Her laugh echoes through my mind, her smile radiating behind my eyelids.
Like a weak bastard, my eyes snap open, my fingers flying over the touch keyboard on my phone.
Hey.
Hey.
Well that was anticlimactic.
I stare at the screen, willing her response to come through, until it darkens. Laying my phone on my chest, I look up at the ceiling again.
Memories play in my head like a movie, that stupid beating organ in my chest tugging with freakinglonging.
I miss her so bad it hurts. We used to be friends—we used to talk daily.
Then we fucked it all up.
Pounding outside of my door pulls me back to the present, but I can’t be bothered to answer. I told the guys I wasn’t feeling it tonight. It’s not my fault if they won’t listen.
“Gareth! Open up, man. Come out with us,” Corbin, or maybe it’s Tony, yells from the other side of the cheap wood. It’s hard to tell which of them it is over the scream-o music competing with their voice.
Regardless, I ignore him and unlock my phone again, my stomach leaping when I see three dots.
She’s responding.
Hey Golden Boy
A smile tugs at my lips as I stare at my phone with a dopey grin. There’s so many questions rapidly firing through my mind, so many things I want to say, but I try to play it cool instead.
Words evade me, and I have no idea what to say. Thankfully, Indy fills in the blanks.
How’s college?
Good overall. Boring right now.
Three dots appear instantly.
It’s a Friday night. Go out.
My chest tightens as I picture her saying that with her eyebrow raised and her lips upturned in a half smile. Her hands are probably on her hips, eyes rolling as she laughs at her own sass.
I wonder where she is right now—what she’s doing, and who she’s with.
Is it selfish to think she stayed in tonight too? Curled up on the couch in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings? The pink hair I love so much pulled up into a bun on the top of her head.
I practically groan at the visual I created in my mind, having used tolovethe lazy nights we’d all hang out at her and Dylan’s house, watching movies and tossing popcorn at each other.
Wasn’t in the mood to party tonight. Stayed in instead.
Sick?
Lovesick, maybe.
Just tired.
You don’t get to be tired, Golden Boy. You have far too much light to shed on the world.
I stare at the words on my screen, reading and rereading them for far longer than I should. Her sweet words—a contrast from her normally teasing, attitude-filled retorts—almost make me want to hop in my car and make the four and a half hour drive just to surprise her.
