Read Online The Trouble With Flirting by Rachel Morgan - Free Book Online Page B

something. I lean my head against his shoulder. “You’re still important to me,” I murmur.
    After several moments of watching Sheldon try to explain some equations on a whiteboard to Penny, Adam whispers, “Your hair is making my shoulder wet.”
    “Well, you’re hogging all the pillows,” I whisper back.
    “They are my pillows.”
    I crawl to the foot of the bed and grab the cushion from his wheeled desk chair. The chair slides to the side, knocking a notebook that was jutting over the edge of the desk onto the floor.
    “Oops.”
    “Princess Clumsy.”
    I settle back on the bed with the cushion behind me. “Clumsiness is my superpower. We’ve already established this.”
    We watch as Sheldon attempts to begin his explanation from the beginning again while Penny grows more and more frustrated. My eyes start to slide closed.
    “Don’t you have a test on Monday?” Adam says.
    “Mmm.” Don’t think about that.
    “So … you should probably go to bed soon so you can study tomorrow.”
    “Mmm.” You’re not nearly that sensible, are you, Livi? With considerable effort, I open my mouth and say, “My other superpower is scoring spectacularly high marks in a test I am superbly unprepared for.”
    Adam snorts. “If only that superpower existed.”

    From: Alivia Howard
    Sent: Sun 9 Feb, 2:38 am
    To: Carl
    Subject: Dear Carl

    Why can’t they make clubs that are awesome like in movies? Like, classy. With clean floors. And music that is always at the perfect volume. And—cherry on the top—that guy you’re crushing on must always show up right when you want him to.

    Note to self: make a club like this one day.

    Also … figure out how to be obsessed with The Big Bang Theory while retaining cool clubbing image.

    Damn …
    So …
    Tired …

    I mean so damn tired.
    ___________________________________

When morning arrives, I regret not listening to Adam. My head aches, probably from a combination of deafening music and a lack of sleep, brought on by too many episodes of The Big Bang Theory .
    After hitting my snooze button seven times, I manage to sit up. I stare at the gap between my curtains for a while. Dark clouds. Some drizzle. A bad day for the beach and a perfect day to stay inside studying.
    Ugh.
    I shove my glasses on, shuffle over to my cupboard, and remember that the only clean clothes I have are a few pairs of underwear. I can’t sit in my underwear all day. Or can I? Some of my underwear looks just like—
    No, don’t be ridiculous, Alivia. Pyjamas. You can stay in your pyjamas.
    I push my glasses up and rub my eyes. Sheesh. Studying is not going to go well if my brain is in the kind of state where it thinks wearing underwear and nothing else is acceptable. Especially with the cold breeze blowing in through the window this morning. I should probably wait a while before attempting to work. I should … do my laundry.
    I pick up one of the two close-to-overflowing laundry baskets from the corner and shuffle out of my room with it. I pass Adam’s open door. He isn’t home. He knocked on my door about an hour ago to say he was going with Luke to … somewhere. I think I fell asleep halfway through his sentence.
    The tiny room off the kitchen serves as our laundry/pantry. I open the lid of the washing machine and empty my laundry basket into it. It appears I have far too many dirty clothes, though, because at least half of them land on the floor on either side of the machine. With a groan, I return them to the basket. I locate the little tray thingy for the washing powder, then spend several minutes examining the dials and buttons on the outside of the machine. After all, it’s not like I’ve done much laundry in my life. We’ve always had at least two domestic workers at home to take care of things like that, and last year in Germany … well, I lived in a castle, so it goes without saying that there were staff employed to do the laundry.
    I’m so