Page 80 of The Casanova Complex

“Done, done?” he asks, shutting his notebook and setting it beside him.

My nose wrinkles. “I think? Don’t make me second-guess it, Goalie, Jesus.”

“No, no, no.” He chuckles with a playful tilt to his lips. “Merritt, knowing you, it’s probably the most perfect application those people will ever see. You’ve worked on it for months. It’s done. Trust yourself.”

I bite the corner of my lip before blowing out a breath, my nerves starting to get the best of me.

My stomach feels like it’s currently doing somersaults.

I had no idea that I would feel so anxious about submitting, but it’s never felt more real than this. Than right now.

I’ve spent the last year working on my application, taking my LSATS, getting the letters of recommendation, writing and rewriting my personal statement, maintaining my GPA. But it felt like I was doing all of that for a faraway dream that wasn’t quite here yet.

But now it is.

It’s here, and this is it.

“What if they reject me and it’s the only school I applied to and then I have to work at Waffle House?” I mutter with a groan, dropping my face into my hands.

Now is not the time to spiral, Merritt. PULL IT TOGETHER.

A deep laugh rakes out of Bennett, and then I feel his warm, calloused palm curving around my wrists, softly tugging my hands away from my face.

“Then you’d be the hottest girl I’ve ever seen wearing that uniform and hat.”

“Have you seen how pale my skin is? I’d look ridiculous in yellow.” I feign a shiver and smirk.

Bennett laughs, and somehow, the knot in my stomach loosens, the sound putting me at ease in a way I didn’t expect.

If you would’ve told me six months ago I’d be sitting here with Bennett Legros, of all people, about to submit my law school application with his encouragement, I probably would’ve told you that you’ve done way too many mushrooms and are having a bad trip.

Impossible.

It’s crazy how quickly things change.

His shoulder brushes absently against mine, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of how close we are.

On my bed.

In the middle of the night.

With me wearing only a ratty, old, oversized T-shirt and a pair of barely there sleep shorts. It’s the same thing I wear every night, but suddenly, it feels like I’m exposed.

The bright blue of his irises bounces between mine, and I drag in a shaky, uneven breath. I roll my lips together, and his gaze drops, tracking the movement. I watch his eyes darken as he stares at my lips, and my breath quickens in sync with my racing pulse.

This close, I can see the light freckles along his cheeks and the dusting of blond hair that covers the sharp edge of his jaw. I want to reach out and run my fingers along it before moving them to his hair.

God, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything the way that I want him.

It’s like this torrential wave of desire has washed in and taken over my body and my mind since that night, and now that it’s started, I can’t stop it.

Now that I’ve acknowledged my want for him, I can’t just pretend like it doesn’t exist.

I think I’ve probably always been this attracted to him, but I refused to let myself feel anything other than disdain toward him after what happened two years ago. Classic defense mechanism.

His throat bobs with a swallow, and the air around us crackles with tension I can feel in every cell of my body. Dragging his eyes back to mine, he rasps, “How about a kiss… for good luck.”

It feels as ridiculous as it sounds, but I still find myself nodding.