Free The Ivy: Secrets by Lauren Kunze, Rina Onur

sliding the bookmark back into place. His blue eyes were bright when he met her gaze. “‘She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me.’” He quoted Darcy’s famous line. “Classic. I love that part.”
    That they both loved the same books—once upon a time that had sent butterflies fluttering from her stomach out to the tips of her fingers and down to her toes. Now it was a twist of the knife. That he could quote from memory just drove the blade in farther, deeper, straight into the left-hand side of her chest. How many other girls had fallen for his tricks? And how could he be so cruel, to deliberately remind her that she had stupidly—oh, so stupidly—fallen, too?
    Never again, she vowed. Never—not even if he stood there and recited the entire book from memory—again. Wordlessly she scanned the textbook and slammed the Due Back in One Hour stamp on the front page so hard that it smudged. Then she flipped the front cover shut and shoved the book across the counter.
    He made no move to take it.
    “Is there something else?” she asked as coldly as she could manage.
    He looked at her, his fingers drumming the counter. “The other day . . . in the hall . . . when I . . .” He trailed off. “You seemed—”
    She closed her eyes. Thinking about “the other day in the hall” made her sick. She had no idea how he was about to torment her, but she knew if it involved threesomes or her stupid unreturned “I miss you,” she simply could not survive. “Just. Go. Away,” she said through gritted teeth.
    “So . . . that’s what you really want, then?” he muttered. For a moment he looked as if she had slapped him. But then he shrugged, and suddenly he was Gregory again. “Fine,” he said acidly. “Like you said, ‘Let’s just stay as far away from each other as possible,’ right?” he added, picking up the book. Before she could answer, he turned, heading for the café.
    Like I said—when? Just now? Did I . . . The room started to spin, and Callie exhaled, realizing that she had been holding her breath. She inhaled slowly, her eyes darting toward the clock. She had been on duty for . . . only twenty-three minutes and fourteen seconds? How was that possible! Was she really stuck here for another ninety-six minutes and forty-three seconds? Forty-two . . . forty-one . . . forty . . .
    Her eyes inadvertently flicked back over to Lamont Café. Her breath caught in her chest. Lexi rose gracefully out of her chair and embraced Gregory, kissing him once on each cheek. He smiled and said something. She laughed and gestured toward the table, taking the textbook he had just offered her and spreading it open between them. Their heads bent together as he pulled out a notebook and pen. Callie couldn’t see his face; his back bent indifferently toward her.
    Callie closed her eyes, as if doing so could erase the image.
    But there was no denying what was clearly unfolding before her:
    Gregory and Lexi. On a date, or at least something that strongly resembled a datelike gathering—their second if you counted the night he ditched Lexi to save Vanessa from James “The D-Bag” Hoffmeyer at the Mad Hatter’s Ball.
    How did they know each other anyway? Was it a secret New York, everyone-knows-everyone-who’s-anyone type of thing? Did they have a history? Did he like her? Did she like him? Did—
    Callie walked over to the cart of books waiting to be re-shelved and started sorting them. Well, started pretending to sort them.Her mind was so fuzzy she knew she’d have to re-sort them later, but at least for the time being her hands were occupied, and the watery feeling in the corners of her eyes could be blamed on the dust motes floating off the ancient volumes.
    She was just pulling Tennessee Williams’s Cat on a Hot Tin Roof back from where she had accidentally shelved it as poetry when she heard a voice say quietly,
    “Hey there.”
    She knew from the slightly southern lilt and the sound—like liquid