I pocket my phone but before I can make it outside, I spot Ethan near the drinks table, stacking red cups into a precariously tall pyramid while talking to some freshman who looks way too impressed.
I knock the top cup off as I pass.
“Yo,” I say. “Tell the others I’m heading out.”
Ethan catches the falling cup midair, impressive as hell.
“Wait—what?” He turns to me, eyes wide. “You’re leaving? Bro, it’s barely midnight.”
“Party’s boring,” I say, keeping it casual.
Ethan gasps dramatically. “No. You’re boring.”
“Nah. Just got better things to do.”
“What, like sleep?” He groans. “Lame. I expected more from you, Hawkins.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You here with Paige?”
Ethan’s expression shifts immediately.
“Yeah, haven’t seen her for a bit though.” He scowls and tries to hold it back, but I know him too well.
She’s a PhD student, smart as hell, and for whatever reason, she actually likes him. But I don’t really vibe with her. I’ve met her a couple of times now and she’s just a little…cold.
He tries to act chill about it, but every time she’s out of sight for more than ten minutes, he gets that crease between his brows, like he’s almost worried she’ll slip away.
“She’s probably just nerding out somewhere,” I say, giving him an easy grin. “You know, whispering sweet nothings to a telescope or whatever she does.”
Ethan laughs, but it’s a little distracted.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll find her in a sec.”
“Good.” I clap him on the shoulder. “Now tell the others I left before Tara assumes I died or something and panics.”
Ethan salutes. “You got it, boss.”
I nod and head out, shoving my hands in my pockets as the cold air hits me and I tell myself this is not a big deal. That I’m just choosing a quieter night.
I’m definitely not ditching a party full of people just to go hang out with Delilah Greer in an empty bookstore.
15
DELILAH
The bookstore is quiet. Not the kind of dead silence that feels eerie, but soft, peaceful, familiar.
It smells like old pages and warm wood, the same comforting scent it’s had since the first day I walked in. I love the neatness of the shelves, the simple order of it all—every book exactly where it should be, waiting to be found. I love being alone, too. After a full day of people, lectures, and casual emotional exhaustion, being here—just me, the books, and some lo-fi music in my headphones—is the best part of my night.
I’m halfway through logging the latest shipment into inventory when the door chime jingles. I pause, frowning. The store is closed. Troy Hawkins walks in like he owns the place, carrying a box of donuts. I rip my headphones out. “Are you serious?”
“You sent me the address,” he says, grinning like that explains everything.
“I didn’t invite you.” I honestly thought he was joking, a small part of me wondered if he was serious but a morerational part of me assumed he must be joking and I won’t see him for ages.
“You didn’tnotinvite me.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “This is insane. You are insane.”
