“Are you serious?”
“We always meet at the same time and have a common set of rules to go by, but it’s fun. It’s supportive. It’s a great place to bitch about subjectivity. Plus, we get discounts to writing workshops.”
“Fuck yeah.” Hope blossomed in my chest, my fingers itching to type at his invitation. “When do you meet?”
“Sundays at noon. The coffee shop right off the quad with the cats.”
“With cats? Oh my god, I love this school.”
“Sick. Here, give me your number, and I’ll text you the details.”
I did, and my phone buzzed in my pocket. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
“It was Van. Don’t get me wrong, I love meeting other writers, but he suggested it.”
Gratitude for my brother filled me, and I knew it was his way of apologizing for being so hard on me at the hardware store. I smiled at Ty, truly freaking excited, and did a wiggle. “Do I need to prepare anything for Sunday?”
“Bring ten pages of whatever you’re working on. We pair up and critique.” He tapped his knuckles on the bar, smiling at me with a little interest. It made my skin prickle a bit, but it was nothing like how I’d felt around Cal earlier.
That was magnetic, raw, and made me want to tear his clothes off with my teeth. With Ty, I was flattered.
“Care if I stick around for a drink?”
“Not at all. This one is on me, friend.”
His smile grew, and as I poured him a tall glass, I could feel Ty’s gaze on me. But when I turned around, it was Cal who looked at me with a pale face and wide eyes. Like he’d seen a ghost. It got my heart racing, and I searched the bar for whatever made him freak out. When I spotted nothing, I returned to him, but he’d masked his expression and was back to glowering at the wall.
Whatever. I didn’t have time to worry about him anymore. I had a new writer’s group to obsess over, and I picked up some bar napkins, hoping to jot ideas down. Even as I tried quick plotting a new romance idea, Cal’s features kept coming to my mind.
He might look like a perfect romance hero, but he didn’t act like one. It was best to repeat that every hour so I didn’t forget.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Cal
Creative writing major.
I remembered.God,it sucked to know you’d been a complete dick to someone. This happened to me often. This cycle of regret. The part where my brain replayed all the asshole comments I made out of pain. It wasn’t an excuse, but I remembered what had happened.
We’d been in the car with her parents going to a dinner. I shouldn’t have agreed, but Gabe had been all on me to be a better leader, and plus, I had nothing to do after that. Go home and pout? Get drunk and hook up? It was becoming old and made me feel even worse about myself, life. I went with them and was surrounded by parental love and affection. It physically hurt to watch and listen to them praise their kids.
How proud they were and supportive. Elle had laughed with them, and they talked about her coming to school the next year and how she hadn’t chosen the major they preferred. I made the comment about not having it be creative writing because that was a joke of a career, that only dumb people went that path.Her parents chuckled, and the tension in the car rose a thousand degrees. I’d tried to be funny, to keep everyone laughing. But I’d hurt her.
She was a fuckingcreative writing major.
She said I was her favorite player to watch.
She was attracted to me.
I wanted to throw up.
She and Ty were getting along so well, and I watched the way he stared at her, clearly interested.He’dnever insulted her or said the wrong things. He was probably smooth in that hipster way. Plus, she said we could only be friends. Fuck, co-workers. It was my fault. I was the reason she’d never look at me the way I hoped. All because I’d been envious of her parents and opened my mouth to try and be funny.
I was such a piece of shit. Maybe I did need to try that online therapy Reiner was going on about. Said it changed his life after he lost his parents, but he had friends, his sister, a life to get back to. I had… hockey. And some days, that didn’t even fill the well. It was what I was supposed to do. It gave me an outlet for my anger.
Did I love it? Eh. Did I need it? Yes. Without question.
