“Ground rules?” Xander says. I pick up the coaster stained with my glass outline.
“Do you have a pen?” I ask the bartender. He hands me one.
“Ashleigh & Xander’s Rules for Hanging Out,” I say, dictating the words I’m writing in my terrible chicken scratch.
Xander leans in closer to me. I can smell the freshness of the lime on his breath. It sends a shiver down my spine. A preview to what his mouth would taste like. I ignore it.
“Rule number one. No dating,” I say. After I finish printing it on the coaster, I steal a glance at Xander. I wonder if he knows he might be the reason for this list. For me to get some self-preservation going before it’s too late.
“Like for a month?” he says, and it comes out low.
“Forever,” I say, matching his tone of voice. I bite my lip as I look over at him. He steals a glance at my lip, and I subconsciously release it from my teeth. He returns to looking me in the eyes.
“Fair enough,” he says. This time, his voice comes out harsh, like he’s exercising every ounce of restraint not to convince me I’m making the wrong decision. My pulse races. The chemistry crackling between us is undeniable. That is until I remember seeing a flash of bare legs on top of Dad’s office desk that belong to Alice, his receptionist, and not my mom. His pants around his ankles. A fucking cliché. And a memory that has the effect of a wet blanket.
I remind myself that this isn’t an emotional decision. This is strategic survival. And so I solider on.
“Rule number two. No sex,” I say, the wordsexlingering in the air between us suggestively. This time I don’t dare look at him even though I feel his eyes roam my face.
Let’s not linger here a moment longer.
“Rule number three. Never fall in love,” I say, finishing it off with a very pointed period. Nothing like uttering the L word to a guy you just met to pump the brakes.
I hold up the coaster and examine it.
Ashleigh & Xander’s Rules for Hanging Out
Rule #1: No dating.
Rule #2: No sex.
Rule #3: Never fall in love.
I smile at my handiwork.
Xander takes it out my hand, our fingertips brushing, setting off a chain reaction of wanting.
He places the coaster down and leans into me like he’s going to tell me a secret.
“So, friends?” he says, and he looks up at me through his mop of curls. His lips are wet from his most recent sip. My bodygravitates to his, already willing to discard the coaster along with the rules.
Before I have a chance to respond, the bartender slides two shots of tequila across the bar.
Xander cuts the engine.
Just like that, eleven years have passed and I’m brought back to the UCLA parking lot.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
We flick through the racks of T-shirts at the UCLA gift shop. The repetitive nature of sliding a hanger to reveal the next piece of branded apparel has given me way too much time to continue my trip that memory lane.
We hung out for a month before the chemistry sent us straight to Xander’s sheets, effectively ending any chance of a connection beyond what we did to each other and with each other in the bedroom. And I’ve never regretted it. Not once. Especially when half the graduating class who hooked up and ended up getting married are posting their divorces all over their Instagram accounts.On the grid.How psychotic is that?
I pull out a white UCLA Bruins graphic tee complete with the beloved anthropomorphic brown bear, our team mascot. “This one?” I say, offering it to Xander.
He looks up and studies it a moment before shaking his head. “Nope.”’
I put it back. “Can you tell me exactly what you’re looking for?” I catch the clock on the wall and know this triple-header of a date will be coming to an end soon and it couldn’t come soon enough. The nostalgia has got me straight in the feels.
