“My bad,” Grant chirps before I can speak. With one of his boots in his hands, he lifts his cowboy hat up to get a good look at Mallory beside me. His lips split into a devious grin when his eyes dip down, likely spotting her hand holding my wrist. “Mal, that Kenneth-sized flannel looks damn good on you. Y’all are looking real cozy tonight.”
I shake my head. “Really, G? You’ve got to be more careful—”
“Can’t stay and chat. While y’all are sitting around wasting time, I’m going to take the win and claim the gift card. Let’s go Mark!”
My chest seizes as I watch Grant and his scavenger hunt partner for the night take off. We can’t lose tonight. Mallory would never forgive me for distracting her.
I reach for her arm, but she’s long gone.
A flash of emerald passes up Grant and Mark like it’s nothing. The three race down the dark street, shouting and laughing as they weave through drunk people. I shake my head at them, shove my hands into my pockets, and start the walk home. There’s no need to run.
I have no doubt that Mallory will win.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“What are you doinghere, Gray? Go home.”
Mallory’s gaze is like bullets from her seat in our booth at Claude’s Cafe. My backpack thuds against the floor. “I have some schoolwork to do.”
“No!” Her volume increases as I try to slip into the booth. “Are you listening to me? I said no. You should be at home practicing your breathing or whatever people do before a big race.”
Ever since I invited her to tomorrow’s race, she’s been oddly strict about reminding me to hydrate and fuel my body. It’s made the week leading up to nationals more bearable. I feel less like a nervous mess, and more like the unshakable competitor I aspire to be.
Like the woman refusing my entry into the booth.
“This is how I relax, Eddie. Working on something else.”
That’s only a partial truth. After pacing back and forth in front of the television, Cade kicked me out to walk off my nerves. And I knew exactly where I’d find Mallory.
“And bothering me,” she mutters, but moves her foot. “Don’t blame me if you can’t focus tomorrow afternoon.”
Little does she know I blame everything on her nowadays. For filling my brain with a constant need to be around her. For being the person I seek out for comfort. As if seeing those wild curls and vivid outfits can somehow slow my heart rate. Today’s rainbow cardigan feels like home.
I slide into the seat across from her, and my stress shrinks slightly.
Mallory holds out her hand. “Ticket.”
“No way,” I say, pushing her hand away. “This isn’t project related.”
And there’s no way I’m wasting our last punch on a meeting like this.
This isn’t the answer she wanted, so she blows a raspberry at me and pulls her computer in tight. With our final project due in a little over a month, her pinched brow tells me she’s writing her personal statement.
Which is another reason I’m here.
“I want to ask you something,” I begin, pausing when her head pops up. Honeyed eyes are wide with… hope?
There are a million non-project related questions I’d rather ask.
Would you have kissed me the other night?
Do you have any idea how much of my brain you occupy?
Is this happening to you too?
Sadly, those must wait.
Her shock turns to smugness when I say, “I need your critical brain again. Would you look over my personal statement? I used your outline and want your opinion.”
