Текст книги "The Singles"
Автор книги: Emily Snow
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Текущая страница: 36 (всего у книги 45 страниц)
Chapter Ten
We stay until the end of the set, and after telling Mac goodbye, I excuse myself to the bathroom. As I start to leave, I hear voices outside—one of them distinctively Rhys’. I hate eavesdroppers as much as the next person, but I’m a big ass hypocrite as I stand with my side pressed against the door, listening.
“I’m not taking you home with me, Cari,” I hear him groan right before there’s a loud thud against the wall. “Not tonight, I—”
“Don’t be stupid,” the female voice whispers, breathing heavily. I swallow hard as I hear the undeniable sound of kissing. Whether it’s her all over him, or vice versa, it does nothing good for my sanity. “I’ll be at your place after your shift ends and—”
“You’ll be sitting outside alone,” Rhys replies sharply.
There’s more heavy breathing on her part, and a moment later, the door flies open and Cari stares back at me, stunned. Before I have a chance to move, she barrels through the door, her strawberry blond hair leaving a fruit-scented trail. “Excuse me,” she snaps.
Rhys is standing directly across the hall, rubbing his hand over his face, but when he hears his ex shout, he looks up. He swallows hard when he realizes it’s me.
“Christ,” he breathes heavily as I force my legs to move out of the bathroom, “You’re everywhere.”
“So are you.” I wish he knew how true that is for me. I’ve lost sleep thinking about him, lost minutes and hours and seconds of my day.
The sound of a few people coming into the hallway draws our eyes away from each other, and we each press our backs against our respective walls so they can pass through. His lips part to say something, but before he can and I have a whole new reason to think about him, I turn on my heel and rush past him.
Because Corinne hasn’t texted me, and I don’t expect her to anytime soon, I drive directly back to campus. With the can of pepper spray Kendra had given me for Christmas last year in my hand, I walk from the freshman parking to my dorm, my thoughts on Rhys the entire time. How can he remind me so much of my past, of Lily, and yet make me want to kiss him at the same time?
What the hell is wrong with me?
“I’ll sleep it off,” I say as I walk past a crowd of smokers under the smokers’ hut at the front of my dorm. Waving to a few people I know from class, I scan my student ID and go inside, convincing myself that I’ll really be able to sleep Rhys off tonight, and I won’t even think about wanting him tomorrow at our lesson. But as soon as I come off the elevator to see my suitemates sitting outside in the hallway on their laptops, I quickly realize that my plans for a relatively early bedtime might be shot all to hell.
Before I can ask them what they’re doing, Hannah loudly declares, “Your roommate is having really, really loud sex.”
“Oh.” That explains why Corinne hasn’t contacted me—she’s in the middle of shirtless Daniel sexy time. Hannah presses her already thin lips into an even thinner line at my flippant response. Does she expect me to say something else? Or to go in there and interrupt them? Smoothing the skirt of my dress, I sit on the opposite side of the door and start to take my phone out of my bag. If I’m going to be stuck out here for another fifteen minutes, I can at least see if Kendra’s awake. After I send her a text, I look at Hannah and Lara and shrug my shoulders.
“I actually can’t hear them, so you two are probably safe in your room.”
“Stick your head inside,” Lara chimes in. Unlike Hannah, her tone is indifferent as she reaches up behind her to open the suite door. Cursing under my breath, I decide to humor her, and sure enough, I can hear the distinct clack, clack, clack of the tiny twin-sized bed banging on the floor. I wrinkle my nose, but I meet Hannah and Lara’s stares with a straight face.
“Honestly, I’ve heard worse.”
“I have a paper due tomorrow,” Hannah states vehemently.
She’s really starting to piss me off with the prude act. I send her a hard glare. Early this year, it was people exactly like this who were quick to talk crap about me behind my back after the fallout with James, and the last thing I’m going to do is sit around and let her turn this into a big deal. Besides, I’m the one who has to wait in the hallway when all I want to do is sleep and forget Rhys.
“Did you know there are dorms on this campus where you don’t even have to see a penis?” When Hannah’s mouth drops open, I continue, “You have ear buds plugged in your computer already. Use them and pretend like you don’t hear anything. I can suggests some good music if you need help.”
Giving me a withering stare, my suitemate clambers to her feet, clutches her laptop close to her chest and stomps into our suite. I hear three rapid taps on wood and then her shout, “Keep that shit down!” before she slams her bedroom door.
Lara gives me an apologetic look. “Ugh ... sorry, Evie. She’s just in a bad mood about that paper, and then now with Corinne in there with Elliot...”
Who the hell is Elliot? Suddenly, all thoughts about Rhys Delane fly out the window as my eyebrows jerk together in confusion. Lara flushes and stares down at her screen to avoid making eye contact.
“Daniel Hanson’s roommate? You know him, right?” I rack my brain for a second until a vague memory of the short, dark-haired guy I played beer pong against once pops into my head. Since then, I’ve seen him with Daniel, and I’ve seen him around my suite a couple times, but never with Corinne. And when I realize why I’ve seen him, I keep the muscles in my face relaxed as Lara expands, “He’s been hooking up with Hannah.”
She stands up and peers into our suite at my closed door before shaking her head, the tail of her loose French braid swinging against her back. “Guess that’s over. Night, Evie.”
***
To my relief, and disappointment, Rhys is distant the next day and during our next lesson on Monday, so I’m not left thinking too hard on him. I’m grateful for this because, though I swore up and down to myself I wouldn’t let anything like this happen to me this year, I find myself caught in the middle of a rift between Corinne and Hannah. Although there are no actual words exchanged—except for on Saturday night when my roommate stumbles in drunk after partying and Hannah flips out about all the noise she makes—the atmosphere in our suite is frigid all weekend.
I’ve been avoiding saying anything directly to Corinne. For starters, I don’t exactly know what to say. I don’t want to come off preachy—because, with my history, that’s the last thing I am—but I also know that unless Hannah stands down soon, I’m going to have to eventually say something.
It’s not until a week later on Friday, when Corinne finds me in the D-hall, that she finally talks to me directly. Sitting down in front of me, she buries her face in her hands before pushing back her curly hair and coiling it into a knot on top of her head.
“What’s up?”
“What do I do about Hannah?” she sighs, releasing her hair to tumble around her delicate features.
I trace my fingertip along the cold rim of my Coke can. “Do you think you were wrong?”
“They weren’t dating,” she quickly assures me, which I already know. Lowering her green eyes to her hands, she shrugs. “I know what she’s saying about me. She won’t say it to my face because I’m guessing she’s afraid I’ll go off on her or something, but I know she’s telling anyone who’ll listen that I’m a slut.”
Even when it’s not being directed at me, I hate that word. Hate it with a passion. I stab my plastic fork into my untouched hamburger and shake my head. “She hasn’t called you that to me.”
Corinne releases a hysterical noise from the back of her throat and laughs. “Because you’re hostile and like a foot taller than she is.” I press my lips together at her description of me, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she implores, “Evie, what should I do? It was one time, I swear, and I was just pissed because of Daniel.”
Daniel. Learning that Corinne and Elliot went down because of something that has to do with Daniel instantly ruins my appetite, and I lean back in my seat, dropping my fork. There’s a lot I want to tell my roommate. I want to tell her that even though this campus is big—much bigger than the school I went to last year—even the slightest ding on her reputation might have a ripple effect. I want to tell her that no matter how good retaliation might feel when it’s happening, there’s always something that will come along to wipe out that satisfaction.
I want to tell her that all of this has happened to me, and I don’t want her to screw herself up like I did.
But before I can say anything, she sucks in a deep breath and when I lift my eyes from my tray, I realize that her expression has fallen. “You know what? Never mind.” Grabbing her bag, she jumps up from the table. “Forget I asked. I’ll figure it out on my own.”
“Wait.” I come to my feet ready to go after her, but she continues to walk quickly, nearly knocking over Nathan as he walks toward my table.
“Shit,” I grind out, slamming back into my seat. I massage each of my index fingers over either side of my nose and shoot a look over at him, meeting his questioning blue eyes. “It’s not you, it’s just—”
“Trouble in paradise?”
I groan. “Even worse. Fight between her and one of our suitemates.”
“That bad?”
Rubbing my hands over my face, I nod. “So much that I’m actually foaming at the mouth for fall break to come in a few weeks,” I admit, hating that my words are actually true. Since returning to Richmond after Labor Day a couple weeks ago, I’ve talked to my parents a total of two times. Still, I’ll take their love-stoned, let’s-pretend-nothing-ever-happened and my father pointing out how lucky I am he picked up the tab after my music scholarship was cancelled any day over living in my hostile suite.
At least at home, there are two other floors I can exile myself to if things get out of hand.
Cringing, Nathan takes a bite of his steak wrap. “Fun times. Sadly—and I guess, luckily—I’ve seen my suitemates maybe once, and my roommate is always gone.”
I swirl one of my fries around in ketchup and then wipe my hands on a napkin. “I’d go with luckily.”
We finish lunch together in silence, before I head to my last class of the afternoon—English. I’m distracted the entire time, mostly because of Corinne, but also because voice lessons are next. Although the last week has been pretty tame, Rhys always manages to unnerve me.
I’m in my own world as I leave Stanfield Hall and cut through the student union to get to my lesson on time, so I don’t hear my name being called until strong fingers touch my shoulder. I jerk around in surprise, relaxing just a little when my eyes skim over Daniel’s face.
“Seriously. That is the quickest way to get pepper-sprayed, Hollister,” I inform him hotly, spinning back around. He catches up quickly, his long stride matching my own.
“Hollister?”
Dodging his question, I point up ahead to McGregor Hall, the music building. “I’ve got a voice lesson and my instructor is a real bitch if I’m late, so what’s up?”
“Corinne—” he starts, and I slow my pace significantly, my breath catching as I wait for him to finish. I’m guessing that with Elliot being his roommate, he’s already well aware of what’s going on. Even though I know very little about Elliot, I’m willing to bet money that the first person he went bragging to was Daniel, which pisses me off. I turn and lean in toward him, not caring that the people walking behind us have to break to move around. Glancing away from my stare, Daniel sheepishly rubs his palm over his short blond hair.
“Can you let her know she doesn’t have to avoid my texts?” he finally asks.
My lips part in surprise, but I quickly blurt out, “Sure. I mean, of course. I’ll tell her when I see her tonight.”
I start to tell him that my undecided opinion of him just went up ten notches, but then he flashes me a straight white grin, his eyes dipping to give me a swift once-over, from the brown suede toes of my flats to the hat on my head, taking in every inch of my olive skin that’s visible along the way, and I scale that back to five notches.
He starts to say something else, but then he shakes his head. “I appreciate it, Evie,” he says before taking off in the opposite direction.
But I’m smiling when I enter the practice room a few minutes later with thirty seconds to spare. After five minutes of sitting at the piano bench, waiting alone, though, that smile begins to fade.
And after fifteen minutes when there’s no sign of Rhys, and I pull out my course material to start rehearsing on my own, my fingers are shaking as I put the limited skills I’ve learned so far this year in my beginning piano course to the test.
But irritation—and I can’t help but admit, concern—doesn’t set in until I’m on my way back to my dorm and I check my campus email on my phone to find a message from Rhys.
From: [email protected]
Date: Fri, Sept 13, 2013 at 4:49 PM
Subject: Sorry
Evelyn,
I had an emergency come up, so I had to leave campus for the weekend. Practice this weekend and we’ll touch base next week. Again, sorry for standing you up.
Rhys
Disappointment spirals through my veins as I go into my suite. Hannah’s yelling from her room when I walk in, and when I go to my own room, Corinne pops up from her computer chair. Her face is pale and drawn as she apologizes for walking out on me earlier in the D-hall.
“No skin off my nose,” I promise as I sit in the center of my bed and take off my shoes. Before I grab my computer to write Rhys back, I tell her about running into Daniel. When I’m done, and she looks just as surprised as I was earlier, I say, “Can you call him? He’s worried about you.”
She rushes off, leaving our door partially open. The second I hear Hannah loudly declaring that the “skank is probably gone for the night,” I abandon my reply to Rhys and stalk to the doorway. Blushing, she prepares to speak to me—probably to defend her assholery—but before she can, I slam the door so hard the few bottles of perfume that are sitting on my dresser tumble over.
Chapter Eleven
Nine Months Ago
I already know why James is at my door even before I step aside to let him in, before he opens his mouth to speak. Still, it doesn’t quite mute the sharp pain I feel when he sits on the edge of my bed, looks me right in the eye, and says, “You and me can’t do this anymore, Evie. I’ve tried—I’ve been trying for over a year now—but I can’t.”
Sliding my butt onto the desk directly across from where he’s sitting, I raise my beer to my lips and drink quickly. I’d dug into my private, under-the-bed stash earlier this afternoon, right after Kendra left to go home for the weekend.
“Do what?” My words are a little slurred. I set the can down on a folded sheet of paper I’ve made into a coaster. “What are you talking about?”
James’ face creases into a frown. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “We need to take a break.”
I clear my throat to shove down the bubble forming in my chest. This has been a long time coming, especially after he disappeared over Christmas break, and I heard a rumor from a mutual friend that he was messing around with any and every thing with breasts and a decent ass.
“So you can see other people. And not feel bad about it.” I rub my palm over my chest, wishing it were possible for me to rub away the burn flaming through my ribcage. “I get it.”
“Evie,” he groans, his voice impatient. “Don’t be like this.”
“I’m not being like anything. What? Am I not allowed to understand and accept it?” I start to take another sip of my drink, but suddenly he’s on his feet, standing in front of me and holding my wrist. “Get out of my room,” I order.
“You need help.”
An angry hiss rushes past my lips, and I jerk my wrist out of his grip. Somehow he manages to maintain control of my drink. “Are you screwing with me?”
“This—this—is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re all over the place.” His jaw sets in a hard line as he studies my face. “When was the last time you actually went to class?”
“You sound like Kendra. But unlike her, you really have no room to talk.” I also don’t want to slap Kendra when she gives me unsolicited advice. “If you want a break, fine, I’m good with that. But stop trying to analyze me. You blow at it.”
He drops the nearly empty beer can in the wastebasket by my desk before turning back to me. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promises as if he didn’t just end our relationship.
“Don’t bother.”
“Evie, Lily would—”
At the mention of my sister, I jump off my desk and shove my hands against his chest, pushing him hard in the direction of the door. “If you even think about going there you won’t walk out of here with your junk intact. Good night, James.”
But after he leaves, mumbling how much he still loves me and how he wants things to go back to how they were before, I lock my door and ease down on my bed. Out the corner of my eye, I can see myself in the full-length mirror that’s hanging on the wall beside my desk. I stare numbly at my reflection, at the brown eyes staring back at me. And I can vividly hear James’ unspoken words.
Lily would never be doing this.
Lily would want you to deal with your issues the right way.
Lily would be so disappointed in the wreck you’ve become.
Digging my fingers in the mattress beneath me, I drop my head between my knees and release a sob. I stay like this for so long a headache starts to form between my eyes. Although it’s the last thing I should do, when I finally talk myself into getting up, I get dressed and soon after, I leave the building with the group of girls I usually party with. When I come home without them a few hours later, I don’t care that I’ve only spoken to the guy I’m kissing a handful of times, or that he knows James. All I want to do is drown out the memories.
I don’t care when the same thing happens once again a couple weeks later.
But a week after that, when I come out of my room and there’s a message scribbled on my whiteboard in permanent orange marker—the board that everyone on my hall can see—that blatantly calls me a whore, something inside me snaps.
And I start to give a damn again.
Chapter Twelve
Now
With things somewhat fixed with Corinne—at least where Daniel is concerned—I try to put all thoughts of my own screw-ups out of my head to focus on my schoolwork for the rest of the weekend. I do a half-ass job dealing with things on the memory front, but I catch up on just about all my assignments. By the time I enter the practice room Monday, I’m feeling confident with myself.
Of course, that confidence is immediately tested when Rhys points out that I’m five minutes late. I toss my messenger bag in the chair by the door and start getting my books out.
“Blame your boss then,” I say. He lifts both eyebrows, studying my movements carefully as I set up my sheet music on the stand. “Cameron wanted to reschedule my lesson with her to Thursday. And she wanted to ask me how things are going with you. You’ll be happy to know that I gave you a glowing review.”
Linking his fingers together and placing them behind his head, Rhys leans back. “Glowing, huh?”
“The very best. I told her things are going swimmingly. Now, are you ready to start?”
He glances at the top of my head. As usual, I’m wearing one of my many hats, and as usual, he’s not happy about it. For once, though, I’m having a genuinely bad hair day. “As soon as you take that damn hat off. Then we’ll begin.”
“I’m not hiding beneath this one,” I argue. “My hair really does look like shit today.”
“Don’t care if you’re hiding or not. Take it off, Evelyn.”
A surge of frustration whirls through me. “You give voice lessons, bartend, and now, here you are trying to tell me what to wear. Again. Wow, Rhys.” My heart flies into my throat as he stalks over to me, and I take a step backwards toward the piano when he stops right in front of me. “Is there anything you don’t do?” I question softly.
Ignoring my question, Rhys slides his strong fingers beneath the brim of my newsboy, pulling it off in one easy motion. My hair falls around my face in a curtain of natural waves, and he sucks in a breath at the sight of it.
Reaching behind me, he drops the hat on the piano’s smooth mahogany lid and I let out a little moan when I hear him inhale my scent. He catches my hands in his before I can reclaim the newsboy. “You are beautiful, Evelyn. No matter how your hair looks.” Moving in toward me so that my butt is pressed up against the piano and I have nowhere to go, he links his fingers with mine, one at a time, each motion careful and taunting.
With him staring at me, standing this close to me, I feel like I’ve been stripped bare.
“If I was going to tell you what to wear – and if there was a chance in hell you’d listen – believe me, the hat would be the last thing to go.” Releasing my hands, he touches my chin gently, tilting my face up until we’re eye to eye. “But I want to see your face when you’re singing to me. I like trying to figure out what’s behind your eyes.”
My nostrils flare. I run my hands over his chest, feeling his muscles beneath my fingers. This is something I’ve wanted to do since the first time I saw him—well, the second time—and to my relief, he doesn’t stop me. I dig my fingers into the soft fabric of his blue t-shirt as his hands move from my face to my hair, gathering it in his fist and then releasing it. After all the memories of my past here lately, it’s almost as if his touch—no matter how confusing or crazy or wrong—is the only thing holding me together.
I trail my tongue over my lips. “You won’t like what you find behind my eyes,” I inform him.
“You’re wrong.” Tracing the tip of his thumb back and forth from my chin to the corner of my mouth in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, he dips his face close to mine, his sea blue eyes flashing a challenge. “I don’t just want the beautiful, the happy-go-lucky, or even the sarcastic bullshit from you. You’re so much more than that. The pain and fear and anger—that’s the part of you I need to unravel.”
“The pain and fear.” I swallow hard. “And the anger.”
“Yes ... it’s the only way you’ll survive going back in front of Cameron during mid-terms in a couple weeks and then again at the end of the semester. She wants to see real emotion, and I’ve yet to get that out of you.”
Professor Cameron. He’s touching me and talking about music. More specifically he’s talking about my future in the music program. Now, I feel like an idiot for the uneven hitch in my breathing. The way my body has, inadvertently, curved in to his. The way I’m hoping our lips might touch, if even for a moment.
“You sound like a masochist.”
“Hmm,” Rhys murmurs thoughtfully. When he doesn’t say anything else, I jab the tip of my tongue into my cheek and glower at him. This is when his face begins a slow transformation. From intense and pensive to a broad, mocking grin. “And there we have it. Real emotion. About goddamn time.”
I start to give him another sharp retort, but then I look him directly in the eyes. “Are you going to kiss me?” I demand, and he presses his forehead to mine. “You want to.”
He tilts his head back and his expression changes, the mockery edging away into a guilty smile. “Is it that obvious?” Before I can answer, his lips touch the tip of my nose. Then I feel them against my temple as his hand cups my neck. And finally, he hovers his mouth right over mine and my breath hitches. “And what happens after we do this?” he wonders aloud.
“We pretend it never happened,” I suggest, feeling my head go cloudy when he finally—finally—skims his lips across mine before immediately drawing away. “We pretend that—”
“Do you think you’ll come in here three days a week and not want to do it again? Or that you won’t want more?” At my silence, he shakes his head. “Because you will. We both will. And if my boss, as you call her, finds out what we’re doing...”
I lean away from him as what he just said has a chance to drown into my brain. Crap. Here I am coming on to him and I never stopped to think that it might impossible for him to act on anything because of Professor Cameron. Turning away from him, I nod my head fiercely, wanting the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
“I won’t lose my job if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says quietly, “but it’s still unprofessional.”
“Oh.”
“Come here,” he orders, pulling me against his hard body. My chest hits his, and he feathers his fingers across my skin to touch my cheek and tilt my face up to his. “I want to touch you. Want to kiss you.” When I nod, his tongue flicks out and drags across the center of my lips. “Jesus, I’ve been trying not to do this.” I don’t have time to breathe before he covers my mouth with his.
As his lips learn mine, I mold against him. I open my mouth just slightly, giving him a chance to slip his tongue inside. Our lips and tongues crush against each other, tasting and exploring. My hands grip his black hair, and I pull him deeper into me. He taste good, smells even better, and ripples of pain and pleasure shoot through me as I feel his hands all over me.
“You feel so good, so right, Evelyn,” he groans against my lips. “I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in a very long time.”
Suddenly, that wary part of me—the one that was reluctant to even be around him in the first place—snaps awake. And I can’t help but wonder if he would be kissing me now if he knew everything there was to know about me? Breaking away from him, I stumble backwards. We’re both breathing heavily, our skin flushed and our lips swollen, and we stare at each other for several seconds.
“Fuck, Evelyn—” he begins, but I shake my head.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp, shoving past him. I grab my bag from the chair and burst out the room, struggling to breathe as I run down the steps and leave the building. He doesn’t follow me, but I also don’t stop moving until I’m in the freshman parking lot. I sit in the front seat of my car with my stereo volume cranked to the max and Skylar Grey serenading me about slowly freaking out.
The song is ironically accurate for my current situation.
“Shit. Shit!” I yell at myself, gripping the leather steering wheel. He had given me exactly what I asked for, and more, and the second it was over, I bolted like a fool. Catching my reflection in the rearview mirror, I make a face at myself. “Get a grip!”
As if agreeing with me, my purse starts to vibrate and when I pull my phone out, I see that it’s Kendra. Jabbing my radio’s power button, I answer. “You sound like you just finished running a marathon,” she says, her voice full of curiosity. “Alright, you’re upset. What’s up?”
I run my hands over my face. “I ... I just kissed my voice instructor.”
“The fifty-year-old woman who scares the hell out of you?” I can clearly picture her eyebrow lifting into a perfect arch.
“No.” When I finish answering her, I feel my frustration with myself spike with every word. “Her twenty-something assistant who I shouldn’t want to be around in the first place.”
“Ohhhh.” I hear a rustling noise and then she says in a soft voice, “I thought you pulled out of lessons with him. At least, that’s what you said you were doing last month.”
I roll my gaze up to the tan-colored ceiling of my car and hunch down in my seat. “I caved.”
“And then you kissed him. And since you’re breathing like that, I’m assuming you ran.” When I don’t answer because I’m close to tears, she releases an understanding sigh. “Why did you run?”
“I never said anything to him about meeting before,” I say, and before Kendra can give me one of her speeches on telling the truth, I defensively add, “I figured all it would do is make things awkward between us.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
I don’t know, which scares the ever-living crap out of me. It’s taken all my willpower not to act hastily because whenever that happens—well, that’s when everything goes to hell for me. Closing my eyes, I rest my head forward against the steering wheel’s smooth leather. Almost instantly, thoughts of how Rhys’ forehead felt pressed against mine hits me hard. I blow out a harsh breath and shake my head in hopes it’ll help knock the images from my mind, but of course it doesn’t. The memory is firmly cemented there now—a brand new addition to both the vault of What-the-hell-was-Evie-thinking? and Why-the-fuck-doesn’t-Evie-ever-follow-through?
“You’re letting me be selfish again,” I suddenly tell Kendra. Plus, I’m more than ready to steer this conversation to something else. “What’s going on in your life?”
She sounds reluctant to change the subject but after a little coaxing from me, she asks me what my plans are for Founders’ Oktoberfest, which is coming up in two weeks, before giving me the best news I’ve heard all day. “Save me a spot on your floor. I’m hitching a ride with a guy from my Spanish class, and I’ll be there all weekend long.”
“Are you kidding?” I don’t even try to hide my excitement because this is something I absolutely need. When she assures me that she’s definitely coming, I realize I’m grinning. “And now the next two weeks will officially be the longest of this entire year.”
“I know. As soon as he told me he’d be coming up to Founders for the weekend, I practically stalked the poor guy. He thinks I’m certifiably insane.” For the next few minutes, the focus of our phone call is strictly Oktoberfest until she has to go to head to an evening class. Before she hangs up, she offers me one last bit of serious advice.
“Talk to the guy. You’ll feel so much better if you do.”
