Conor's horrid flirting

Kian

Flirting.

Relentless flirting.

That's what Conor's been trying to do for the last twenty minutes. And it's not bleeding working. Serena either doesn't care or she's oblivious.

He's pulling out every move he thinks he has—grinning too wide, leaning just a bit too close, cracking the worst jokes I've ever heard. He even offered her one of his sour jellies like it was some grand romantic gesture.

She took it without even looking at him properly. Just popped it in her mouth, nodded a thanks, and went right back to talking to Mallory.

And Conor? Poor lad looked like someone kicked his puppy.

I lean against the kitchen counter, arms folded, trying not to laugh. "You alright there, Casanova?" I murmur when he wanders over looking dejected.

He scowls. "I don't get it. I thought she liked me."

"She does like you," I say, keeping a straight face. "Like a stray cat she feeds out of pity."

He flips me off. "You're hilarious."

"I try." I glance toward the girls. Serena's laughing at something Mal just said, her head tilted back, curls bouncing, completely unaware of the chaos she's leaving in her wake. "Maybe you're coming on a bit strong?"

Conor groans. "How else am I supposed to get her attention?"

I shrug. "Maybe try not being a muppet. Talk to her like a normal person."

He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like easy for you to say, but I let it slide.

Mostly because Mal catches my eye across the room just then, and that soft smile she gives me?

Yeah. That does something to my chest.

So I clap Conor on the back. "Come on, Romeo. Let's find you a new plan. One that doesn't involve gummy sweets and cringe pickup lines."

"Great," he grumbles. "Can't wait to be humiliated strategically this time."

I grin. "That's the spirit."Kian

Conor follows me out to the garden like he's being dragged to his own funeral.

The sun's dipping low, casting everything in that gold-orange kind of light that makes even our wreck of a garden look decent. Roxy bounds past us, tail wagging, chasing after a tennis ball no one threw.

Conor flops down on the edge of the decking with a sigh that's far too dramatic for a fifteen-year-old. "She's gonna think I'm a freak."

I sit down beside him, legs stretched out, arms resting on my knees. "She doesn't think that."

"She didn't even laugh at my joke," he mutters. "The one about the ghost with a cold."

I blink. "What?"

"You know—'he was coffin a lot.'" He looks at me, dead serious.

I stare back. "Yeah, no. That one's on you, mate."

He groans and drops his head into his hands. "I'm done for."

I bite back a laugh. "Listen, Con, girls don't want a performance. They just want you to be you. You're sound. You're decent. You're—well, sometimes annoying—but mostly alright."

He peeks at me through his fingers. "You think Serena even notices me?"

I glance back through the window where she's still chatting to Mal, arms crossed, head tilted like she's really listening. She's hard to read, that one. Calm in a way that makes you nervous. But she's been around more lately. Showing up to things she didn't used to. Sitting beside Conor when she could've sat anywhere else.

"She notices," I say. "You just gotta give her a reason to look a little longer."

Conor frowns. "Like what?"

"Like—stop trying to impress her. Talk to her. Ask her something that's not about her hair or her shoes. Let her see the real you. The one who lets his pooch sleep in his bed and makes stupid sandcastles at the summer house."

He's quiet for a second. Then: "She told Mal she liked my drawing. The one I did of the lighthouse."

I nudge him. "There you go. Talk about that. Something real."

He gives a hesitant nod, chewing his lip like he's weighing the risk.

I don't say anything more. Just sit there beside him as the sky fades from orange to pink.

After a while, he stands up, dusts himself off. "Alright. I'll try again. But if she laughs at me, I'm blaming you."

"Fair enough," I grin. "Just—maybe skip the ghost jokes this time."

He shoots me a look. "That one was funny."

"No, it really wasn't."

He flips me off again as he heads back inside, and I just shake my head, smiling.

Poor lad's got it bad.

I should know.