Crush du Jour by Micol Ostow

Author:Micol Ostow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon and Schuster Audio
Published: 2007-10-14T04:00:00+00:00

Eleven

Even if I wasn’t convinced of my own babeosity, Anna’s words really stuck into my brain like so many stretchy strands of Laffy Taffy. Objectively speaking, it’s not like I was physically deformed or anything, so it wasn’t completely outside of the realm of possibility that she was right about Damien having, if not the full-blown hots, then at least the warms for me. Warms were not such a long shot.

The question was, did I have the warms for Damien? It was hard to say, probably because I just hadn’t been thinking that way about him at all.

Anna was right; he was kind of the total package. He was hot, funny, smart, outgoing, and apparently made good money. (Thank goodness my best friend has no interest in boundaries. She asks the hard questions.) But there was also a reason I hadn’t been thinking “that way” about him. A reason that had nothing to do with seasonal vows of chastity or the like.

A Seth reason.

True, nothing much had come of our overly hyped (no pun intended) Moment on the Fourth of July. Three weeks had passed, and I was starting to lose the glimmer of hope that that exchange had given me. Was it possible I’d hallucinated it? Was I a deranged Moment Magnifier?

Maybe. Maybe I was.

Even still, I wasn’t completely ready to give up the squishy, chocolate-covered feelings I got whenever I was around Seth. Damien was like … like a Swedish fish. Completely yummy, and it would do in a pinch (I’m not one to turn down delicious gummy candy) … but somehow still less inspiring than a good hunk of Godiva. And I was kind of a Godiva girl.

I made a pact with myself: I’d give it one good, solid, honest-to-Godiva shot with Seth and see where that got me. Anna was right: I had real feelings for him. Forget flirtation—this could be a romance. I owed at least that much to myself before I abandoned all hope of a five-course relationship with my favorite cooking coconspirator.

I’d give it one shot with Seth, and if that didn’t pan out, I’d head right back into the land of SAT prep, with no looking back.

On Saturday morning I awoke with the addled determination of a restaurant reviewer about thirty minutes before the weekend edition goes to press (for those of you not in “the biz”: I was stressed).

I spent more time than usual choosing my wardrobe; it was imperative to dress comfortably and in clothing that could take a beating from a spray of assorted foodstuffs. But this week I had particular reason to want to look if not my very hottest, then at least my least quirky. In theory I had to channel my inner (nonbratty) Callie. I had to get my flirt back on. Assuming, of course, that I still had one.

In the end, I settled on a worn and comfortable pair of overalls over a bright longsleeved T-shirt. Okay, so I’m quirky. I just am. I have to learn to love it.

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