3. Dahlia
DAHLIA
Unknown Number
Hey, Dahl. It’s Eddie Dillon.
Unknown Number
Penelope gave me your number. Hope you don’t mind me texting you. Hit me back. I want to talk to you about some designs for the tour. X
I stare at the text as my business communication professor begins the lecture.
I can’t properly freak out that a rockstar just texted me and asked if we could chat about me designing something for him because I have a nagging feeling that people are watching me.
Also, it’s possible that it’s a prank. I’m certainly the butt of many jokes today, thanks to the video of me talking about Felix.
I want to lay my head down on the desk and disappear.
The video didn’t out me by name, probably because they didn’t know it, but it’ll only be a matter of time before someone reveals my identity. What’s worse: going viral and no one on campus being able to identify me or the things I said in that video?
I wish I could blame it on the alcohol, but I was still perfectly sober when I went on and on (and on and on) about Felix.
Pushing my humiliation aside for the moment, I focus on Eddie’s text.
He’s a musician I met while designing a dress for pop star Penelope Hart.
Saying that sentence still gives me butterflies.
It sounds so surreal. It was a school project.
We came up with designs and then she picked her favorite (mine, eeeep!).
All of that was crazy enough, but I got to go see her in concert this summer.
She was so sweet. Even brought me backstage after the show, which is where I met Eddie.
He was opening for her. When he asked if I’d ever consider doing menswear, I thought he was kidding.
If this isn’t a prank, it could be a huge break for me.
When class is over, I still haven’t figured out how to respond to his text.
I slide out of my seat in the back of the giant lecture hall quickly, so I can get out of here before anyone sees me.
I was lucky this morning, managing to get across campus without anyone noticing me.
Or as lucky as a girl who had her most intimate and embarrassing thoughts shared on social media can be.
Two years I’ve walked this campus practically invisible, while wishing someone would notice me, and today, the first week of junior year, I’m wishing for some of that freshman and sophomore-level invisibility.
I’m the first one from class out in the hallway, but other classes in the building let out at the same time and the sight of so many people around me makes me instinctively drop my head and shuffle toward the front doors.
I have an hour break until my next class, and I have every intention of hightailing it back to the house and hiding until then.
As I’m trying to escape without being seen, I think I hear someone call my name. Oh god. Did they finally figure out who the girl is rambling on for five minutes about how she wants to climb Felix Walters? Freaking hell, what was I thinking?
Most people take the stairs—we’re only on the third floor, but I make a last-minute decision to take the elevator to avoid the crowd of people already moving up and down between floors.
I hit the down button and the doors open immediately. As the metal doors close me in, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Very short-lived relief. A hand shoots between the doors with only a few inches of space, and long, strong fingers push the doors apart. I gasp when I spot Felix.
“Hey,” he says softly.
My face immediately heats, and I squeak my surprise at running into him. I swear I must have done something really awful in a past life. I take back all my other wishes. All I want is to rewind last night and erase everything I said about the guy standing in front of me.
“Can we talk?” he asks, not coming any closer.
“Umm…” I glance around, nod, and then step out of the elevator.
Standing before him, my gaze drops to his arms, which are hanging at his sides, hands clenched. He’s wound tight. The space between us suddenly feels way too small. I take one step to my right.
“I saw the video,” he says.
“You and half of campus,” I mutter. Who am I kidding? I’m sure everyone on campus has seen it by now. Probably even the professors.
He says something, but there’s a ringing in my ears as humiliation washes over me all over again. I hear the words from the video replaying in my head and now knowing he’s heard them too… groan.
“I’m sorry,” I say, not quite meeting his eyes.
He inches closer. He’s always doing that when we talk—moving closer like he wants to make sure he catches every word. “Why are you sorry?”
I flick my gaze up to his face, which now hovers above me, only inches away. His dark hair is covered by a black hat that’s pulled low over his eyes. Eyes that look more gray today than blue.
His backpack is slung over one shoulder and long fingers wrap around the strap.
Felix has really nice hands. They’re athlete hands, strong and calloused.
More than once, I’ve thought about what it’d feel like to have those hands on me.
Which, in turn, always makes me a little lightheaded.
But it’s not just me that fantasizes about Felix, going by how many times that video has been shared. He’s every girl’s fantasy.
A flash, and the distinct sound of someone taking a picture, draws me back to our surroundings.
Great. I can’t wait to see what they say next.
Desperate Girl Stalks QB. I mean, he walked up to me.
I was planning on avoiding him until the end of time, but no one would believe that now after that stupid, stupid video.
He shields me from a girl quite clearly taking photos of us with her phone.
He must have hit the button for the elevator too, because it opens and he puts a hand at the center of my back to guide me inside.
I’m sure he means it to be comforting, but it sends about a million jolts of electricity up my spine.
His palm is warm, and his fingers stretch out, spanning almost my entire back.
It isn’t the exact scenario I had in mind, since there’s a layer of cotton between his hand and my skin.
On instinct, I stiffen, and he removes his hand in a flash, and even though my brain was seconds from short-circuiting, I miss his touch instantly.
I hurry into the elevator and hide in the corner, out of sight from the girl trying to photograph us. Felix steps in with me. Someone calls to hold the elevator, but he ignores them and hits the close door button repeatedly until it shuts us inside. Alone.
“Where to?” he asks.
“First floor.”
Once we’re moving, he angles his body to face me. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you didn’t post that video?”
“Me?” My voice is a screech. “Of course not. I didn’t even know I was being recorded.”
“I didn’t think so.” He mutters something else under his breath that I can’t make out. “Are you okay?”
“I’m…fine.” I’m obviously not fine. “Nothing hair dye and transferring to another school won’t fix.”
“Most likely it’ll blow over by lunch.”
“Yeah, probably so.” I don’t believe that—I’m not that lucky—but I hold on to his words with hope anyway.
The elevator stops and I position myself for a hasty exit. I was only half-kidding about dying my hair. I always wanted to try red.
I tap my thumb against my thigh, equal parts anxious to get away from Felix and nervous about what awaits me as I trek across campus. Except the doors don’t open. The lights flicker and the elevator dings, but nothing else happens.
Felix hits the open-door button. When that doesn’t work, he tries pressing the two, to take us back up. Nothing. “I think we’re stuck.”
“No,” I say, then proceed to push every button in rapid-fire succession. “No, this isn’t happening.”
I am a good person. My karma can’t be this bad. The alarm goes off and I jump back. Felix’s hand returns to my lower back. I jump again when a voice booms from the speaker. “Valley Emergency Services. What’s your emergency?”
Felix’s voice is calm and steady as he responds. “We’re stuck in an elevator in Monroe Hall.”
“How many people are in the elevator?”
“Two.” His gaze flits over to me.
“Is everyone okay?” the voice asks through the speaker.
Felix nods. “Yeah. We’re good.”
We are so not good. He might be, but I’m living my worst nightmare. I’m stuck in a confined space with a guy that knows I have a mega crush on him. Seriously, this day cannot get any worse. I feel like I want to cry or scream, maybe both.
Felix continues to talk with the emergency responder, providing details like what floor we were on and if the doors opened at all. I happily let him do the talking.
We’re assured help is on the way and they’ll be here in the next thirty minutes.
Thirty minutes?! I’m not sure I can make it thirty more seconds.
“Well, shit,” Felix says finally. He sets his backpack on the floor and then slides to sit beside it.
The full weight of the situation hits me, and I drop down to the floor across from him. We’re as far apart as we can get in the small space, but it’s still way too close.
“We’re stuck in an elevator.” I bring my knees up and rest my hands on top of them, tapping my thumbs in an erratic rhythm. I’m not sure if it’s adrenaline or nerves, but my arms and legs feel tingly. “Me and you. Me and Felix Walters.”
“That’s me,” he says in a playful tone.
“People will probably say I planned this. Because you know, I’m such a psycho stalker and all.”
“Well, you haven’t tried to climb me like a tree yet, so…” He cocks his head to the side. I know he’s teasing, but I still want to die as he repeats my words from the video.
I cover my face with my hands.
“Ah shit, I’m sorry. That was a bad joke.” His voice is closer, and I can feel him next to me, even though I don’t look up.
My throat is thick with emotion. Tears prick my eyes and then I start to laugh. It’s quiet at first, but I’ve officially reached hysteria levels of stress, and soon, it’s one of those awful laughs where you alternate between no noise coming out and loud, awful outbursts that you can’t control.
Between gulping for air, I glance up and look directly at Felix. He’s even closer, still facing me, now only a foot away. I can see that it’s been a day or two since he’s shaved. Dark stubble dots his jaw.
I look away from him again. It’s the only way I can get out the apology I owe him.
“I’m sorry I said all those things. I got carried away.
I’d just run into you and, for the millionth time, couldn’t say anything because that’s what happens when I try to speak to guys.
I totally freeze up. Even worse around you because, well, you’re hot.
” The words tumble out and I wave a hand in front of him.
“Really, really hot. Not that you need me to tell you that. Girls line up to date you or hook up, or just stare at you. I saw a girl swipe one of those posters of you hanging up around campus. The one where you’re staring out all intensely from your helmet with dirt and black paint on your face.
She probably has it hung up over her bed.
That’s where I’d put it.” Falling asleep lying under Felix Walters?
Yeah, that might be worth a potential theft charge.
“I hope I didn’t make things too weird for you or like objectify you.
Who am I kidding? Of course, I objectified you.
I stand by the stupid-hot comment, but you also seem like a pretty decent guy.
” I finally take a breath. “The point is I know that you don’t see me like that and it’s fine.
So, if you came here to let me down easy or whatever, you don’t need to worry. ”
I meet his steel-colored eyes and find it even harder to form words. Also, he doesn’t look worried. He looks amused. Probably because I’m word vomiting all over him, and I can’t seem to stop.
“It’s actually pretty funny. Me and you.” I point between us. “You’re the hottest guy on campus and I’ve never had a boyfriend.”
Both of his brows lift. Oops. Didn’t mean to share that little tidbit. Not like he’s ever going to want to date me anyway.
“I’m sorry. I’m going to stop talking now.”
And continue to pray for the ground to swallow me up.