13. Farrow

I was jealous.

Of some stupid bugs.

And what was worse, Nicolette had caught on and called me out on it.

Jesus, how humiliating.

But damn it all, since the moment we’d left Donnelly together, she’d been nothing but interested in me, trying to learn more about me or tell me about herself, trying to convince me we shared a special bond. And then bam, the terrible-spelling scorpions had come along, and suddenly she was like Farrow? Who’s Farrow?

Not that I wanted her to pester me with all that love-mark nonsense. It was just that the abrupt absence of her constant attention had left me feeling forsaken.

Okay, maybe forsaken was too dramatic of a word.

But she’d just completely stopped talking to me. And this itching, nagging place inside me craved to have some of her attention back.

I scraped a hand over my face and groaned aloud. What was this girl doing to me?

She trotted up beside me, and my stomach knotted with tension and irritation.

And longing. Jesus, I fucking longed for