He turns toward me, looking surprised but pleased. There’s a gleam in his eyes, and my heart slows down a little. I suddenly feel calmer, and the tension in my shoulders eases.
“Hey.”
“I—” I falter, suddenly at a loss for words. My mind hasgone completely blank, and then I blurt out something totally inappropriate. “You didn’t answer.”
He stands up, and he’s so much taller than me that all at once I feel terribly small. Now he’s definitely going to leave. I screwed up again. God, what’s wrong with me?
But he doesn’t. He just puts his phone in his pocket and then fidgets with a bracelet on his wrist that I never noticed before. I haven’t seen it in any videos or photos.
“I know. I’m sorry—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I say hastily, because hereallyhasn’t done anything wrong. I, on the other hand, have messed up a lot. “I’m sorry I didn’t answeryou. I behaved terribly, and I completely understand if you never want to talk to me again. But if you do still want to be friends, it would mean a lot to me,” I say, too rushed to censor my words.
He laughs softly. It’s a gentle, warm sound, and it sends flashes of heat through my body. Only now do I realize that I’ve never heard him laugh before. I like his laugh, and I want to hear it again. But he quickly becomes serious, and his gaze is so sad that my throat tightens.
“I need to talk to you, Rayne.” He’s saying my name, and again, it sounds different than I imagined. Different in a good way. So good that I get a fluttering sensation in my chest. I think it’s my heart. “It’s not your fault, you don’t have to explain,” he continues.
“Yes, I do.” All at once, it’s shockingly easy to talk to him. “I have to explain a lot of things.” Above all, I have to tell him who I am and why I’ve been so distant over the last few months.
“Okay.” His hand starts to move toward me, and then he pulls it back. Like he wanted to touch me but stopped himself. I feel atwinge of disappointment. But we’re definitely not ready for that yet. We’ve only just started talking to each other.
“Do you have time later?” I ask him. I’m suddenly aware of where we are again, and that we’re not alone. It’s neither the right place nor the right time, especially with everything I want to tell him. Not to mention that my next class starts in a few minutes.
“Yes,” he says, without hesitation.
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay, good.”
“Would you like to come over to my place? The guys aren’t there, just my sister. I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought—” he breaks off, his cheeks turning red. It’s kind of cute that he’s the one blushing now.
“No, that sounds good. I’d love to.”
“Okay, good.” He repeats what I just said, and it’s clear he realizes it because his blush deepens. “I’ll text you the address, okay?”
“Sure. I have to go to another class. See you later.”
“Around eight?”
“Sounds good.”
“See you.” I smile, and it feels almost like it used to. Maybe I haven’t completely forgotten how, after all.
He walks past me toward the door, but before he steps into the hallway, I stop him again. I can’t help it.
“Easton, are we still friends?”
He turns back to me, a crooked, familiar smile on his face that puts butterflies in my stomach.
“Always, Birdy.”
Part 3Pre-Chorus
Before
MAY 2 AT 8:34 PM
eastcoleman:
Birdy?
