His other best friend, and the star quarterback of the team, Parker Davis, lived at 321 Maple.
Matty and Jace were next door at 319.
I’d memorized it before I even packed to come to school.
And now I was here, walking slowly down the opposite sidewalk, pretending I had somewhere to be. Pretending I didn’t feel my heart seize at the sound of a door creaking open just ahead.
Matty stepped out onto the porch of 319, wearing a black tank top and mesh shorts, a white towel slung over one shoulder. His skin gleamed, sun-warmed and sweat-damp, and his hair was a little too long, curling around the tops of his ears. Earbuds trailed down from his neck, the cord swaying with each step.
He was laughing at something Parker had called from next door, that southern drawl echoing between the houses. Jace followed behind, flipping a pizza box in one hand and doing a ridiculous dance as they headed down the walkway.
A couple girls across the street slowed their pace to stare. One of them actually giggled.
Matty didn’t notice.
He walked right past them, right past me, like I wasn’t even there. Which made sense, because I wasn’t supposed to be there. I didn’t live in this part of town. My dorm was across campus.
But I kept walking anyway, just slow enough to let my eyes track every detail. The way his shoulder blades shifted under his shirt. The slope of his neck. The lazy, careless confidence in his stride.
He and Jace turned into Parker’s driveway, laughing about something I couldn’t hear, and disappeared inside like they hadn’t just changed everything.
I stopped at the corner and pretended to check my phone, my heart thudding like I’d just run a mile.
He hadn’t seen me. Not when I lingered behind the corner of that porch, not when I crossed the street at the same time he laughed at something Jace said, not even when I paused just long enough to commit the turnoff to memory.
But I’d seen enough.
The way he moved. The sound of his voice. And his address.
319 Maple.
Burned into my mind now, tucked into that quiet space behind my ribs where everything that mattered went to live.
It was real.
Not some grainy image on a screen or a half-formed fantasy born of desperation.
Real. Possible. A door I’d seen with my own eyes.
And I would find a way back to it. To him.
Even if it took everything.
I blinked as I came back to the parking lot, the sound of faint whistles and yells from Matty’s football practice drifting through my open window.
That day was when it had all started.
With just a glimpse.
Now it was my routine.
The lot was mostly empty now as practice neared its end, the sun dipping low enough that the metal bleachers cast long shadows across the asphalt. My phone screen glowed in the dim light of the car, the only thing keeping me company while I waited for practice to end.
I wasn’t supposed to be here. I told myself that every time. But somehow, here I always was, watching, waiting for the same man.
My thumb scrolled automatically, muscle memory by now. I checked his social media hourly.
I didn’t follow him, of course. That would be too obvious. But his page was public, and I knew every post, every caption, every photo like they were part of a textbook I’d been studying for years.
