“That’s great. I’m happy for you.” The way his smile fades tells me he knows I’m lying. Why would I be happy for him? He took the job at MU without telling anyone—even me.
Someone from the coaches group calls out to Eric and waves him back. Holding up a finger to give him a minute, Eric turns back to me. “I gotta get back, but hey, would you like to get coffee and catch up later?”
Another failed attempt at clearing my throat. “Sure.”Why? Why did you say sure?
“Great! I’ll get with you later!” His award-winning smile is back, and it fills me with nothing but memories. Memories I wish didn’t still affect me the way they do.
I watch him walk away as shock courses its way through my veins like an electric current. Sounds around me are a muffled buzz, and I almost don’t hear Ellie screaming at me through the phone.
“Katherine Stanley! Hello!”
Gosh, I forgot about her. Whipping the phone back to my ear, I whine, “The universe hates me!” Then I storm back into the hotel and race up to my room.
After filling Ellie—and Benny, because he decided to be fully invested in our conversation after the mention of Eric—in on what happened and listening to their advice that Idid notask for, I rush around to get ready for the afternoon scrimmages.
The cool shower soothes my burnt shoulders and my shocked nervous system.
Eric is here.
At camp.
I haven’t spoken to him in two years, the last conversation we had replaying in my head like a broken record.
“What are you trying to tell me?” I mumble to the universe in the steamy air as I exit the shower.
I have an hour to get to scrimmage, just enough time to lather in sunscreen and scream into a pillow.
Wrapping myself in a towel, I step out of the bathroom and find a sweaty back pushed up into a cobra pose at the foot of the bed. “Uh, hello,” I say, startled but also instantly entranced at the sight of Malcolm stretching, noting the faint freckles on the tops of his shoulders and the little dimples on his lower back, ripples of muscle and smooth skin stretching every which way.
Rolling off the bed, he reaches above his head and finishes stretching. “You done in there?” He eyes the bathroom behind me.
Nodding, I step to the side of the small doorway to the bathroom. I cling my towel tight against my chest, holding my breath as his chest brushes up against my arm when he makes his way through the door. I hear him turn on the water and rustle in his bag behind me, then his strong hand encircles my arm. His fingers send goosebumps down my arm and up into my neck, and words fail me as I look at his hand then up to his face just a few inches away from mine.
“I need to shut the door, Kate.” He smirks at me blocking the doorway. I feel almost unmovable, like his muscles have their own gravitational pull, and all I can do is stay planted in place so I don’t get lost in their orbit. I nod in agreement, taking a small shuffling step forward. His hand retreats from my arm, leaving it mush as I melt onto the bed.
What is happening to me?
It takes every ounce of mental energy to get dressed, but I do it. Then, sprawling out like a starfish, I groan into the comforter and question life. All of its twists and turns run amuck through my head. I replay the events of last night and this morning for fifteen minutes, all while Malcolm has been…showering? The man takes the longest showers in existence.
“Why so gloomy, Stanley?” he asks, emerging from the bathroom, a billow of steam flowing out around him like a cloud.
“I just had the weirdest morning.” I roll over and throw a pillow over my face, more for protecting my wandering eyes from what could be just a towel-covered body at the moment.
The bed moves as Malcolm sits next to me, tugging on my untied tennis shoes that dangle off the side of the bed. I feel the gentle pull of him tying my laces and tapping for the other foot. “Talk to me.” The earnest care of his voice takes root deep in my chest. I have to tell him. Even if I didn’t feel the simple obligation to warn him about who he is definitely going to run into this week, it’s more just the feeling of wanting to tell him everything—which I feel constantly. It’s frustrating, especially around his birthday when I inevitably give him his gifts a week early.
Peeking out from underneath the pillow, I confirm he’s fully dressed. No distracting muscle or bare skin visible. I proceed to rip the Band-Aid off. “I ran into Eric.”
Silence. Dreadful, unsettling silence fills the room.
I sit up on my elbows. “Did you—”
“Where?” he says through gritted teeth.
“Downstairs. He’s…” I pause, sitting up and pulling my feet under me. “He’s here for camp.” I sound like I’m in denial, refusing to accept what I saw. Malcolm runs his hands through his wet hair, gripping the back of his neck as he nods. “And he wants…” I chew on my thumbnail. I can’t bring myself to say it.
“What?” His voice is harsh as he asks over his shoulder. “What could he possibly want?”
I pull my hair out of my face and hold it tightly behind my head before I say, “He wants to catch up.”
