I bite my lip, wondering how something so small can make my blush deepen, and instantly blame it on the replay of last night’s events taking place in my mind.
“Ooooo, someone got a text from a hockey player that apparently comes in his pants,” Wren says, and for a second, I had forgotten that we were on FaceTime.
“I cannot believe you just said that.” I laugh.
“Hey now, I just call it like it is, babe,” she says, moving around a room, shoving a few more things into her bag. “Okay, I gotta go. I have less than an hour to finish packing up.”
“Okay, love you,” I say. “Call me when you land?”
“For sure, love you too. Bye, babes.” With that, she ends the call.
Going back to Grayson’s text, my fingers hover, then type.
Harlow: Good morning.
A beat.
Gray: i owe you for saving me from blazer guy.
I can picture his mouth when he says it—half serious, half amused, like he hates attention but can’t help the way it clings to him.
Harlow: I did it for the greater good.
Gray: heroic.
I stare at the screen a second longer than necessary. Like if I stare long enough, I’ll figure out what I’m supposed to do with the fact that I want him to keep texting me forever.
Then another message pops up.
Gray: want coffee?
My pulse jumps so fast it feels embarrassing. Coffee isn’t romantic. Coffee is normal. And normal with him feels like the kind of thing that could turn into a habit. The kind of thing my nervous system might start expecting.
Harlow: When?
Gray: now-ish. if you want.
No pressure. No guilt. No telling me you’re sure.
Just…offering.
I sit up slowly, hair a wreck, throat tight in that way it gets when I’m trying not to be scared of something good. Two months ago, I would’ve said no. I would’ve told myself the coffee shop would be too much this early. I would’ve clung to my solitude like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
Now I picture him the way he looked last night, standing in the doorway of that booth with his hands at his sides like he was making himself behave until I pushed him over the edge.
Yes, I want to see him.
Harlow: Sounds good to me.
The reply comes immediately.
Gray: 10 minutes. i’ll meet you outside your dorm.
I toss my phone onto the bed and move before my brain can talk me out of it. If I wait, I’ll spiral. So I don’t. I brush my teeth, splash water on my face, pull on leggings and a hoodie, and shove my hair into something that’s trying its best. I stare at myself in the mirror for half a second and almost laugh again because my eyes look…different.
Less braced, like my face forgot to prepare for impact.
Outside, the air is cool enough to wake me up properly. Campus is slow—Sunday morning slow. People in sweats carrying coffee cups. Hoods up like everyone is collectively opting out of socializing.
