He stared at me for a long moment then turned to the bookcase with the leather-bound books.

“It hadn’t occurred to me,” he replied, keeping his focus on the book spines before him. He selected one, took it out, and opened it. I got the impression he was pretending to read the first page.

“You two seemed friendly,” I continued, not able to help myself. It bugged me. A lot. Almost as much as seeing Bronwyn’s text earlier.

“Should I not have been friendly?” he countered.

“I don’t care.”

He glanced up. “I didn’t ask if you cared. I asked if I shouldn’t have been friendly with Ayisha.”

“Do whatever you want.”

“Don’t you like her?”

“It’s complicated.”

“A clear evasion.”

“Yep.”

“Which I’ll take to mean no, you don’t like her.”

I hesitated. Because that wasn’t entirely true. There was a time I had liked Ayisha. I’d thought she was the coolest person in the whole town. And I thought she’d liked me as well, at least a little, despite the year between us. That felt like forever ago.

Arthur tipped his head to one side in curiosity. “Did she date someone you liked?”

I was surprised at the directness. It was like he was boring a hole right through me.

“Other way around.”

Arthur leaned back. “I see.” He dragged out the “see” in a way only the British could, followed by a moment of silence. “And are you still dating . . . him? Her? Them?”

“Brody Tuck. Him. And no, we’re not dating.” Before he could come up with another uncomfortable question, I pointed to the open book in his hand. “Which one’d you choose?”

For a second I wasn’t sure he was going to let me get away with that unsubtle change of subject, but then he glanced at the title. “Reader’s Digest’s Condensed—Volume 4, 1957.”

I laughed, relieved. “Classic.”

He seemed mildly amused, too. “How can I go wrong? There are five stories from which to choose, one of which is entitled ‘Warm Bodies.’ ”

“I’ll bet that’s not as fun as it sounds.”

I regretted that the second it came out of my mouth. Because it was borderline flirtatious and there was no reason for anything flirtatious between me and Arthur Chakrabarti Watercress, thank you very much. Especially in light of my earlier reaction to watching him try on jeans.

Maybe he didn’t notice.

But then I saw his olive skin darken with a blush and he returned the book to the shelf and, yeah, he’d noticed. Shit.