“I did really well. My team only won twice, but I feel like in that game, there are no losers.”
Preston chuckled at that. Little did he know that quiet Ethan Follett was a tailgating, flip-cupping, sixty-nine-ing co-ed. Ethan was too scared to look in Jessica’s direction, but when he did, her reaction sucked the air out of every room in the dorm. He’d seen her upset before—she was a very passionate debater—but never had that look been focused on him.
“Well, I wanted to make sure Lorna got back safely. And she did! So my work here is done.”
Ethan gave them a salute before leaving, which he instantly regretted, then later realized was sort of a cool sendoff.
Φ
Ethan treated himself to a lazy Saturday. The exhaustion was a force greater than gravity on his bones. Drinking took a lot out of him, and he’d only sat down to talk to Greg in the tent. Lying down on his bed felt sooooo good, and he didn’t want to get out. He spent the sunny afternoon watching movies on his computer and sleeping.
Ethan had a fantastic nap that lasted three hours. He woke up in time for dinner and cried tears of joy when he saw the dining hall was serving chimichangas. He’d never been this hungry. Then he realized that he’d eaten nothing solid that day.
He walked back to his room. He hadn’t received any text messages from Jessica and wondered where he stood with her. She seemed like someone who could cut you out of her life in a heartbeat. Lorna was with her sisters tonight, so that left Ethan watching another movie. Despite what Greg said, he couldn’t give his friends up, not when his social life was perpetually on the verge of nonexistence.
Ethan fell asleep again during the movie. He didn’t know what time it was when he woke up. Or rather, when he was woken back up by his phone.
He had a text. From Greg.
What are you up to? Having a fun Saturday night?
Ethan pored over every letter of every word multiple times as warmth zipped through him. He checked the time. 11:46. Greg texted him on a Saturday night!
What am I going to write back?His response had to be pithy and flirty and fun, three things at which Ethan sucked.
He needed backup. He texted Lorna:
Help! Greg sent me a flirty text message. What do I say back?
He paced around his room. Maybe he should tell Greg he was recuperating. Or say that he was at a party. Or be mysterious. His phone rang, and he jumped.
“You called!”
“Yes! This is big,” Lorna said. He heard some faint noise in the background.
“Where are you?”
“I’m watching a movie at the house.”
Ethan felt better that he wasn’t the only person watching a movie on a Saturday night. “What do I write back?”
“What were you thinking?” she asked.
“Maybe, ‘Yeah. Having fun relaxing. How about you?’ How’s that?”
“That’s terrible,” she deadpanned.
“Should I say I’m at a party?”
“Say that you’releavinga party. Let him know that you were social, but will now be by yourself.”
Ethan jumped onto his bed and bounced back and forth. He had built-up energy desperate to get out. “So I’ll write, ‘Just leaving a party. Can’t wait to crash. What a day!’”
“No. That’ll make him think that you’re going to bed and don’t want to be interrupted. Leave it at, ‘Leaving a friend’s party. Heading back to my dorm.’ It’s open-ended, and his response will tell you what he’s thinking.”
So Ethan texted her suggestion verbatim. He hid his phone under his pillow and walked a lap through his dorm, traversing every suite and the first-floor lounge. He had to keep his mind off his phone as best he could.
He checked the time on the clock in the lobby. Eight minutes had passed. Was that enough time to wait for a response? Ethan didn’t know the protocol. He dreaded returning to his room to find no response, but that got outweighed by the potential of a text from Greg waiting for him!
