Foreplay: The Ivy Chronicles by Sophie Jordan Page B

the table surrounding the girls’ bowls. Good excuse to avoid his gaze.
    Suddenly, he murmured, “You mean you’re going to Dartford and you’re not going to be a surgeon or some executive type?”
    I shot him a glance. “Are you stereotyping me?”
    He shrugged unapologetically.
    I had no right to be offended. Not when I’d singled him out because of the category I thought he fell into. I gravitated toward him because all rumors indicated he was an unparalleled player.
    “Thanks for letting me stay for dinner.”
    Now I shrugged. “Of course. You did fix their garbage disposal. I’m sure they would have invited you themselves.”
    Nice . It was like I didn’t want him to think I was interested in him—when I clearly was. Only further evidence of how unskilled a flirt I was.
    A loud crash followed by a squeal drifted from upstairs. I shook off the spaghetti and crumbs I’d gathered into Sheridan’s empty bowl. “I better get them settled before someone loses a limb.”
    His mouth twitched. “Sure.”
    I exited the kitchen, the back of my neck tingling. I knew without looking that he was watching me walk away, considering me. If I were Emerson, I’d probably do that thing with her hips that she does. But I wasn’t Em. I was just me.
    Thirty minutes and three bedtime stories later, I returned to find him gone. I pulled up hard and looked around the quiet kitchen for him. As though he lurked in some corner. He’d cleared the table, rinsed and stacked the dishes beside the sink, but he was gone.
    Yeah. I was just me. Hopeless me.

Chapter
9
    W hy am I
doing this again?” I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Tinfoil sheets
covered the top of my head. Emerson sat next to me, similar sheets arranged in
her much shorter hair. Only where mine were highlights of various shades of gold
and copper, hers were chunky magenta streaks.
    She sipped from her iced coffee as we waited for
our stylists to return and remove the foil from our hair. Hopefully the results
wouldn’t make me want to wear a hat for the rest of the semester.
    Emerson lowered her drink and met my gaze
thoughtfully in the mirror. “This will seal the deal.”
    “How’s that?” I asked.
    “Well. Hottie bartender kissed you—”
    “Reece,” I supplied, flipping the page of a
magazine I wasn’t really interested in. “And let’s not forget he bailed on me
the other night without even a good-bye. So kiss aside, I wouldn’t say I’m close
to sealing the deal with him.”
    She waved a hand, continuing. “He’s still into you.
He stayed and ate dinner with you and the girls, didn’t he? Trust me. He wants
you.”
    “He was probably just hungry,” I grumbled under my
breath.
    “More importantly, Hunter is starting to finally
come around—”
    “I never said Hunter was—”
    “Pepper, sweetheart, he’s interested. He wouldn’t
offer to drive home with you for Thanksgiving if he wasn’t potentially even one
teeny tiny bit”—she held up her fingers in the barest pinch—“interested in a you and him . A guy
wouldn’t suffer a four-hour car drive otherwise.”
    “Hmm,” was all I said, taking a sip of my water.
Staring at my reflection, I hoped the combination of gold and copper highlights
the stylist insisted would make my hair pop wasn’t a
disaster. For what I was spending, it had better look nothing short of
miraculous.
    Emerson leaned over and squeezed my hand. “I’m so
glad you’re doing this.”
    “Letting you make me over?”
    She shrugged. “It’s more than that. This is fun, Pepper. I mean, I love you and you’re a great
study partner and all . . . and it’s nice that you’re always up for a
movie night, but you’ve never been one to join me for a girls’ day at the salon
followed by a night out.”
    I resisted pointing out that my budget didn’t
precisely allow for trips to the salon and manicurist. Emerson had never had to
budget for anything in her life. Her credit card bill went straight to