I reread the note and an unexpected thrill shoots through me at his “I’ll be listening” comment. I can hear my pulse racing in my ears. Meanwhile, I can only assume the Dancing Queen part is in obvious reference to me playing ABBA’s Greatest Hits on occasion. I’d seen Mamma Mia!, the musical, with my parents and went on a bender of their songs for a while. That wasn’t too humiliating, right? Oh well.
I briefly debate whether I should play along with his DJ request or not. Then comes an exaggerated sneeze from Cal’s side of the door, and even I chuckle at his persistence. I snag my cell phone, which I’d just plugged in for the night, and pull up my music app, double-checking first that my Bluetooth is paired to my small, but durable, travel speaker. Smiling to myself, I bite my bottom lip and select “I Forgot That You Existed” by Taylor Swift. Not that it’s my favorite, I like it enough, but I am hoping he’ll get the intended insult. My turn, after all.
If he does, Cal doesn’t seem to mind because I can hear him tapping along to the beat. For the next song, I take his challenge seriously and play a new pop song that’s my current earworm, then a classic rock ballad I think he might know and like, followed by a song that reminds me of high school and my friends, and ending with a melancholy love song that I sometimes like to play when I’m reading or on a rainy day.
I hate that I care, but I wonder what Cal thinks of my music choices. Lying down on my bed, I picture him doing the same. Now I can’t get his handsome, smirking face out of my mind. Yep. I am in so much trouble. Maybe I am like the silly girls who swoon at his feet.
After the song has stopped, I hear Cal call out, “Sleep tight.”
“Night,” I shout back, but it doesn’t come off as stern as I had intended. It’s almost wistful. Dammit!
I pound my pillow, and it takes me longer to fall asleep than usual, but when I finally do doze off, it’s with a smile on my lips and thoughts of Cal.
Chapter Six
Day Four Not Sure I Can Take Much More
“He left you candy, that’s sweet,” Jax says, scooting in the tall-backed, wooden seat in the upper campus dining hall.
“Literally,” Emerson chimes in between bites of her creamy, vegan pasta.
I glare at my friends and wish they never brought the topic of Cal up, especially in front of Brady.
As if on command, Cal strolls into the hall with a gaggle of giggly girls around him and some track buddies. His hair is messed in a sexy, just-been-fucked way that takes me straight back to the night we kissed.
He slows down at our table, nods at Amerie’s boyfriend Brady, and throws a wink at me. I can feel my friends’ eyes darting back and forth between us, like we’re a TikTok video on a replay loop. When Cal saunters away, he’s humming the love song I played last night, which, of course, has my group “oohing” and teasing me the second that he is out of earshot.
“He passes the vibe check!” Jax says joining in and nudging me with her elbow.
I roll my eyes, but it’s forced. Cal is freakin’ on-point gorgeous, and if I vocally deny it, they’d call me on my shit at once. I’m not one to talk about crushes or cat call guys as easily as Jax, so my evasiveness shouldn’t be a red flag. I hope.
Jax keeps talking like usual, not even noticing my annoyance. “I took an entrepreneurship class with him last year, and his start-up idea and business plan won the Teacher’s Choice Award. They even displayed his project up in the Student Union.”
Jax suddenly frowns. “I barely passed that course, which is why I’m no longer planning on a business degree.” No, she is now focusing on communications and social media, but previously, she wanted to be a social worker, then there was all the psychology courses before that. Next quarter, it will likely be something else. That’s the beauty of being at a liberal arts school, I suppose. For me, though, the choice of a subject was easy. Unlike my clouded thoughts of Cal.
“I’m not interested in Cal Chase,” I say forcefully, hoping my conviction will get it through her lovey-dovey head. Mine, too.
Jax rolls her eyes back at me. So much for that.
“You know, he’s not the typical jock,” Amerie adds, defending Cal a second time, and their continued friendship betrayal is starting to really piss me off. Whose side were they on, anyway?
“What’s wrong with being a jock?” Brady asks, and I ignore him, allowing Amerie to soothe his ruffled feathers for me.
I clear my throat and try again. “He’s a fuckboy.”
“Not really,” Brady interrupts again. I give him a ‘who’s talking to you’ look, and he holds up his hands in defense. “Just sayin. I see him often enough at the sports complex and we have some of the same friends. I don’t get the player vibe from him.”
I point my fork to where Cal is seated with his female posse. “That doesn’t look like a player to you?” I ask.
“He can’t help it if they all want to play with him,” Brady replies with a shrug, biting into his burger.
“Aww, poor misunderstood playboy,” I grumble, pushing away my plate, no longer hungry.
“You know, he could be living over in the Track House like the rest of his crew or even at the catch-all Sports House like the hockey and soccer players do, but he doesn’t seem to be into the party scene,” Emerson points out. It’s something I’ve often wondered about, too. The dubbed ‘Track House’ is not far from campus and known to be a pretty sweet setup, but instead, Cal chose to stay on campus, and in a relatively chill building, too.
“I don’t know,” I say, “it’s sus. Something doesn’t add up.”
“Maybe you’re counting wrong,” Emerson says, getting up to clear her tray without looking back.
