Chapter 53
May
“Who’s that?”
“Damn. You ever seen her before?”
I ignore my friends, typing out a reply to Gus.
He’s talking about driving up here on Sunday, making up some bullshit about missing the early years of college.
You’d think he was a decade out from undergrad, not a junior.
We haven’t seen each other in person since the holidays—he went to visit Lissa over spring break—and it’s the longest stretch we’ve gone without seeing each other since we met as seven-year-olds.
It sucks, being apart from the people you love. I’ve had lots of practice, and it still sucks.
“Bennett.” Judd elbows my ribs, almost making me drop my phone. “She’s staring at you.”
I scowl, finishing the message to Gus and hitting Send before glancing up. “I’m not—” Interested dies on my tongue.
I can’t see her face because some frat guy approached her and she’s turned to talk to him. But I recognize the golden curtain of hair. I’ve seen it splayed across my pillow. Slicked back with salty water. Windswept into a wild halo.
I shove my phone deep into my pocket, walking ahead of my friends without a word. I just checked my messages. She didn’t text or call, didn’t provide any warning. And I memorized her program’s calendar, which was posted on the university website. She was supposed to be in Milan for another week.
Wren turns, missing the disappointment that appears on the face of the guy who was hitting on her, finding me.
She smiles, but it’s not the one I’m used to seeing. It’s a little tentative, slightly unsure. Not confident or brazen or carefree. Her shoulders lift, then fall in a tiny shrug.
A breeze blows a few strands of hair across her face.
She tucks them behind her ear, watching me approach, her bottom lip briefly disappearing inside her mouth.
Her blue eyes dart behind me, to where my friends are undoubtedly staring.
I don’t usually take off like that, and they’d already noticed Wren.
I don’t decide to do it.
But I don’t really bother to fight the urge either. I keep walking until there’s no space left between us, bury my hands in blonde hair, and erase the distance between our mouths too.
She hums when our lips meet. I feel them curve up against mine, a smile fighting to break through. My tongue slips inside, exploring the wet heat. Her arms wrap around my shoulders, hands sliding into my hair while mine find her ass.
This isn’t the first time we’ve kissed. We’ve kissed so many times that I lost count a long time ago.
This feels different. It’s lazy, with no purpose or expiration.
We’re kissing to kiss, which sounds idiotic and obvious, but my brain isn’t exactly focused right now.
A lot of blood has left my head to pool lower.
When we separate, both breathing heavily, we just stare at each other.
“Hi.” Wren smiles. This time, it’s bright and full and rivals the sun beaming overhead.
I tug on her hair. “Hey.”
Her eyes scan my face, like she’s rememorizing my features. “College looks good on you.”
“How was Italy?”
“Fun. I ate a lot of bread and pasta. Went to vineyards. Visited old buildings. Studied a little.”
“Wrote some letters,” I add.
She tilts her head. “A couple.”
“Plus fifteen.”
“You counted?” Her tone is teasing.
“Yeah,” I say seriously. “I did.”
The smile fades from Wren’s face. “I was—”
“Hey, Bennett! This show still free, or are you going to start charging admission?”
I sigh, spinning to face Wesley. He’s grinning wide, his gaze on Wren.
“Wren,” I say. “This is my roommate, Wesley. And Judd, Arlo, Eric, and Jeff.” I nod to each guy as I introduce them, then pause before adding, “Guys, this is Wren.”
I want to add some other descriptor to the introductions, ideally with the word my included, but I’m not sure which to use.
“Nice to meet you,” Eric says, the other guys adding variations of the same sentiment.
“I gotta head to the train station to pick up Austin,” Wesley says. “See you losers later.”
“Guess this was your stop anyway,” Judd comments, nodding to the entrance of Faber Hall, my dorm.
“Make sure he comes to the party tonight, Wren,” Arlo adds before following the other guys. He winks at me, mouthing, You’re welcome.
Wren glances over as the guys walk away. “They’re basically how you described them.”
I nod. “So … you’re here.”
“Yeah. I knew your dorm, so … I was debating if I should text you or just sneak in with someone. Then you showed up.”
I nod again. “I more meant, you’re in the US.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah, I landed … this morning.” She hesitated before adding those last two words, like she wasn’t sure she should divulge them.
I’m so in love with Wren Kensington that the enormity of it terrifies me, and she’s nervous about admitting she came straight here to see me.
I hate that, and I hate all the ways I’ve contributed to it.
All the times I’ve held back because I was scared or sad or simply trying to protect myself from the outcome that always felt inevitable—losing her.
I wish we’d been older when we met, that I’d been immediately ready for the commitment.
But I also know I wouldn’t give up a single second I’ve known her.
I’m done, I decide. Wren won’t leave this campus without knowing exactly what she means to me.
“Want a tour?” I ask, realizing it’s been way too long since I said anything.
“Sure.”
“Okay, well …” I turn to face the brick building we’re standing in front of, and she mimics me. “This is Faber Hall. My, uh, dorm. I can show you my room later.”
“Subtle,” Wren says.
I laugh. “It’s barely more spacious than my truck.”
“Well, we made that work.”
“I know. It’s the reason I’ll never get rid of it.” I nod left. “Most of the academic buildings are this way.”
I hold a hand out. Wren takes it, threading our fingers together as we start walking.
It’s weird that she’s on campus. I’m accustomed to memories of Wren collected elsewhere—the marina, my house, the beach—but this is one aspect of my life she’s never witnessed in person.
Equally strange is how little of Wren’s life I’ve witnessed in person.
I’ve never toured her campus. Never visited her in the city. Never seen where she grew up.
“Jeff is from Brooklyn,” I comment as we walk.
“Cool.” She’s distracted, watching a guy skateboard past.
“He wants us all to visit him over the summer.”
Now, I have Wren’s attention. “Oh, yeah? Are you going to?”
“Probably. There’s no real plan. But probably.”
She nods. “Rory is finishing law school in a couple of weeks. My parents are hosting a graduation party for her. At our Hamptons house.”
“Cool.”
Wren’s lips twitch before she points at a building ahead. “What’s that?”
“Financial aid office,” I answer. “Past it, that’s the counseling center.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I, uh … all students have a certain number of sessions allotted each semester. You can request more, if you want, but they don’t have the staff for everyone to show up, like, every day.”
“Did you go?”
I nod. “A few times. It was nice, talking to someone who didn’t know anything about me.
I guess she must have had access to my information, but she acted like we were total strangers.
I told her about Skylar and about my dad, and it …
it wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it’d be.
I don’t know if I’ll go back again, but I think it was good that I went. ”
Wren squeezes my hand. “I talked to a therapist after what happened with Third. His name was Dr. Hurts, ironically.”
“Did it help?”
“In some ways. He said the same things my parents had—that it wasn’t my fault and that however I was feeling was valid. I think I resented that going to see him meant I couldn’t totally pretend it had never happened. Looking back, I needed that so I could … process it. So, yeah, it helped.”
This time, I squeeze hers. “Good.”
She points at a glass building ahead. “What’s that?”
“The giant molecule models hanging from the ceiling didn’t give it away? That’s the science center.”
“I thought those were decorative balls or something.”
I snort as we continue toward the sports center.
Showing Wren around campus takes about an hour and a half. We wind up reaching the main dining hall right in the midst of the dinner rush.
“You hungry?” Wren asks, surveying the crowds of chattering students streaming in.
“Yeah,” I reply. “But we don’t need to eat here. There are places in town—”
“I want to eat here,” she insists.
“Okay,” I say dubiously.
The dining hall food isn’t bad, but it’s nothing special either.
And it’s definitely not up to the standards of someone who’s spent most of the past year eating authentic Italian food.
But Wren seems set on it, so I follow her inside.
She tries to pay for her own meal ticket, and we get into an argument about it.
I win.
“Thanks,” Wren says as we walk toward the salad bar.
“You could have said that to start with,” I comment dryly.
“Hey.” Wren tugs my sleeve.
My steps slow.
“I know you think I’m spoiled and used to people paying my way—”
“I don’t think either of those things, Wren. I think that you came here to see me, and the least I can do is buy you dinner. Okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers.
I want to kiss her. Right here, in the center of the dining hall, despite being annoyed seeing other couples do the same.
I want to tell her that every aspect of her life I’ve ever pretended to be annoyed by was me attempting to not lose sight of how incompatible we were.
Before I can do or say anything, someone says my name. My head turns left reluctantly, but I manage a smile when I see Lillian Hale. We share a physics course and wound up in the same study group.
“Hey, Lillian,” I greet.
“Hey, Sawyer. I booked a study room for Sunday,” Lillian tells me, pausing a few feet away. “I was just about to text the group, then saw you over here.” She glances at Wren. “Hey. I don’t think we’ve met before?”
“This is … Wren,” I say, placing a palm on Wren’s lower back as I introduce her. Her spine feels stiff under my palm, but maybe I’m imagining the tension. I hope I am. “Wren, this is Lillian. We’re co-sufferers in physics together.”
“Hostages really,” Lillian agrees.
“Nice to meet you.” Wren smiles, but her back doesn’t relax.
“You too,” Lillian replies. She glances at me. “You going to Stewart tonight?”
“Not sure yet,” I say.
She nods. “If not, I’ll see you Sunday!”
Lillian heads back toward one of the periphery tables.
Wren continues in the direction of the salad bar without saying a word.
I exhale and follow.
A small part of me likes that she’s jealous. God knows I’ve had to watch enough guys lust after her. My phone has been buzzing for the past two hours with messages from the guys, asking if we’re dating, how serious it is, if she’s coming to the party.
Most of me is exhausted and exasperated.
Wren has absolutely no reason to feel threatened by Lillian or anyone else.
I haven’t given another girl my full attention since I met her, much less kissed or fucked anyone else.
Wren has done both, and it’s my own damn fault for not admitting how I felt sooner.
It’s bad enough I have to live with that.
I’d rather not waste precious time together with wrong assumptions.
I grab a plate and join her in line. “She’s just a friend.”
“I didn’t ask,” Wren says, reaching for a pair of tongs.
“You assumed. I wouldn’t have kissed you earlier if I was seeing someone else.”
There’s a much larger conversation simmering under the surface here. One we need to have soon, one we should have had a while ago. But this isn’t the right place, so that’s all I say as I continue down the line, selecting veggies, then follow Wren to the next station.
She picks at her food once we settle at a table, and I’m not sure if it’s a commentary on the quality or something else is going on.
“Do you want to go to the party?” I ask. “It’s only a few blocks from campus. A few guys on the lacrosse team are hosting.”
“Lillian’s hoping you’ll show up alone,” Wren informs me, setting her fork down.
“I’m either going with you or not going at all.”
She sighs, finally meeting my gaze. “I should head home. I wasn’t planning to spend the night. I didn’t bring any stuff with me.”
I check the time on my phone. “You’ve got a two-hour drive back to Manhattan. And aren’t you still on Italian time? It’s past midnight there.”
“I slept on the plane. And I’ll stop at a hotel, if I get tired driving.”
“I want you to spend the night. Wesley’s brother, Austin, is visiting this weekend. His parents got them a hotel room, so I have the dorm room to myself.”
“For sex?”
I exhale. “It’s been nine months, Wren. Yeah, I want to have sex with you. But that’s not the only reason I want you to stay. It hasn’t been the only reason for anything since the first time we slept together. Maybe not even then.”
She picks up her fork. “I’ll stay.”