But that flicker of disappointment in my chest? That little pit of something I don’t want to name?
Yeah. Still there. Lunch, two classes, and a study group later and I can’t get rid of it.
I grab my phone off the nightstand and openPrism without even thinking. Our messages are right there at the top.
Of course they are. I never even thought about messaging someone else.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard.
Me: You busy?
Delete.
Me: Just wanted to say good luck tomorrow.
Delete.
Me: If you want some company tonight…I’m free.
I pause, staring at that one. It’s casual. Easy. Flirty without being desperate. But I don’t send it.
Not yet.
Because what if it sounds like I’m trying too hard? What if it makes me look like I care too much?
Which I do. Obviously. But he doesn’t need to know that.
Not when we haven’t even figured out what this is. Hell, not whenIhaven’t figured out what this is.
I toss the phone beside me and scrub a hand through my hair. The ceiling fan clicks softly overhead, the same rhythm it always does, like it’s mocking me.
I know I’ll see him in the morning. That we’ll sit near each other on the bus, probably end up tangled in a hotel bed by tomorrow night if I can get Coach to put me in the same room as him.
So why do I want to talk to him now?
Why do I feel like something shifted between us today and I didn’t even see it coming?
I blow out a breath and grab my pillow, pulling it over my face like that’ll muffle the ache crawling up my chest.
I don’t message him.
Not tonight.
But I fall asleep with my phone in my hand anyway.
TWENTY-THREE
LOGAN
I’m on time.Early, even.
Which is probably the most shocking plot twist of the semester.
The sky’s still dark, the air biting cold, and my coffee isn’t kicking in yet, but I’m here. Backpack slung over one shoulder, stick in hand, headphones draped around my neck.
And yeah, maybe I was hoping that showing up early would mean I’d seehimbefore anyone else.
But the parking lot’s already filling with guys, and Todd’s nowhere in sight.
