Текст книги "The Singles"
Автор книги: Emily Snow
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Текущая страница: 37 (всего у книги 45 страниц)
Chapter Thirteen
Kendra’s wise words are still weighing heavy on me an hour and a half later when I go to dinner at a tiny sandwich shop right off campus with Nathan, his roommate from last year Harrison, and Corinne. But while Kendra’s words play in my mind, so does vivid images of Rhys himself.
Every time I close my eyes, I can picture him right in front of me, his off-black hair messy and just screaming for me to run my fingers through it as his own hands entwine in my hair. His soft lips demand everything from mine. It’s both distracting and unnerving, and it takes so much more effort to relax enough to carry on a normal conversation. Even then, my roommate is quick to point out how preoccupied I seem.
Raking my mind for something that will firmly shove my ass into the dinner table conversation and appease Corinne’s nosiness, I finally say, “Tell me about Oktoberfest.” I move my gaze from Nathan to Harrison and note the massive shit-eating grin that springs onto the former’s face. The corner of my mouth twists up. “Okay, you look way too happy about this.”
“Best weekend of the year,” Harrison promises me. “Best parties, best looking girls, best—”
“He’s been coming for Oktoberfest since he was in high school and his brother went here,” Nathan interrupts, “So it’s like Christmas for him. It was good last year—well, the parts I remember at least. Michaela’s coming in from Vegas for the weekend.”
“Nice. I can’t wait to meet her.” I take a bite of my meatball sub and wash it down with a sip of my Coke. “My friend Kendra is coming too.”
Nathan widens his blue eyes in mock surprise, and I can already guess what he’s about to say. “What’s this?” He gazes around the table in shock before leaning forward to get closer to me, and I give him an unimpressed look. “The elusive Evie Miller will be letting us meet one of her friends? I’ve got to admit, I’m kind of scared.”
Chucking my balled up straw wrapper at him, I laugh. “Whatever. And besides, I never said anything about you meeting her.”
Corinne looks up from her phone and lifts her shoulders. “You’re probably the most mysterious person I know.”
“Oh come on, is everyone going to start piling on me?” I clear my throat uneasily, and Harrison holds up his hands and shakes his head. Rubbing my tongue over my teeth, I heave a deep sigh and glance from Nathan to Corinne. “One thing. Ask me one thing and I promise I’ll answer it.”
Nathan jumps all over my invitation before Corinne has a chance to process it. “Why’d you come to Founders?” At the hesitation that must be obvious on my face, he shakes his head impatiently. “Don’t look at me like I just sprouted a damn horn. You said one question, so there it is. There are so many colleges around Bristol—why this one?”
Twisting my napkin, I tilt my head to the side. “Because I went to one of those colleges last year, and I flunked out,” I admit matter-of-factly, surprised that I don’t feel any of the shame that used to come along with owning up to the bad situation I’d created for myself.
“By the end of the first semester I lost my scholarship, and then when my final grades came through we found out that I was put on academic suspension. My parents freaked, of course, and they gave me a choice. I could sit this semester out, stay at home with them and try again next spring, or I could see if there was another school that would take me. My aunt went here and I grew up listening to her praise this place like it was Hogwarts or something, so I applied. I guess it’s bad to admit I didn’t think I’d get accepted.”
“You’re not going back to that other place next year, are you?” Nathan demands, narrowing his clear blue eyes into thin slits. “I’d miss hearing you give Rhys Delane smart ass answers in class every other day.”
Grinning in spite of the rush that goes through me at the mere mention of Rhys’ name, I start to tell him I have every intention on coming back but then Corinne mutters a curse.
With every eye at our table now directed on her, she offers me a contrite smile. “I suck at messages,” she explains, bowing her curly head. “One, that guy Rhys is gorgeous—like I-couldn’t-figure-out-what-to-say-at-first gorgeous. And two, he came by looking for you this afternoon.”
I shoot her a warning glare in hopes she’ll get the hint and finish giving me this message later, when we’re alone, but I have no such luck. “He wanted me to tell you to check your email when you get a chance. I wrote a note and put it on your laptop, just in case I forgot.”
“Thanks.” I pretend my half-eaten sandwich is the most interesting thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. I hear Nathan’s low, questioning rumble. “Don’t touch it with a ten foot pole,” I warn.
Signaling for our waitress and the check, he pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. I can tell he’s holding back a huge smile as I glare across the table at him. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”
I personally don’t touch the email until more than twenty-four hours later after Rhys doesn’t even make eye contact with me when we brush up against each other in passing. I’d turned around and followed him with my gaze until he disappeared from sight, instantly feeling a bitter twist in my stomach when he didn’t spare me a second glance. I spent the rest of the day struggling with the urge to go track him down, but in the end, I figured I’d wait to see if he came to me again.
When it’s obvious that he’s not going to do that, I open his email.
From: [email protected]
Date: Mon, Sep 16, 2013 at 5:08 PM
Subject:
This is far from over. Far from it. If you want to figure it out before our next session, you’re more than welcome to call me.
Plus, I have your books and music. You left them when you raced off.
Even though I’ll see him tomorrow in class and I know I’ll be able to get my stuff back then, I realize I won’t be alone with him again until Friday afternoon since Professor Cameron has claimed my time on Thursday afternoon. I massage my temples. I’m not sure I can wait until Friday to clear the air with him. He’s already affecting my thought process, so the sooner I talk to him the better.
When I shut my computer and start to go through the stacks of papers on my desk in search of my Sight Singing and Dictation syllabus, Corinne glances up from where she’s lounged across her bright teal comforter working diligently on a paper.
“Lose something?” she shouts over the sound of the music streaming from her ear buds. It’s so loud that even I can hear Demi Lovato singing about skyscrapers from the opposite side of our room.
I finally spot the syllabus at the bottom of the pile. I flip through it until I find Rhys’ number and plug it into my iPhone. “Nope. I just found it.” I scoot the syllabus back to the bottom of the stack. I change out of my ratty old choir fundraiser tee and into a pair of jeans, a soft black flutter sleeve t-shirt, and a pair of flats. As I dab gloss over my lips and check my appearance in my mirror, I see Corinne pluck out her ear buds one by one behind me.
“You’re going out?” She checks the time on the bottom of her laptop screen and then stares back up disbelievingly at my reflection as I drag a brush through my hair. “It’s a Tuesday. You don’t even go out on the weekend.”
Grabbing my bag and keys and shoving my phone deep inside the back pocket of my tight jeans, I flash a quick smile. “I just have to grab something for one of my classes tomorrow. It shouldn’t take me long.”
Her green eyes follow me to the door. “You look really awesome for a Wal-Mart run,” she calls after me.
My stomach is tangled into a mess of nervous knots as I text Rhys from the elevator, asking him where I can met him to get my books. Before I reach the bottom floor, he responds with an address. A few seconds later, another text comes through.
10:39 PM: I’d meet you somewhere, but my roommate’s having a going away party tonight. This time, you come to me, Evelyn.
That last line—that’s the one that screws with me all the way there.
My GPS has me getting to his place in five minutes, and I realize pretty fast that he lives only a few blocks from Ippy’s, which is probably convenient for when he’s bartending. Thanks to the cars filling the driveway and parked along the street, it’s simple to determine which side of the duplex he lives on. I park my Hyundai about a hundred feet down the street, hoping I’m not taking someone else’s usual spot as I walk up the sidewalk to the brick two-story building.
Although the door is wide open and I can see right in through the screen door, I can hear my mother’s voice yelling how impolite it is for me to just prance right in someone’s home without an invitation. I ring the doorbell. A few seconds later, a huge guy built like an offensive lineman answers.
“Damn, I don’t know you either.” He looks behind him at a dark-haired woman with bright red lipstick who’s just as tall as him and model thin. “Another one of your friends?” he asks, and she pokes her head out the door to stare at me inquisitively.
“Nope, not this time,” she informs him in a surprisingly sexy, deep voice. “You lost, honey?”
I move my head to either side, trying to get a peek inside. “I’m actually here to see Rhys. He’s expecting me.”
“Ahhh, Delane. Why didn’t you say that?” The big guy moves aside so I can come in and turns his attention on the ruby-lipped woman. “Do me a favor, babe, and tell Rhys there’s someone here for him.” He looks me over carefully and then shakes his head, changing his mind. “You know what, just take her directly to him.”
“Come on.” She motions for me to follow her, and I stay as close as possible to her skinny body as we maneuver through all the bodies packed inside the small apartment. “I saw him go into his bedroom a couple minutes ago, so he’s probably still in there.” She looks over her shoulder, leans her head to the side to size me up and then smiles at me. “I’m Daisy, for what it’s worth.”
“Evelyn.” For some reason it feels right to use my whole name when it comes to anything dealing with Rhys. When we shuffle past a face I recognize—the strawberry blond guitarist from Ippy’s, Rhys’ ex-girlfriend—before entering a short hallway, my back straightens. Daisy’s eyebrow jerks up.
“Are you and Delane together?” Then she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment and shakes her head quickly. “Shit, sorry. That was nosy, wasn’t it?”
“No ... he’s just my voice instructor.”
Stopping outside a closed door at the very back of the hallway, she releases a low whistle and rests her hand against the wall to stare down at me. “First time I’ve ever heard him referred to as a just anything in the four years I’ve known him.” She bites the corner of her lip, flashing me a smile that’s surprisingly not covered in lipstick a second later. “But if that’s the case, nice to see someone not here just to throw pussy at him.”
Ignoring the fact that my mouth drop opens, she turns and bangs hard on his door. “There’s someone to see you, Rhys,” she shouts, pronouncing his name like “Rice.” When the door opens, and he greets us there in the doorway, he’s shirtless with his jeans hanging low on his hips and his black hair is disheveled.
Daisy bobs her head at me. “Good to meet you, Just-A-Voice-Student.”
Once she’s gone, he and I stand on either side of the threshold staring back at each other. It’s a struggle to keep my gaze from drifting down over his chest. Really, Rhys ... really? He’s all hard, lean muscle, with one of those delicious “V’s” that I’ve only seen in magazines up until now, and I can’t help but wonder when he has time for working out, what with the music and bartending.
And then, I also can’t resist wondering how his chest would feel under my lips.
“I came for my books,” I tell him. But I’m totally cool with ogling you.
He walks backward inside the room, which is dimly lit by a single lamp standing in the corner. It’s sparsely furnished—a queen size bed, dresser, and a nightstand, and there’s a guitar propped up on a stand in the far right corner—so it’s nice and tidy.
“No you didn’t.” He crooks his finger, moving it slowly, motioning me to him. “I promise you’re perfectly safe.”
I don’t doubt for a second that I’m safe—at least physically—but I still stand close to the door after it’s shut behind me. “Of course that’s what I came for,” I say when I finally find my voice.
“There you go.” He gestures to the dresser a few feet away from where I’m standing. My books and sheet music are sitting in a neat pile beside a stack of unopened mail. “It’s all there.”
“Perfect.” But I don’t move. “Thanks.”
Turning away from me, he gets on his bed and rests his back against the plain oak headboard. Shooting me a cocky smile, he nods to the door behind me. “Now that you’ve got what you came for, I’ll see you tomorrow, Evelyn.”
Dammit.
Why does he have to look at me like that? Peer pressure is the biggest bitch I’ve ever met.
Dragging in a deep breath, I hesitantly walk over to the bed where I sit on the edge to keep a safe amount of distance between myself and his partially nude, and very distracting, body. “I’m sorry I took off like that yesterday.”
“It could have been worse,” he says, and at my raised eyebrow, he drawls, “You could’ve done it after we were naked.”
Ugh. The images that comment brings to my mind, especially when he’s already halfway there and I’m in his bed. Fussing with my bottom lip, I weigh my next words carefully. “I don’t think I would’ve had the willpower to leave if we were that far.”
He glances down at the bed beside him before grinning. “Normally I’d suggest we try it, but I don’t think my pride can take it if you run out on me with so many people here.”
“Normally?”
“Are you gonna overanalyze everything I say while you’re here tonight?” he challenges.
I can feel his eyes burning into the side of my face, so I stand up with my back to him. “Your roommate’s the big guy, right? Daisy’s boyfriend?” When he confirms with a murmur, I steal a peek over my shoulder at him. “Where’s he moving to?”
“Jase is leaving for a five month gig in Brazil as a freelance interpreter in a couple weeks.”
Impressed, I nod. Silently, I pace his bedroom, feeling his gaze hot on my back. Out the corner of my eye, I spot the only photo in the entire room. It’s sitting a few inches from my books on his dresser, and I lean down to study it. Rhys is smiling with a couple that look to be in their late 50s, early 60s, and wedged between them is a little girl with short dark hair. Her lips are smooshed up against Rhys’ cheek.
“My parents,” he says from behind me.
Although I stand upright, my eyes are still drawn to the smiling faces staring back at me. “This your sister?”
“My niece, Stacey. My mom takes care of her.”
“She’s gorgeous.” When it hits me that I’m more than likely looking at Owen Delane’s daughter, a chill goes through me, and I hug myself tightly. “Y’all must be pretty close.”
“That was taken about a year ago, a couple months before my dad passed away. But yeah ... me and Stacey and my mom—we’re close. We’ve had no other choice because we’re all we’ve got.”
“Sorry to hear about your father.” I turn to face him. I can tell it’s a hard subject for him because of his pained expression. Clearing my throat, I kneel down beside the guitar in the corner of the room, running my fingertips gently along the smooth neck. “Can you actually play this thing or is it for looks?” I question, attempting to keep my voice light and teasing.
I hear him roll off his bed, and a second later, feel his body close to mine. When I stand, the back of my body glides up his until I can feel his lips touch my ear. I shiver. “Are you asking me to play?” he whispers against my skin, his breath blowing stray strands of my loose hair.
“Since I didn’t come here for my books.” I turn my face to the side to meet his vivid blue-green eyes. “And because all I keep hearing about is how amazing and incredible Rhys Delane is, and yet I’ve never actually heard you sing.”
Moving his body even closer to mine so that I feel every hard muscle and taut angle, he grabs the guitar and motions me over to the bed. He seems to think on what to play for a moment, before he positions his long fingers on the fretboard and strums the beginning of “Yesterday,” the same song he was playing the day I finally met him about working together.
“That song always rips me apart,” I say as his eyes find mine.
“I hated it when I was younger,” he admits with the tiniest hint of a smile. And then he starts to sing, softly, tentatively, and I’m unable to speak or move as I listen. He has one of those voices that slowly digs its way beneath my skin. It moves through my body and into my mind, making the tiny hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand to attention. His voice haunts me, hurts me, and I know this moment will mess with me long after I leave this room.
We’re quiet for a long time after he’s done, until I finally clear my throat. “You’re incredible.”
He lays the guitar face up on the other side of his bed and shrugs. “I probably should’ve told you I’m a shitty guitar player.”
“To be honest, I wasn’t listening to the guitar.”
He ducks his head, but I see the full smile teasing his mouth. “I took a few lessons here and there, but I was in high school then and all I wanted to do was play sports so my older brother wouldn’t give me shit and call me a pussy.” At the mention of his brother, his smile goes hard and so does the pain within my ribcage.
I move my palm back and forth over my chest, trying to rub away some of the hurt, but it doesn’t work. It never does. “And yet here you are, playing music.”
“Eventually I got smart and realized I wanted to be nothing like my brother.” He races the tip of his tongue over his teeth. “But enough about that. I want to know about you. I want to know why you came tonight. Most importantly, I want to know what we’re going to do about—”
“Our mutual attraction?”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” He moves his face close to mine. “So what are we gonna do about it, Evelyn?”
“We’re such different people.” At the amused jerk of his eyebrow, I continue. “And then there’s your job with Professor Cameron.” To my own ears it sounds like I’m trying to convince myself so I can’t imagine what I must sound like to him. I want to convince myself not to have anything to do with him—to convince my body to ignore him when he’s around.
“I should probably get back before my roommate starts freaking out and calling campus police,” I reply softly.
Before I move, he traces his knuckles over my cheekbone and locks his eyes to mine. “You didn’t come here just for your books. And if I was worried about Cameron, I wouldn’t have given you the address,” he reminds me. “But ... goodnight, Evelyn.”
With nothing else to say, I stand and walk slowly to the door. I give him one final look, and my heart clenches at the unreadable expression masking his strong features. I want to stay. I want to turn back around, climb onto that bed and make him give me more bad guitar playing and breath-catching, heartbreaking singing that tears my soul apart. And after that, I want to tear off the rest of his clothes and leave them in a pile on the floor with my own.
God, wouldn’t that be beautiful?
I press my lips together. Then, as much as I end up hating myself for it, I grab what I didn’t come here for off his dresser, keeping my gaze off the picture of his family, and leave.
Chapter Fourteen
If I expect Rhys to give any further mention to anything that was said when we were alone in his bedroom, I quickly discover how very wrong I am. For the next week and a half, he’s the epitome of professionalism—no touching, no innuendo, and definitely no kissing. I make an effort to comply with his silly hat rule, but every time our eyes meet, whether it’s during Cameron’s sight singing class or while he’s giving me feedback at one of our lessons, I wonder what he’s thinking. If his mind is on me, or if he’d simply shrugged me off completely the second I left his apartment with my books and music.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I think of him—when I’m lying in bed at night; when I’m alone with my music; when I listen to “Yesterday” on repeat for no reason other than wanting to imagine Rhys’ voice wrapped around the lyrics; as I realize that in two weeks Lily will have been gone for exactly two years.
That’s the worst one. I think about Lily and my parents and then I think about him and the picture of him with his brother’s kid. I process just how many lives were scooped up and crushed into nothing but dust two years ago. Then I open my eyes, breathe in and out, and I still want more with him.
And every time I watch him, letting that want burn a little deeper within me, I get a little more frustrated.
“You can’t expect the guy to chase you around,” Kendra scolds me as I lay in bed talking to her on Sunday morning. There’s less than a week left before she comes to visit. After I woke up an hour ago and finished a paper on Voltaire’s Candide for English—which I’ve already read many times thanks to my obsession with the operetta—I’d called her to make sure she’s still coming.
She barely took a breath between assuring me that she is and asking me how things are going with Rhys.
“Evie ... you don’t blame him for Lily’s death, do you?”
“I don’t,” I say through my teeth. Hell, I blame myself more for my sister’s death than Rhys. I start to tell Kendra exactly that but then I glance over at Corinne. She came in late last night and is still passed out in bed in the clothes she went out in. Her brown and red ringlets cover her face, moving slightly as she snores. Her ear buds are connected to her phone, and I can hear Kacey Musgraves blasting—which makes me wonder how she can even sleep—but I don’t want to risk her hearing anything.
Flipping over on my side, I press my head up against my wall. “I just... I feel like I’m screwing up again by wanting to be around him,” I whisper.
“Ummm, elaborate, please?”
“I feel like a traitor for wanting him. Not necessarily to her but to my parents. You saw what happened when my mom met him two years ago. I can’t even imagine taking him home and introducing him. She would flip her shit.”
In the past Kendra’s been the voice of reason, which is probably why it took us so many years to become friends. When she quietly says, “You’ve got to live for yourself, Evie,” she surprises me. She mumbles something else, but my phone beeps loudly, interrupting her.
I look down and see that it’s my dad.
Déjà-freaking-vu.
I’ve been trying to do better with answering his calls, so I tell Kendra I’ll call her later to which she gladly agrees since I woke her up so early.
The moment I swap calls, Dad gets right to the point. “Did you get the money your mom put in your account on Friday.” My parents have had the same archaic bank for years—no online banking and no problem a representative is able to fix over the phone—so I have to rely on ATMs to keep up with my balance.
“Hello to you too, and I’m not sure.” I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, sliding my feet into a pair of flip-flops. “I haven’t used my card in a few days, but I’ll walk over to the student union ATM in a little bit just to check.”
He laughs in surprise. “Who is this and what have you done with my Evelyn? Surely this creature can’t be my child. What happened to the girl who maxed her card the second it was loaded?”
I remember a time last year when he asked me similar questions in anger, but now his voice is completely relaxed. This is the first time he’s talked to me like this in a long time, but I guess it’s because I’m not being hostile with him today about cheating on Mom.
“I’ve been busy with school work,” I say.
“Look, Evelyn, the reason I called you is this: Do you plan on coming home for fall break? Your mom and I are trying to make sure we plan accordingly.”
“Haven’t decided yet, why?”
“It’s right around the anniversary of Lily’s death.” At his own words, he sucks in a breath. “God, it feels strange calling it that.” To my ears, it sounded even stranger because anniversaries seem like something that should be celebrated and not a cause for pain—but I let him continue, “I think it’s better for your mom, better for myself, if we get away. Take our minds off everything.”
I start to tell him that no matter how much they do to try to completely distract themselves, it’s never enough. I’ve tried and failed, rinsed and repeated. Instead, I promise to let him know my plans before Oktoberfest begins next weekend.
As he ends the call, Dad tells me quietly, “I’m proud of you this year, Evelyn. Now, I haven’t seen your grades yet, but it’s nice not to have gotten a call from the cops or your RA at three in the morning because you’ve been arrested or gotten in some other trouble.”
It feels like a bit of a jab, but I suppress my usual sharp retort. “Sadly, I’m the boring kid who’s so lame my resident advisor doesn’t even know my name,” I admit, to which Dad tells me to keep up the good work.
Tossing my phone on my bed, I stand up and start to gather my shower supplies to head for the bathroom. Since the door is open and the shower’s not running, I’m positive I’m alone. I hang my towel and clean underwear on the towel rack and start to get undressed.
My shirt is off and I’m pulling my pants down when I see a set of male feet step out of the shower and onto the cushy red bathmat. Shrieking, I spin around, but not before realizing that it’s blond-haired, Hollister-esque Daniel. He gets a flash of my bare ass for just a second before I jerk my pants back up. My tank top is a few feet away from me on the floor, so I grab my towel off the rack in front of me.
I face him, my skin on fire as I take in how his mouth his hanging wide open. “What the hell are you doing in my bathroom?” I grind out, keeping the towel wrapped tightly around my chest. When he doesn’t immediately answer, I start to reach for my phone but then his eyes slip over my shoulder.
“Hannah said I could use the shower. Damn, Evie, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
As soon as he says Hannah’s name my nostrils flare. “Really?” Giving him a cold stare, I jerk my thumb to the bathroom exit, walking in a slow circle as he moves toward it. “Get out of here.”
“Ahh, hell, I—”
“Get the fuck out!”
Since none of the suite bathrooms in Campbell dorm have doors that lock, I shower quickly, peeking around the corner of the stall every time I hear the slightest noise. As I creep back to my room fifteen minutes later, I hear the sound of a comedy movie playing loudly from inside Hannah and Lara’s room, and I hope Daniel’s not in there. In spite of the Elliot fiasco, I know my roommate still carries a torch for him. I also know that if Hannah let Daniel spend the night, it has a lot to do with Corinne. I’m around my room way too much not to notice that neither of my suitemates have ever had a guy spend the night until now.
Fucking retaliation.
I tiptoe into my room and close the door as quietly as possible, but when I turn around, I jump when I see that Corinne’s sitting up in her bed sleepily looking at her laptop screen.
She giggles at my reaction and pushes her curls away from her face. “Morning.”
“Good morning.” Going through my drawers, I grab a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. “Did you have a good time last night?”
“Ehh, it was okay. I went to some frat party—and I can’t for the life of me remember their name—with Ella.” She gives me a curious look as I step into my jeans. “Why were you yelling a few minutes ago?”
I stare down at my pants, focusing way too much attention on buttoning them. “There was a douchebag in our bathroom.”
As I get finish dressing, I can feel Corinne’s bright green gaze regarding me inquisitively. When I get a bottle of water out the mini fridge, she leans over the side of her bed and grabs my wrist. Swallowing hard, I pull away.
“Evie? There’s something you’re not telling me.” I don’t meet her gaze, so a moment later, she tentatively asks, “It was Daniel, wasn’t it? The douchebag in the bathroom. He spent the night with Hannah.”
My lips curve downward into a frown. “I’m sorry, Corinne.”
She simply lifts her shoulders, but the fact she feels wounded is clear as day on her soft features. “It’s not like we were ever dating. Just friends, and if I look at it that way, I guess I kind of deserve it after what I did with Elliot.” I open my mouth to tell her exactly what I think about her believing she deserves to be hurt, but she cuts me off, adding, “Plus they’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, so it was bound to happen.”
“You deserve better.”
“Right.” Rolling out of her bed, she stretches her short arms over her head and yawns. “Alright, I better get dressed. I’m supposed to be meeting a few people from Communication Theory in the library to work on a group project”—she glances over at the alarm clock sitting on the edge of her desk closest to her bed—“fifteen minutes ago.”
Five minutes later, I watch in concern as she rushes out our door with her energy drink in hand. Shaking my head in anger, I finish getting dressed to go to brunch with Mac and Nathan. On the way out, a sound in the storage closet right outside the bathroom door stops me. I turn to see Hannah on her hands and knees looking through the bottles of cleaner and rolls of paper towels.
“We’re out of TP,” she tells me. When I keep walking past her, she clears her throat. “You don’t have anything to say?”
I look over my shoulder just in time to watch a satisfied grin stretch slowly across her face. I give her a cool smile, thinking how the Evie from last year would’ve probably knocked her ass in the closet and propped a door against it. “No, nothing to say today.”
***
Because Nathan backs out of eating with us to meet a deadline for an online linear algebra test, Mac suggests we go off campus and to one of the local malls. I’m thrilled when she offers to drive, and after we pick her Jetta up from the junior parking lot, she takes me to a little coffee shop downtown. It’s overcast out but warm—probably one of the last really warm days of the season—so we sit outside talking about music.
