Chapter 7

“Oh.”

“I’m tempted. Trust me on that, but it wouldn’t be a good idea to…start something right now.”

“Okay.”

“You’re not seeing anyone?”

“Well, I just got back, remember? Though I kind of hooked up with a guy last night.”

Mr. Darcy laughed. “I see.”

“I’m a slut.”

He laughed harder. “Not at all,” he said. “Well…maybe.” It was cool we’d developed a rapport back in the day where we could jostle back and forth. He teased me then—not about being a slut—but about my orange fingers. I loved Cheetos, ate them every day for lunch, and that was the period he’d tutored me. We would talk between math problems. He’d asked me once what I loved more than anything in life.

“The piano,” I’d said without hesitation. “I can sit behind the keys and just lose hours. The time passes, and I have no idea where it went. I guess math is like that for you,” I’d said with a frown.