By the end of the lecture, I’m shaking my hand to regain feeling.
“Please check the syllabus for Monday’s assignment,” Mr. Randsen says as the class gathers their things. “Just because we have deadlines for your project doesn’t mean readings and comprehensive work will disappear. You can complete the work faster if you work in your group.”
I slide my notebook and textbook into my bag before zipping it up.
“See you Monday.” I throw my bag over my shoulder and leave. I know we’ll have to meet about this project one day, but deep down, I’m hoping he takes me up on my offer to do it myself.
I push through the glass doors, and I’m instantly hit with a wave of heat.
It’s hot. Hotter than Chicago usually is in August.
A hand on my shoulder causes me to swing around.
“What do you want?” I wonder, avoiding his gaze, but I can feel his eyes burning holes in my skin. How he’s looking at me heats my cheeks up faster than a Chicago summer ever could.
“We need to figure out a schedule.” Declan shrugs, lacing his hands through his backpack straps. “I have hockey practice practically every day, but um—”
“I know.”
“Yeah, I know, you know, I just, I guess, I was thinking I should get your number or something.”
“For what?” I continue, my eyes finally meeting his; they look just as confused and unsure as I feel now.
“So, I have some way to contact you,” he adds, “so we can get a good grade on this project.”
“You have my email,” I respond. “I check it daily, so if your availability opens up, you can message me.”
I turn on my heels and walk faster than before, but unfortunately, his height gives him an advantage. He’s next to me in a matter of seconds, following me to the library.
“Are there any days you aren’t available?”
For you? All of them.
“Nope.” Ipopthe p so he knows I’m over this conversation.
“Okay, well, this Saturday, I’m training in the morning, but I don’t know; maybe we could get together in the afternoon?”
“Sure,” I reply, hoping this gets him to leave me alone.
“Great. I guess I’llemailyou my address, and you can just let me know what time you can come by.”
His house? He wants to work on the project at his house?
“Why not the library?”
“Well, I just assumed since we both live off-campus, we wouldn’t want to come here just to work in the library.”
“I don’t have any problem with it,” I argue. “I live in apartments like five minutes away.”
“Oh, um, okay. I just thought it’d be easier to work at my place. And probably quieter too.”
“You’re telling me your roommates are quieter than the people in our library?” I reply.
I’ve known all these guys for years, and they’re far from quiet. It’s like the only thing they know how to do is play hockey… and make noise.
“Maybe not.” He laughs, and something inside my stomach turns, hearing that sound come from him. The corners of my lips try to pull up, but I force them to stay put. “But they won’t be around. They’ll be tailgating for the football game.”
Shit. I totally forgot about the football game. The first one of the year is this Saturday… and he’s not going.
