Before you get down on bent knee...
...you should be pretty darn sure the answer will be yes. For ten years, Connor O’Rourke has been waiting for Jessica Dunn to take their on-again, off-again relationship public, and he thinks the time has come. His restaurant is thriving, she’s got her dream job at Blue Heron Vineyard—it’s the perfect time to get married.
When he pops the question, however, her answer is a fond but firm no. If it ain’t broke, why fix it? Jess has her hands full with her younger brother, who’s now living with her full-time, and a great career after years of waitressing. What she and Connor have is perfect: friends with an excellent benefits package. Besides, with her difficult past (and reputation), she’s positive married life isn’t for her.
But this time, Connor says it’s all or nothing. If she doesn’t want to marry him, he’ll find someone who does. Easier said than done, given that he’s never loved anyone but her. And maybe Jessica isn’t quite as sure as she thinks...
Praise for Kristan Higgins’s Blue Heron series
THE BEST MAN
~Named a Best Book of the Year by Amazon, Library Journal and Kirkus Reviews~
“A deliriously funny story.... The Best Man is Kristan Higgins’s best book—and that’s saying a lot.”
—Eloisa James
“You’ll adore every bit of this story...Higgins’s latest is sexy, screwy, funny and fulfilling—a simply radiant read.”
—USA TODAY
“Emotional resonance balances zany antics in a powerful story that feels completely real.”
—Publishers Weekly, starred review
THE PERFECT MATCH
“Higgins offers readers a journey filled with tears and laughter and the best kind of sighs, proving she only gets better with each book.”
—New York Times
“Zingy dialog and hilarious asides...make this refreshing riff on the classic marriage-of-convenience plot a delightfully unorthodox, captivating winner.”
—Library Journal
WAITING ON YOU
“Fans should take care not to read this one in church or anywhere else a gut-busting laugh would be inappropriate.”
—New York Times Journal of Books
“Embodies everything fans of contemporary romance are looking for.”
—RT Book Reviews
IN YOUR DREAMS
“Higgins exhibits her storytelling artistry with another stunning romance that includes her trademark touches of laugh-out-loud humor and tear-jerking pathos.”
—Kirkus Reviews, starred review
“A spirited, truly funny, and emotionally satisfying romance you won’t want to put down. Humor and heart in one stunning package.”
—Library Journal, starred review
Anything for You
Kristan Higgins
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This book is dedicated to Catherine Arendt, my wonderful friend since our very first week of college, godmother to my daughter and a true-blue pal all the way.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Praise
Title Page
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Extract
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
“GET UP, DOOFUS.”
Though the words were said with a smile, they definitely weren’t what Connor O’Rourke was hoping to hear. He was, after all, on a bent knee, holding up a diamond ring.
“I just asked you to marry me, Jess,” he said.
“And it was adorable.” She ruffled his hair. That didn’t bode well, either. “The answer is no, obviously. What were you thinking? And boy, I’m starving. Did you call for pizza yet?”
Okay. Granted, Jessica Dunn was...different. They’d been dating for the past eight months—or ten years, depending on how you counted it—and getting her to this moment had taken as much strategizing as, oh, D-Day. Still, he hadn’t quite anticipated this.
He tried again. “Jessica. Make me the happiest man on earth and say you’ll be my wife.”
“I heard you the first time, big guy. And I did wonder about all these candles. Nice touch, if a little on the fire-hazard side of things.”
“And your answer is?”
“You already know my answer, and you knew it long before you asked anything. Now come on, Connor. Upsy-daisy.”
He didn’t move. Jess sighed and folded her arms across her chest, giving him a patient look, eyebrow slightly raised.
Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of her pocket, because she always checked her phone, no matter what they were doing. “Iron Man is killing all the bad guys in the cave,” she said, deadpan.
This was normal—her brother dictating text updates on whatever movie he and Gerard, his occasional babysitter, were watching. It could be funny. At the moment, not so much.
“Can we be serious here?” he asked.
“I’m really hungry, Con.”
“If I feed you, will you say yes?”
“No. So up you go. Let’s have a nice night, okay? Weren’t we gonna watch Game of Thrones?”
Hail Mary, full of grace, she was really turning him down.
He didn’t get up. With the hand that was not holding the little black velvet box, he rubbed his hand across his jaw. He’d shaved for this and everything. The diamond winked in the candlelight, taunting him.
“Look, Jess,” he said. “I’m tired of feeling like you pay me by the hour. I’m tired of you breaking up with me. Why don’t we get married and stay together for the rest of our lives?”
“You ever hear that expression, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it?”
“Do you see me here on one knee with an expensive ring in my hand?”
“Yes. You’re hard to miss. And it’s very pretty. But I get the feeling you think you should love me for the simple reason that we’ve been sleeping together on and off for so many years—”
“No, it’s genuine love.”
“And secondly, you know how things are. I can’t marry you. I have Davey.”
“Well, I have Colleen, and she’s a lot more trouble than your brother.”
“Funny.” Jessica’s three feet away face was erasing any emotion. It was a face he’d seen all too often in the past two decades, as if she was saying, very politely, keep three feet away from me or you’ll lose an arm.
His knee was getting sore. “I know how things are with your brother, Jess. I don’t think you’re supposed to martyr yourself because of it.”
“Don’t go there. I love my brother. He comes first.”
“So you basically have a life sentence.”
“Yes,” she said, as if she was explaining it to a two-year-old. “Davey’s life. My life. They’re inseparable. You think I should put him in a kennel for you?”
“Did I say the word kennel? No, I didn’t. But I think you could tell him you’re getting married and he can come live with us.” Or in the group home in Bryer, which seemed like a very nice place. Yes, Connor had checked it out.
Her phone buzzed again. Again, she checked it. “Iron Man can fly.”
“Jessica. I’m asking you to marry me.” His jaw was getting tight.
“I know. And really, thank you. It’s very sweet. Are we going to eat?”
“So you’re not saying yes, is that it?”
“Yes. I’m not saying yes.” She pushed a strand of silky blond hair behind her ear.
Jaw at one hundred percent lockdown. “Then it’s a no.”
“Sadly, yes, it’s a no. Which I’m sure doesn’t come as a huge surprise to you.”
She was really turning him down.
Somehow, he’d seen this all going a bit differently.
Connor stood up, his knee creaking a little. Closed the little black velvet box and set it carefully on the table. He’d gone into Manhattan to buy that ring—a simple and flawless emerald-cut diamond that suited her, because she was simply, flawlessly beautiful, too. Not a drop of makeup on, her long blond hair in a ponytail, wearing jeans and a faded T-shirt that said Hugo’s on it, she was still the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.
“Shall I call for pizza?” she asked.
He sat down across from her. In the fridge were two lobsters, scallops, potatoes au gratin, artichoke and arugula salad, a bottle of Dom Perignon and pots de crème au chocolat, since his plan was to slide the ring on her finger, make love to her and then cook her the best meal of her life.
He did not want pizza.
He did not want a rejection.
His pulse was throbbing in his temples, a warning sign that he was mad. Brain-Vein, his irritating twin called it. He took a slow breath, looked around the room, trying not to lose his temper. The dining room...maybe that had been a mistake. It wasn’t exactly warm and romantic. No pictures on the walls. His whole house looked like a furniture showroom, now that he thought about it.
Certainly, there were no pictures of him and Jessica.
He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “How do you see us going forward, Jess?”
She was as cool and still as a stone in Keuka Lake. “What do you mean?”
“You and me, our future, our relationship, not that you can really call sneaking around at the age of thirty-two a relationship.”
“I see us doing this. Getting together when we can. Enjoying each other’s company.” She wasn’t the type to be goaded into an argument, that was for sure. Pity. A little yelling and some Olympic make-up sex would be more Connor’s style. And that ring on her finger.
He made sure his voice was calm. Jess didn’t do anger. “Do you ever think about us living together or marrying or having kids?”
“No. This works for me.” She twisted the silver ring she wore on her thumb and gave him a pleasant smile.
“It doesn’t work for me. Not anymore, Jess.”
A person would need a magnifying glass to see any reaction from Jessica Dunn, but Connor was something of a student of her face. Right now her lips were pressed together the tiniest bit, indicating a disturbance in the Force.
“Well, thanks for letting me know,” she said smoothly. “I’m sorry to hear that. You said you understood how things were and how they had to be. Nothing in my life has changed, so I’m not sure why you thought things would be different now.”
“Davey can adjust.”
“No, he can’t, Connor. He has an IQ of fifty-two. And he hates you, or have you forgotten that? He can’t even see you in the grocery store without having a meltdown. You remember the head-banging when he saw you with our dog?” Yes, Connor remembered. It had been one of the scariest moments of his life, as a matter of fact. “I don’t have room for marriage and kids,” Jess continued. “My brother is my responsibility in more ways than you could ever know. I’m surprised you brought marriage up at all. We’ve had this conversation a million times.”
“Actually, we’ve never had this conversation.”
Her cheeks were getting pink. Finally, something more than calm, cool and collected.
Good. It didn’t seem fair that he was the only one feeling something here.
“Well, I thought you knew,” she said. “I’ve always been very clear.”
Blood thrummed through his temples, too hard, too fast. Another slow breath. “You’re using your brother as an excuse. He’ll adjust. He’s held you hostage for years now.”
“Do not go there, Connor.”
“What I mean is—”
“What you mean is, put him in a home.”
She was really digging in now. “No, I don’t,” he said. “I bought this house with you in mind. There’s an apartment upstairs, in case you forgot. It’s for him. I love your brother.”
“No, you don’t. You’ve never even had a conversation with him, and he certainly doesn’t love you. And let’s not rewrite history. You decided to buy a two-family house without even talking to me.”
Fair point. But it had seemed like a perfect solution; him and Jess downstairs, Davey upstairs. Instead, his sister had moved in after Jess turned him down.
Jessica sighed, some of the steel leaving her posture. “Connor, look. I think it’s sweet that you made this gesture. Maybe it’s because your sister’s pregnant and you’re feeling sentimental, but this just can’t work. And I also think you’re saying it because you’re sure I won’t say yes, and you’re right. I won’t.”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to say yes, Jessica.”
Her phone buzzed again. She looked at the hateful device. “Great. Davey clogged the toilet, and Gerard can’t get the valve to shut off. The last time the bathroom flooded, and I had to pay to replace the whole floor.”
“Jess, I want you to marry me.”
“I have to go. I’ll see you Thursday, okay? This was a nice thought, Connor. I appreciate it. I really do.” She stood up, kissed him on the head like he was a dog—which he basically was, just some half-brain Labrador retriever you could ignore until you were lonely, and it was always happy to see you and would cheerfully forget the fact that you’d locked it in the cellar for a year or so. She grabbed her denim jacket from the hook by the door.
“Jessica.” He didn’t look at her, just stared at the candles flickering on the table. “This will be the last time you break up with me.”
Well, shit. He hadn’t really planned on saying that, but now that the words were out, they sprang up between the two of them like an iron door.
She froze for a second. “What do you mean?”
His head was killing him, every heartbeat stabbing behind his eyes. “I’m talking about all the times you’ve broken up with me, all the times you said life was too complicated, and you couldn’t make any changes. I want a wife and kids and to be able to kiss you in public. If you leave now, make sure you mean it.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” She actually sounded indignant.
“I’m proposing!”
“Well, I have no idea why!” she snapped back. “You know this is the best I can do.”
“Okay, then.” His jaw clamped shut.
Her mouth opened a little. “Really.”
“Yep.”
“Fine,” she said. “Do what you want.”
“Thanks. I will.”
“Good.”
“Fine.”
She gave him a long look. “Have a nice night, Connor.”
And with that, she left, and he picked up the stupid little black velvet box and threw it across the room.
CHAPTER TWO
Twenty years before the proposal...
CONNOR MICHAEL O’ROURKE fell in love with Jessica Dunn when he was twelve years old.
The feeling was not mutual.
He couldn’t blame her. After all, he killed her dog.
Well, he didn’t actually kill him. It just felt that way.
The fateful, terrible day had been a Friday afternoon in April, and he and Colleen had been riding their bikes home from school, a new privilege, and one their parents gave only if they rode together, which took away much of the thrill. It was the curse of being a twin, Connor often thought. It would’ve been so much cooler if he could’ve ridden to the village, maybe bought some candy at Mr. Stoakes’s store or found a snake by the lake to put into Coll’s bed.
Instead, they were together. Colleen talked all the time, usually about things he didn’t have much interest in—which of her friends had gotten her period, who flunked the math test, who liked whoever else. But that was the way it was—Coll talking, him half listening, the occasional mild sibling violence that marked a healthy childhood.
But even if she drove him crazy most of the time with her talk of magical twinsy bonds, which yeah, they did have, and the way she followed him around all the time, he couldn’t imagine it any other way. And he did have to look out for her; she was his little sister, even if they were only three minutes apart in age.
Connor and Colleen had about as normal a life as could be had. They had a nice house, a two-week vacation most years, and recently, Connor had become aware of the fact that they were pretty well-off, something you didn’t really notice when you were little. But his father drove expensive cars, and if Connor wanted the latest Nike running shoe, his mother never suggested he get something a little less expensive. He was his mother’s favorite. His father... Well, his father was kind of tricky. Tense and—what was that phrase? Full of himself, that was it. Only happy when he was the center of attention and admiration, and even then, only happy for a few minutes.
If Connor was Mom’s favorite, Colleen seemed to get all of Dad’s approval. These days especially, it felt like Connor was either at fault or invisible, his only value coming from his role as Colleen’s protector. “Watch out for your sister,” Dad had said just this morning, giving Colleen a hug. There was no hug for Connor. Which was okay and all. He was a boy. A guy, even. He wasn’t supposed to want hugs anymore.
But today was a good day. The apple blossoms had popped, and the breeze was warm, finally. He’d gotten three tests back, A+’s on all of them, much to Colleen’s chagrin; Connor never studied. And all day, there was the thrill of the bike ride home. Friday afternoon meant they could take their time, maybe stop at Tompkin’s Gorge and climb up the top and listen to the roar of the waterfall and find bits of mica and quartz.
Colleen rammed his back tire. “Whoops, sorry, brainiac,” she said, not sorry at all.
“Not a problem, simpleton.”
“Did you eat the pizza at lunch today?” she asked, pulling alongside him. “It was nasty. I mean, you could wring out the oil, it was so wet and disgusting. You should show them how to do it, Con. Your pizza is the best.”
He suppressed a smile. Whenever their parents went out, Connor cooked for Colleen. Last weekend had been pizza, the dough made from scratch. They ate a pizza each, it was so good.
He heard a car coming behind them and pulled ahead of his sister, his bike wheels hissing on the damp pavement, the wind in his face. He and Colleen had taken the long way home, the better to enjoy their freedom. Once you left the Village section of town, there wasn’t much out here, mostly woods and fields. West’s Trailer Park was just up ahead, and then nothing for a good mile. Then they’d round up the back side of the Hill, where all the vineyards were, and wind their way home.
After the long winter, it felt so good to be outside. He pushed harder, lengthening the space between him and Coll. He’d had a growth spurt over the winter, and it was easy to outpace his sister. He felt the satisfying burn in his muscles and answered the call for more speed. He’d wait for Coll at the top of the hill. She was lazy, after all.
And then he heard a noise he couldn’t place—was Colleen coughing? Was it a motor? No, that wasn’t—
Then there was a brown blur streaking at him, and he was falling before he even realized it hit him, his bike on top of him. It wasn’t Coll making the noise, it was a dog. The brown thing was a dog, and it was furious.
There was no time to react, no time even to be scared, just hard pavement under his shoulder and hip and his hands trying to keep the dog’s head away from his throat. The world was full of sound—angry, raging snarls and Colleen’s screams. Was she okay? Where was she?
All Connor could see was the dog’s mouth, huge, gaping and snapping, its neck thick and strong, and that mouth went way, way back like a snake’s, and he knew once those teeth bit into him, he’d be dead. It was trying to kill him, Connor realized distantly. This might be the way he died. Not in front of Colleen. Please.
Before the thought was even finished, teeth sank into Connor’s arm, and the dog shook its head, and Jesus, it was so strong, Connor was just a rag the dog was whipping around, and he couldn’t yell or fight; he was nothing compared to the muscular fury of the dog. Colleen was screaming, the dog snarling, Connor silent as he tried to hold on to his arm so it wouldn’t be torn off.
Then Colleen was hitting the dog with her backpack and kicking it, and no cars were anywhere. It would’ve been so great if someone stopped and helped; he wanted a grown-up so badly right now. His arm was on fire, and there was blood, and still the dog pulled and shook, as if Colleen wasn’t even there.
The dog finally released his arm and turned toward Colleen, who kicked it square in the face. God, she was brave, but what if it bit her? And then in a flash, it seemed to do just that, and Connor kicked it in the leg, and it turned back toward him—good, good, better than Colleen—and then it was on him again.
His face this time, and this was it, he was going to die. Those huge jaws clamped down, and a searing burn flashed and throbbed, the whole left side of his face. The dog didn’t let go. Colleen was hysterical now, kicking and kicking the dog, and Connor could see her eyes, open so wide he could see the whole gray circle of her irises.
Get out of here, Collie. Run.
He was passing out. Colleen’s screams were fainter now.
Then there was a yelp, and the dog was gone, and Connor instinctively held his hand up to his cheek, which was hot and throbbing and way too wet.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Colleen sobbed, dropping to her knees to hug him. “Help us!” she screamed to someone.
“Are you okay?” Connor asked, his voice odd and weak. Was his face still on? “Coll?”
She pulled back, shaking. “You’re bleeding. It’s bad.”
They were in front of West’s Trailer Park, where the poor kids lived. Tiffy Ames and Levi Cooper and Jessica Dunn.
And there was Jess now, holding the dog by its collar, trying to lift it up. Her brother, who had something wrong with him, had latched on to the dog, sobbing and saying one word over and over. Cheeto or something. “Is she okay?” Connor asked, but his voice was too weak to be heard. “Is her brother okay?”
“Call the ambulance,” Colleen yelled, her voice high and wobbly.
“Are you all right, Collie?” he asked. The gray was back.
“I’m fine. But you’re...hurt.”
“How bad?”
“Bad. But it’s okay. You’re okay.” Tears dripped off her cheeks onto him.
“Am I gonna die?”
“No! Jeez, Connor! No!” But he could tell she didn’t know. She wadded up her sweatshirt and pushed it against his jaw, making him see black-and-white flashes of pain. His hand was shiny and slick with dark red blood. “Just take deep breaths,” she said, biting her lip.
It helped. The sky became blue again, and Colleen’s shirt was pink. And bloodstained. The town siren went off, such a good sound...but so far away, it seemed.
“They’re coming. Just hang on. Help is on the way,” Colleen said. She sounded way too adult. Tears were streaming down her face, and her lips were trembling.
There was a bang of a door, and Connor looked over. Jessica Dunn’s father had come outside. “What did you kids do to my son?” he asked, staggering a little, and Connor couldn’t help feeling bad for Jessica. Everyone knew her parents were drunks.
“Get that fucking dog inside!” Colleen shouted.
Yikes. He’d never heard her swear before. It made him think that his face was pretty much gone, and he might in fact be dying.
Jessica pushed her little brother aside, finally, then bent down and picked up the dog. It was heavy, Connor could tell. Connor knew.
“Chico!” her brother screamed. “Don’t take Chico away!” He ran after Jessica, punching her on the back with his fists, but she went into the trailer—the rattiest, dirtiest one—and closed the door behind her.
Then Levi Cooper’s mother came out, a toddler on her hip, and seeing Connor, ran over to him. “Oh, my God, what happened?” she said, and Connor realized he was shaking, but at least there was a nice grown-up here now.
“The Dunns’ dog attacked him.” Colleen said, her voice breaking. “It came out of nowhere.”
“God,” Mrs. Cooper said. “I’ve told them that dog is a menace. You just lie still, honey.” She patted Connor’s leg.
It was weird, lying there, Mrs. Cooper telling him not to move, Colleen’s sweatshirt pressed against his throbbing face, the Dunns standing in their yard. The father was loud and kept saying things like “That dog wouldn’t hurt a fly,” and “Why were those kids in my yard anyway?” and Colleen was holding his hand too hard.
When the ambulance did come, it was both embarrassing and such a relief he almost cried. There was fuss and questions, gauze and radio. “Minor child, age twelve, attacked by dog,” Mr. Stoakes said into the radio. Minor child. Cripes. Everyone was shooting dirty looks at the Dunns.
They put a neck brace on Connor and packed him onto a gurney. Mrs. Cooper said she’d called Connor’s mom, and she’d meet him at the hospital. Colleen rode in the front of the ambulance, sobbing.
In the ER, he was told he was very lucky, and that it could’ve been so much worse. He ended up with eleven stitches in his jaw, eight under his eye. “Don’t worry about the scar,” said the hip young doctor who was doing the job. “Chicks love scars.” Another sixteen stitches in his arm, but it was the bite on his face that was the big concern. A bump on his head, road rash on his back where his shirt had ridden up. He was a mess, in other words. Everything stung, throbbed or burned.
Mom was weepy all that night. Connor was woozy from the pain meds. Colleen made him a get-well card without any insults, which made Connor think he must look worse than he realized. “You saved me,” he told her, and she burst into tears.
“I didn’t,” she said. “I tried, but I couldn’t.”
“It ran away, though.”
“Jessica threw a rock at him. Got him right in the head.”
Huh. He was too bleary to think about it further. Good aim, though.
His father was icy with fury. “Those fucking white-trash scumbags,” he said, peering into Connor’s face, then got on the phone in his study and didn’t come out until Connor was in bed. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, putting his hand on Connor’s shoulder. Suddenly, the dog bite felt worth it. “You were very brave, I heard.”
“It was scary.”
Crap. Wrong answer. He should’ve said something about it not being a big deal. Sure enough, the hand was withdrawn. “It could’ve been worse, though,” Connor added quickly. “At least it wasn’t Colleen.”
Because if something happened to his sister, Connor would’ve killed the dog himself. The flash of rage and terror was unexpected.
“Tomorrow we’re going to see the Dunns,” Dad said.
“Oh, Dad, no.” The memory of Jess lugging the dog into the house... There was something wrong with that image, but Connor couldn’t say what it was.
“You have to man up in situations like this,” his father said. “I’ll be with you. Don’t worry. They owe you an apology.”
The next day, sure enough, Dad made him get into the Porsche and go back to West’s Trailer Park. His face was swollen and sore under the bandages, and his arm ached. The last place he wanted to be was here.
Dad knocked on the door, hard. Jessica answered, her eyes flickering over Connor’s face. She didn’t say anything. A TV blared in the background, one of those court shows with a lot of yelling.
“Are your parents home?” Dad asked, not bothering with politeness.
“Hi, Jess,” Connor said. Dad cut him a look.
She slipped away. A second later, Mrs. Dunn was at the door. “What do you want?” she said sullenly. Connor was abruptly grateful for his own mother, who always smelled nice and, well, wore a bra and clean shirts.
“Your dog attacked my son,” Dad said, his voice hard. “I’m here to inform you that Animal Control will be here this afternoon to have him put down.”
“You don’t get to say what happens to my dog,” she said, and Connor could smell her boozy breath from the steps.
“What’s put down?” asked a little voice.
Connor flinched. Davey Dunn was peeking out from behind his mother’s legs. He was five or six, and had the longest eyelashes Connor had ever seen. Everyone knew he had something wrong with him, that skinny head and eyes so far apart, but Connor wasn’t sure what it was. The kids on the bus had a word for it, but Connor hated thinking it. Davey just wasn’t quite...normal. Cute, though. Jessica reappeared next to her brother, her hand on his head, staring at Connor, her face expressionless.
He and Jess were in the same class. He couldn’t say she was nice, exactly; they didn’t have the same friends, but she hung out with Levi Cooper, and everyone liked Levi.