The Lost Story

by Meg Shaffer

“Hmm,” she said again. He turned and glared at her. “Now what’s hmm?” “Can I ask a question?” He eyed her sternly, and she knew he was onto her. “Only if it’s archery related.” “Um, it is,” she said. “It is archery related in every respect.” “Go ahead.” “So…when did Cupid’s arrow first hit you? The day you met Rafe, or was it later?” He froze momentarily, then pulled back at the string and released the arrow. Gold. She waited. And waited. He looked at her. “Day we met. The second we met. For me anyway.” “Gay? Bi? Pan? Fun at parties?” “That is not even remotely archery related. And I prefer the term unisex.” “Unisex?” “Like a T-shirt. Fits both men and women. Plus, T-shirts are tops.” Emilie groaned and punched him in the upper arm. “That was inappropriate. So so so inappropriate.” “You asked,” he said. He didn’t even have the decency to rub his arm and pretend her punch had hurt. “What about Rafe?” “Why don’t you go ask him yourself if he’s gay, bi, or fun at parties?” “I will not be doing that.” “Smart. But yes, to answer your question, he likes girls. And me, for some reason.” Emilie muttered, “I can think of a few reasons.” “Thank you,” he said. “So what gave me away? The Subaru?” “Exhibit A—you did not appreciate it when I made a joke about Rafe impressing girls with his big sexy bed. Exhibit B—when he showed his face after shaving, you looked like…you know, in the movies when the vampire finally sees the sun after centuries of darkness? Like that. No, even better.” S...