The Secrets of Attraction by Robin Constantine Read Free Book Online Page A

go on but she clammed up. “Do you want us to play twenty questions to get it out of you?”
    She laughed, then took a breath. “His name is Logan, remember the guy from—”
    â€œAndy Foley’s party?” Wren asked. Jazz nodded.
    â€œWhat party?”
    â€œIn December, you were puking your brains out and couldn’t go. We went to see Gray in Sticky Wicket. Logan played kings cup with Jazz,” Wren explained.
    â€œOh, right. This has been going on since then?”
    â€œNo—I mean, we met that night, but it turns out he runs. I saw him at the park a few weeks back, we got to talking, and, well, we’ve been training together. He says I keep him on pace—we’re both trying to get down to a seven-minute mile.”
    â€œHow romantic,” I said.
    â€œSo, yeah, I’m kind of bummed about it.”
    â€œNo—you need to go to the dance,” Wren said.
    â€œAbsolutely. So he can see you there, realize that his amazing running partner is also scorching, and he will fall head-over-Nikes for you.”
    â€œMizunos.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œHe trains in Mizunos.”
    â€œWhatever—he won’t be wearing running shoes when you train to do something else in seven minutes.”
    Jazz blushed. “Madison, geez.”
    â€œI’m loving this idea. Come on, Jazz—it’ll be fun.” Wren batted her eyelashes. I put my hands together in prayer. We stared Jazz down until she gave in.
    â€œOkay, okay, fine—but where will I find a date?”
    â€œConsider Zach your hookup source.”
    â€œWho’s the guy who went to the movies with us the last time we all went as a group? Zach’s friend . . . the blond, not the one who smelled like pepperoni.”
    Wren laughed. “The one you sat next to?”
    â€œUm, Kyle, maybe?” I said.
    â€œYeah, we had a great conversation about history mash-ups and movies. He was pretty cool. I could handle, um, being fixed up with him.”
    â€œI’m seeing Zach later,” I said.
    â€œNo, wait. Just ask Zach if you think Kyle would be into it. Then, I don’t know, get me his number, I’ll call him. That’s how this works, right? Have to get over my nerves somehow.”
    â€œConsider it done,” I said.
    It was hard to focus on homework across from Zach O’Keefe. We sat at my dining room table—well, I sat; Zach took up two chairs, his legs draped over the seat of one, his body slunk down in the other, the tip of a pencil grazing his bottom lip as he read from his history textbook. Dark curls fell over his forehead. His hair had been short when we first met, close-cropped to keep out of his eyes during fall soccer. I loved the length now, the wildness of it. The way he owned the space around him was distracting.
    While he studied history, I studied him—his angles and edges, the gentle swirls and waves of his hair. How his orange tee fit him just right, not too tight but showed off his chest, his arms. I could spend hours drawing his arms alone, the way his biceps and triceps curved into each other. As a subject, he was captivating.
    I was supposed to be working on a dwelling design for the scholarship portfolio. I’d chosen to put an addition on my house—well, at least to draw the floor plans for it. Something functional and beautiful and congruent with the original house design. Right now, all of those words described Zach.Except, I couldn’t get his nose right. He had a small bump near the bridge that I kept turning into a beak. Noses always gave me trouble.
    Without warning he snatched the sketchbook from me.
    â€œHey,” I said. A long, jagged line now went through the picture where my pencil had still been in contact with the paper as he pulled it away. I squirmed in my seat while he looked at the drawing. Zach’s idea of art was the Manchester United flag he had hanging above his bed. I knew he would never say