay, how about Kiefer Barry?”
Before I can decline, Renner snorts. “Barry? Dude’s a snooze. Next.”
Sadly, Renner is right. Barry is one of those guys who tries to impress people by bringing up Nietzsche and Voltaire in casual conversation. My dryer lint trap is probably more interesting than him.
“Damian Mackey?”
I shush Kassie. Damian is sitting a mere three tables away. “Too immature,” I whisper at the precise moment he launches a spitball through a plastic straw.
Kassie sighs and turns her phone over. “No offense, but you can’t afford to be this picky only four days out. There aren’t any more single, half-decent-looking Maplewood guys.”
Thanks for the reminder, Kass, I want to say. But I don’t. I know she means well.
Nori slaps the table with her palm. “Wait, Char. You want a mature guy, right?”
I raise my brow. “Do specimens of that variety even exist?”
“What about my cousin Mike?” Nori suggests. “He’s a college freshman. He’s super mature. His favorite book is A Handmaid’s Tale.”
A momentary flutter tickles my stomach. A dude who’s into feminist literature? Praise be. I’ve only met Mike once at Nori’s family reunion. He’s super nice and cute in a discreet, nonthreatening way—definitely the type who’d hold the door for you and still say thank you.
Renner’s lips perk in amusement. “A college guy, huh?”
“I think I’m done with high school guys,” I decide.
This elicits an eye roll from Renner. I’m shocked his eyeballs aren’t lodged in the back of his head. “Oh, right. You’re too mature for us. Because a frat boy who does keg stands every weekend is much more on your level.”