Let Me Live

Chapter Thirteen

With one final smack with the pillow, I lie back down as her chuckles taper off slowly. Leaning her head on her hand she grins down at me. "It's only funny because you're making such a big deal out of it. Who cares?" she asks rhetorically.

"I do!" The first time a guy has ever been in my room, that isn't Jonah, and I pass out mostly sober. The fact that I was pretty sober makes it that much more depressing. Passing out when I'm drunk is a normal Tuesday reaction for me but sober? Embarrassing.

Nova climbs over me to get out of bed and fixes her pajamas. "Did he leave you a note or text or anything?" she asks, slowly taking off her bonnet, and bunching her curls to even them out.

I bite my lower lip. "Haven't looked, I'm scared."

She stills. Head turning slowly, she watches me over her shoulder. "Do you—do you like him?" Her question is careful, her voice low.

"What kind of question is that?"

She turns to face me fully. A hand on her hip. "A valid one since you're trying to dodge answering."

I sigh to the ceiling and sit up, throwing the blankets off my legs. Looking her square in the face, I announce slowly, "I do not have a crush on Levi."

A smirk tugs at her lips. "Who said anything about a crush? I just asked if you liked him, that could have been interpreted in any way."

Crap. This is not how I expected my morning to go. "I hate you."

She pouts, unaffected by my words. "And you like Levi."

Giving her an unimpressed look, I slide my hands under my thighs. "He's not my type," I say defiantly.

Nova raises an eyebrow in the floor-length mirror on her closet door. "Do you even have a type? In the three years, we've been here, I haven't seen you with one person." The words settle in my stomach uncomfortably.

Yes, I've never openly expressed my interest in anyone since being in college. Does that mean I haven't been attracted to anyone? No. But as Hallie stated at Coffe Buns on the first day of classes, I have a talent for friend-zoning guys before giving them a chance. And most of the time this happens without even realizing it until they call me 'pal'.

No girl wants to be called a guy's 'pal'. It just sounds wrong.

It's a natural instinct to protect my feelings before someone else can have access to them. I've made that mistake before. I'll be damned before it happens again.

"I have a type."

She grins, calling my bullshit. "Then what is it?"

"Not Levi Saints." Her eyes squint, scrutinizing my facial expression. I swallow. Am I sweating? Desperately needing to change the subject, I rack my brain for anything else to say before it hits me. A sense of dread fills me. "I—uh, forgot to tell you something yesterday."

Wagging her finger at me, she gives me a teasing smile. "I know what you're doing," she says in a sing-song tone.

I purse my lips. "I'm serious, Nova." Her amusement fades as she takes in my stiff posture. She waits patiently. "If it were me, I'd want to know." She nods. "I saw Beck last night."

Her face adopts a blank expression. But I can see how taut her jaw is. "He was here?" She asks, spinning around to look at her reflecting in the mirror, dabbing spots on her face. I nod softly. Her jaw shifts and she clears her throat. "Was he with her?" I don't dare ask who 'her' is, I already know. Her more common nickname in this safe space is 'The Rebound'. But there's obviously more story to just being a rebound.