“It looks like it was from Ross,” Taylor continued. “Or TJ Maxx? Either way, I’ll find you an even better one.”
“It’s fine,” I mumbled and pushed past her and the guy who seemed to be glued to her hip to go into the refrigerator.
“This is Daniel,” Taylor introduced. “He’s a graduate student studying… something. He just got here last week, so I’m showing him the ropes.”
Impressive, I thought. No more Kevin. She moved on fast. I wondered if she was still adhering to her list or simply gave it up altogether.
“Economics. And I’ve been here for a year,” he corrected her with a deep laugh. His Nigerian accent was thick and unabashed. She joined his laughter; the way people do when they don’t know what’ the joke is but just want to be included in it.
I didn’t even look their way as I grabbed my lunch and started to the front door. “Nice to meet you. Sorry, I have to rush out. I’m running late.”
“Have a good class!” Taylor called.
I rolled my eyes as I heard her and Daniel start laughing again once the door closed behind me. My headache made any loud noise extra annoying. As I hurried to the bus stop, I slipped on my sunglasses to hide my puffy eyes. The bus pulled up just as I crossed the street to the stop. Once I flashed my student ID, I grabbed a spot in the front and slouched into the seat.
“Come on,” said a guy sitting across from me. I glanced up to find a lanky white dude with a forehead full of acne. “It can’t be that bad.”
I continued to frown. Instead of responding, I pulled out my phone with hopes he’d lose interest if it looked like I was busy. It didn’t work.
“Smile,” he encouraged in a gag-inducing flirty tone. “Could make your day better. Mine too.”
I let out a sigh as I placed my phone on my lap and removed my glasses. His forehead wrinkled at the sight of my face. There wasn’t an ounce of concealer under my eyes or blush on my cheeks. Something told me this guy was used to seeing women put together and concluded that women wore make-up for him. Wordlessly, I stared at him with a silent challenge.
“Gross,” the guy mumbled after taking a good, long look at me. He grabbed his bag and moved seats.
His words were a blow, but I tried to see it as a victory. I replaced my glasses and slouched lower into the seat, forgetting that my phone was resting on my lap. It crashed to the floor. I hurried to pick it as if a mad dash would uncrack the screen. When I turned it around, I was relieved to find the screen intact but unlocked. And because I had picked it up so carelessly, my fingers had mashed against the send button on the last open text thread.
Weston’s text thread.
My “can you come over?” text sat there, taunting me. I was an idiot. I had just sent out a bat signal to Weston in broad daylight.
I tapped in and out of the thread, foolishly praying that it was a glitch. I desperately hoped if I reentered, my text would still be unsent. My stomach leaped when three dots appeared on my screen.
Shit. He’d seen it. He was going to reply.
Before or after?
I was sweating bullets as I exited the bus. The campus was packed. I weaved in and out of the traffic, trying to craft a response to Weston.
He hadn’t even questioned my timing. Weston simply went with the flow, ready and willing even though we had a class in less than an hour.
As I neared the Technology building, I scanned the crowd for him. A few guys in Westbrooke sweats walked by me. I recognized Dakota, but he was too focused in his conversation to notice me. Weston wasn’t in the group but had to be close.
I chewed on my lip. Before or freaking after? God, who was this guy? Did he think he could get me to finish in… what would probably be twenty minutes if we found a secluded spot?
If he thought he could make me come in such a short amount of time, then he was way more confident than I gave him credit for. Even on a good night, I couldn’t get myself to finish in under thirty minutes.
Wait, if he could finish me in less than thirty minutes, I was going to be in trouble. Walking away from him after starting something casual would be near impossible.
“You’re stronger than that,” I whispered to myself.
“Stronger than what?” a familiar voice asked behind me.
I turned right into Weston’s chest and had to brace myself against him. He peered down at me with a concerned look. His hands held onto my elbows, reacting to my palms pressed against him. In the middle of the quad with students on foot, bicycles, and skateboards, Weston and I stood completely still - potentially causing a traffic jam.
But that didn’t matter because my hands were on his chest. My hands were on Weston Briggs’ chest. And you know what? His heart was pounding. Racing almost as fast and as steady as my own. Holy crap. Did I do that to him? Was I capable of doing that to him?
His face broke into a smile. “Am I going to get an answer, Covee? Before or after?”
