Chapter 8 Donovan #2
“Just getting to know you a little better.” I shrug, picking the doughnut back up and twirling my finger around the hole faster and faster.
She’s looking at me like I’m the worst person in the world, and my cheeks hurt from grinning.
Cussing under her breath, she swipes the doughnut and throws it in my face before I have time to duck.
“Nice shot.” I laugh, dusting sugar off my cheeks.
She leans back in her seat. “You know, looking at you now, I can’t help but think this is going to be one hell of a mission. Remind me why I agreed to this, again?”
“Because you felt sorry for me?”
“Yeah, curse my massive heart.”
“I was actually planning on throwing in a few tears for good measure yesterday, but as it turns out, I didn’t need to.”
“If you’d cried, it would’ve been a firm no.” She shakes her head. “I can’t stand whiners.”
She fidgets with her glasses and turns to her bag, slipping out a notebook.
While she flips through the pages, I let myself stare at her.
The jabs she keeps throwing at me should annoy me—but honestly?
They help. Yesterday, when I told her everything, I saw on her face that she was genuinely affected.
But now, she’s back to pelting me with sarcasm every two seconds, and it feels kind of reassuring.
I don’t want anyone’s pity. I don’t want someone tiptoeing around me like I’m fragile.
All I want is someone to shove me into shape.
And Carrie is the exact right person for the job.
“So!” She uncaps her pen with a flourish. “Let’s start by mapping out your goals.”
She draws a horizontal line right across the page, scrawling “mission accomplished” on the far right.
“This right here is the end goal.”
“I kinda guessed, yeah.”
“And this”—she sketches out a skull head on the left—“is where we’re currently at. Let’s assume that by the end of this crash course, you’ll be capable of sweeping an amazing girl off her feet. What do you feel you need to do to get there?”
I frown. This seems pretty basic. Boring, even.
“I’m all ears, Wolinski.”
“Isn’t this your job?” I fire back.
“No!” She slams her pen down. “Absolutely not.”
“I asked for your help because I have no idea.”
“Okay…” She nods slowly. “Let me think.” She rips another sheet out of her notebook and draws two columns. “Let’s list your qualities and your flaws. Okay? So, on a basic level, you have a few key qualities. You work out, you have nice features—”
“You think I’m hot?” I cut in.
“On the downside, though,” she continues, ignoring me, “you’re massively full of yourself and have a tendency for extrapolating stuff.”
She underlines the word “extrapolating” twice, and chews on her pen.
“Are you a good student?” she asks, eyeing me.
“Straight A’s!”
“What are you studying, again?”
“Sport industry.”
“So, you’re not aiming for the NBA?”
“Of course I am! But I need a backup plan in case I get injured, and for when I retire from competing.”
She frowns. “Isn’t it kind of unusual for a player like you to stay at school this long? I thought the top talent got snapped up by the NBA in freshman year.”
I shake my head. “It’s a little more complicated than that, and anyway, graduating college is really important to me. I’ll be twenty-two next month—still plenty of time for the NBA.”
She nods and adds two more adjectives to my “positives” column—“academic” and “good planner.” Just as I’m feeling good about myself, the other column starts filling up, with words like “terrible communicator” and “horny brain,” and my smile drops.
“Okay, this is looking good now,” she says, reading back over her notes. “Anything missing?”
I glance down at the page. “I think that’s enough, don’t you think? Don’t make me throw myself in the Scioto…”
She sips on her coffee and places her pen down.
“So—what now? Enlighten me, oh mighty priestess of romance! What are the holy books saying about leveling up to ‘fiction boyfriend’ status?”
“We call them ‘book boyfriends,’ ” she corrects, all serious. “And you do realize novels are just that, fiction, right?”
“Right back at you,” I snicker.
She looks offended. “I know they’re fictional, thank you very much. That’s exactly why I love them.”
A thought occurs to me. “Hey, I never asked you. But do you have a boyfriend?”
“Absolutely not,” she answers sharply.
I’m taken aback by the tone—like it’s some crazy suggestion and it goes against everything she believes in.
“What’s with the attitude?” I ask.
“I just don’t want a boyfriend, that’s all.”
“I thought every girl was waiting for her Prince Charming.”
“Not this one.”
I hesitate. “Can I ask why?”
“You can ask—doesn’t mean you’ll get an answer.”
“Carrie…” I shoot her a warning look.
She narrows her lips and pauses before answering.
“Firstly, because I need to focus on my studies…”
It makes sense, but it sounds weird, like she’s holding back from telling me something.
“And secondly, because it’s always the same old story—I get my hopes up, make stories up in my head, and then inevitably get disappointed.”
“What kind of stories are you making up about me?”
“Absolutely none,” she says brightly. “When it comes to you, I’m a hard-core realist.”
“Give it to me straight, then, Carrie. What kind of guy would check your boxes?”
She pops the last of her doughnut into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as she licks her fingers clean.
“Someone so crazy about me he uses his superpowers to save my life, even though that breaks every rule in the book.”
What the fuck?
“Right. Sounds like an amazing piece of fiction you’re reading.”
“It is.” She sighs, resting her chin in her hand.
“It’s a paranormal romance, and I’m obsessed with the guy.
He’s this dreamy three-hundred-year-old vampire who’d burn the world for her.
” She sits there staring into space, before shaking her head briskly.
“Anyway, enough about me! We’re here to focus on… ”
I smile at her encouragingly. “On?”
She slumps deeper into her seat. “Shit, I don’t know!
Yeah, I read books about people falling in love and living for love and doing anything for love, and stuff.
And yes,” she continues, “I agreed to help you because your story hit home. But the truth is, I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.
” She frowns. “I have no idea how to help you. I—”
“Carrie,” I interrupt, holding up a hand. “Just breathe. I didn’t ask for a whole essay, I’m not expecting a master class, or anything. How about we just talk and see where things lead?”
“Yeah.” She stares down into her mug, unconvinced. “I guess.”
“I’m not interested in, like…” I search the room for inspiration. “Data, and shit. I just want your thoughts on what makes a good guy, considering you live and breathe this book stuff.”
“ ‘Book stuff’?” She whips her head up. “What does that even mean?”
She’s raising her voice, but it’s not because she’s mad. A couple about our age at the table next to us is in the middle of a full-blown fight. I missed how it started, but it seems to involve a phone, shaving cream, and tape. Intense!
Carrie is doing her best to talk over them, but they’re getting louder and louder, until finally, it’s impossible to ignore.
She spins around to face them. “Cut it out, guys! If you’ve got shit to deal with, do it at home.”
I nearly choke on my drink. Carrie never treads lightly. She always tells it like it is. The way she just blurts stuff out is probably my favorite thing about her. And for once, I’m not the one she’s aiming at, so I plan to savor every second.
The couple lower their voices, but somehow the hissing is even more distracting. I stare at my newfound friend, doing my best not to burst out laughing.
“Okay, that’s it!” she barks, scraping back her chair.
“None of this would be a problem if he just admitted he messed up!” The girl next to us folds her arms across her chest.
The guy glares at her. “Messed up how?”
“Dude, you’ve been checking out that girl at the back for twenty minutes now.” Carrie points at him with her straw.
How did she even notice that?
“Ha!” his girlfriend says triumphantly. “I knew it! What an asshole…”
“Pipe down, honey,” the guy snaps back. “You really think I didn’t notice you checking him out?” He points at me. “Yeah, those shades aren’t fooling anyone.”
I grab my cup of coffee. Anything to hide the smile spreading across my face.
“Okay, children. Time-out.” Carrie glares at them. “So go take a walk, break up, hook up, go pick apples for all I care—but for the love of sweet baby Jesus—get the hell out of here!”
We all sit there in stunned silence, until finally the guy pipes up.
“Girl, how about you go f—”
“Whoa there!” I hold up a warning hand. “Listen, buddy. I’m gonna suggest you don’t go there. I’ve cut you guys some slack, don’t make me change my mind.”
I end with a classic Wolinski brow furrow—a killer move that’s been handed down through the generations.
“Come on, babe. Let’s get outta here.”
The guy holds out a hand, and the pair of them leave, shooting us dirty looks as they step out the door.
I cock an eyebrow at Carrie. “ ‘Go pick apples’? You tell it like it is, huh?”
“I hate it when people air their dirty laundry in public like that. It makes me—”
“Lose your shit?”
“You wanted an example, you got it—that right there was a textbook bad boyfriend.”
“How’d you even know he was checking someone out?”
She snorts. “Please. A woman always knows. Honestly, I should’ve stirred the pot more…”
“You’re terrifying, you know that?”
She waves me off. “Go flex that big muscly arm and flag down your fangirl. I need another coffee.”
I roll my eyes and get up to grab it myself.
When I get back with the goods, Carrie is pumped for round two.
“You handled yourself pretty well, back there.”
“It’s just a coffee.” I shrug.
She takes a sip of her sludge. “I mean with the asshole.”
“Oh.” I smirk. “See how I put my life on the line to defend your honor?”
She shuts her eyes while I fist-pump the air.
“Don’t celebrate too fast, Wolinski. I saw you wink at the girlfriend as they were leaving.”
“Who, me?!”
“Mm-hm.”
“Damn. I didn’t even realize I was doing it.”
She reaches for her pen. “Let’s add ‘poor self-awareness’ to the list.”
After that whole scene, we actually manage to talk like normal people, and when my phone starts to ring, I realize we’ve spent a full two hours at the coffee shop.
“What?!” Her mouth falls open. “How is it after five, already?”
“We put in a good day’s work.”
“I guess we did.”
“So, when’s the next class? I’m pretty free at the moment,” I add. “Training hasn’t started up yet.”
She flips open her diary.
“Wednesday?” she offers. “I finish class at four.”
“Ugh, that’s ages away,” I pout. “I was thinking more tomorrow.”
“You do realize I have an actual life, don’t you?”
“Tuesday, then.” I’m practically begging.
She sighs. “Tuesday it is.”
“Is it me, or are you getting easier and easier to grind down?”
“Don’t start getting any ideas,” she warns. “I’m just thinking the sooner we see each other again, the sooner we can wrap this up.”
I choose to ignore that one. “Want me to drop you off at South Hall?”
“I could get used to having my own private chauffeur, you know.”
ODDLY ENOUGH, THE TRAFFIC IS smooth for a Saturday—we get to campus faster than I’d hoped, and I fight back a flicker of disappointment. Spending time with her felt good. It was nice to get out of my own head, for once.
“What should I read while I wait?”
“It still freaks me out hearing you ask me that… I’ll send you a list. What’s your email address?”
I whip her phone out of her hand and stab in my details. “I’ll add my number, too.”
I send myself a text from her phone so I’ve got her number.
“Don’t go spamming me,” she warns, taking the phone off me.
“I always dreamed of having a confidante,” I say, placing a hand over my heart.
She laughs. “Never going to happen.”
“You could drop me a line whenever you read something you think could be useful to me. I’m open to sexting, too, if it helps with the homework,” I add.
“What an offer.”
She unclips her seat belt and brushes back a loose curl that escaped her bun. I suddenly wonder what she looks like with her hair loose.
“You better get going—don’t keep those fangirls waiting!”
“Where are we meeting on Monday?”
“Tuesday!”
I laugh. “Worth a shot.”
One hand resting on the roof, she leans down to meet my gaze.
“I’ll be in touch on Tuesday morning. Have a good weekend.”
“I’ll text tomorrow evening to tell you all about it.”
She flips me the finger and slams the door shut, and I watch her head up the street.
I don’t know what’s going to come of this crash course, but I haven’t felt this good all summer. In fact, I’m pretty sure I haven’t felt this good in years.