“Lucy, you look really good.”
“Thanks.”
“Keep an eye on Rowan for me.”
I look up at her. “Keep an eye on Rowan, how?”
“I don’t know. See what he is up to. Just — you know. Casually.”
“Okay, stalker.”
“I’m not a stalker. I’m just asking you to see what he’s doing at home.”
I grin. “So far, all I’ve seen is him cooking.” I pause. “Wait, are you two talking?”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s not like that. I just have a crush from afar.”
I put my boots on. “I am on team Gianna and Rowan.”
“Just see if he’s single or talking to someone, or I don’t know –– anything.”
I nod. “I got you.”
“Do not make it obvious.” She sits up quickly. “Please.”
“Don’t worry, G. I got your back.”
“Just — keep an eye.”
I step out of the apartment and walk down the stairs while checking my phone to see if Benson texted. I open the building door and smile when I see Benson has texted me that he can’t wait for me to come over. I take two steps and hit someone right in the chest. I stumble back.
“Sorry — sorry, I wasn’t looking — “
I look up.
Benson.
My Camdenth stutters. He’s in a dark green button-down. His cologne is lingering in the air. He is freshly shaved, and his hairis nicely styled. He came to walk me without even knowing when I’d be ready. But his beautiful face is bruised.
“Bens.” I smile brightly, not knowing what to do now that he’s out here.
“Hi, Lucy.”
I blush, looking at him. I examine the bruise on his face. “Oh my god, Bens.” I reach up but stop with my fingers a centimeter from his face.
“You can touch it.”
I close my hand and pull away. “It looks bad.”
“It looks worse than it is.”
I stare at it.
“It’s a bruise. I’m okay.”
He licks his lips as he looks down at me. I watch him do it. My face goes pink. He grins, grabs my hand, and laces his fingers through mine. We start walking toward Hawthorne Street.
He tells me about the Wisconsin game first — the kid who’d been running his stick on Blue all night and the elbow that finally caught him across the cheek when he stepped in to back Blue up, and the brawl that came after, Stanley going in low, the linesman fighting to get the pile apart. He spits out the play-by-play the way he tells me everything, which is fast and casual and a little proud at the edges. I keep glancing at his cheek while he talks. He keeps catching me and grinning.
