Conventionally Yours (True Colors, #1)

by Annabeth Albert

And okay, part of me wouldn’t object to being smashed in a back seat with someone who looked and smelled as good as Conrad did, but that part of me was not in charge of making important life decisions, and I’d spent over two years trying very hard not to notice Conrad in that way. I wasn’t about to start crushing on someone who hated me now.

Conrad’s laugh was as attractive as the rest of him, warm and sweet like maple syrup,

I had absolutely no business feeling disappointed that he’d so easily chosen Jasper over me. Did I want to sleep next to Conrad? Have him lecture me about no cuddling? Accidentally touch arms in the night? Was I seriously sad over missing out on that? As illogical as it was, the pressure in my chest said yes. Yes, I felt like I was missing out on something, and yes, I wished he’d chosen me, like this was dodgeball and I was the kid without a team all over again.

This was more talking than we’d done in the three years that we’d been around each other, and getting to know Alden, to have him be a complicated person rather than just an annoying rival, was a development I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

I wanted to make a joke about how it was good he wasn’t planning on kissing anyone that day, but I wasn’t sure how to say it without making it sound like I was dropping a hint. Which I most definitely wasn’t. At least I didn’t think I was.

He fell into this strange undefined category—he wasn’t a total off-limits straight guy, not a firmly-in-the-friend-zone bro like Jasper, neither too old nor too young, but until recently he’d occupied the same slot where I put most people who annoyed me, and I wasn’t sure I wanted a few nice gestures moving him into some jiggly gray area where I started noticing the way his hair swooped forward or the way he bit his lip when he concentrated.

His shy smile did something to my insides, something I wasn’t sure I liked.

His shy smile widened into a genuine grin, a rare joke from him, and it was sort of like seeing a rainbow after a hard thunderstorm, the way the smile transformed his usually stoic expression. He had a dimple, which I couldn’t recall noticing before, and smiling made his brown eyes flicker with gold.

He gave me a grateful smile, a full-wattage one that made suffering his love of junk food worth any sacrifice.

Now, I didn’t really think Conrad would go off with this guy for a backroom tryst, leaving me holding the equipment, but if Blake touched Conrad’s arm one more time, I was going to throw something. Possibly Blake.

I said weakly, really wanting to know what his “standards” were. I mean, I doubted they included “short, Jewish, and nerdy” as prerequisites, but I wasn’t above hoping.

“Oh, thank God. Two beds.” Conrad flopped onto the closest one as soon as I unlocked the room. I wasn’t sure that I shared his relief, which made me cranky.

If I wanted to get to the tournament, this was my best chance. And I wasn’t letting anything or anyone stand in my way. Not even Conrad with his distracting smiles and disconcertingly tempting offers.

“I know.” Alden bustled off to the bathroom, all Victorian maiden princess, as if I couldn’t be trusted to see a cute guy and— Hold up. What the hell? Since when had Alden fallen into the cute guy category?

“No.” Alden swallowed audibly, and his cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink. No, not adorable. Bad Conrad. Bad. I tried to lecture myself away from dangerous lines of thinking.

“You have some sauce on your face.” No way was I confessing what I’d really been thinking about, but I also wasn’t lying. He had a little smear on his chin that somehow made him more, not less, attractive.

It had been so easy to feel like damaged goods the past year, but when I’d told Alden that we weren’t imperfect, I’d actually believed it myself.

“I win!” The look of pure elation on Alden’s face was one that I wanted to memorize. Not photograph and share with the others, but map for myself to take out and examine later—the joy and openness there utterly intoxicating.

“Want to do the photo booth?” “Haven’t we been squashed together enough?” Not nearly enough. I tried to push that thought away.

With the curtain drawn, the temptation to touch him, to pull him close became almost unbearable. My hands didn’t seem to know where to go, hovering over his torso and thighs, refusing to listen to my command to mind their own business. Finally, the urge won as I gave into the impulse to rest my hand on his flat stomach, pulling him more against me. His scent filled all my senses, making my body hum like a space heater, warmth zooming everywhere.

Silly would allow me to regain a grip on my sanity, remember all my very good reasons for not doing something truly ridiculous like kissing Alden’s neck. But man, how I wanted to.

Fine. Let him be homeless. See if I cared. Except I did. Way more than I wanted to, and as he gave the machine more tokens, my gut churned. I didn’t like him operating without a safety net, didn’t like knowing he had literally everything riding on this tournament.

The more he drank, the more I was desperate for one of the kids to run outside, aliens to land, planets to collide, anything to distract me from my sudden obsession with his mouth.

My shoulders slumped, chest as hollow as it got after a bad loss in the game—only I wasn’t sure what I’d lost this time. I only knew that it was significant.

And then, still holding my hand, he leaned in. This time I knew it was coming, and I didn’t flinch away. No phones rang. No loud people walked by. No one was having a meltdown, and the sun was shining, so there were no late-night excuses. Conrad was going to kiss me, and I was going to let him.

For the first time maybe ever, logistics were less important to me than feelings.

For the first time, maybe ever, I had something I liked more than Odyssey. Him. Us. The private moments we’d shared. And I’d take losing if it meant getting closer later.

Alden leaned forward so he could see, and I had to squash the old impulse to hide the find from him. This wasn’t my competition. This was my…well, my guy, if nothing else. The one who would probably be happy for me, not try to take the card.

Did you score anything worth keeping?” His face went soft, more tender than I’d ever seen it. “Maybe,” he whispered, and I knew from the gravity in his tone that he didn’t mean the cards, so I kissed him again, long and slow and sweet. I tried to use my mouth to tell him that he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Maybe we’d both already won.

This was my guy, and I wasn’t letting go, not until I had to.

It was what I’d most wanted—acknowledgment and validation from my parents, one of them at least—but it rang hollow. She was proud of me, but where had she been when I’d needed her most? Their love had been conditional, and that was no love at all.

My old mantra of one more turn had become an infinite number of turns, both mundane and earth-shattering, all adding up to a life I wouldn’t trade for anything.