5 Zara #3
“Outfit selection, obviously.” I clutch my chest dramatically. “I can’t be expected to choose on my own. What if I accidentally go with Hot Nerd when I was supposed to go with Slutty Demon?”
He chokes on a laugh. “Those are your categories?”
“Among others,” I add. “There’s also Oops, I’m Somebody’s Problem and I Swear I’m Normal.”
“You’re not normal,” he adds.
“Wow.” I press my hand over my heart again. “Ableist.”
“Shut up,” he mutters, but his mouth is twitching now. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m delightful and you know it.”
We reach the front door of my building and as we step into the lobby, the heavier quiet sneaks back in.
I don’t like it.
“So you’ll come by later?” I ask, keeping my tone light. “Help me pick something that’ll make frat boys drool and possibly walk into traffic?”
His jaw ticks again but with less anger and more something I can’t quite name.
“Yeah,” he decides. “I’ll swing by.”
“Cool.” I shift my backpack higher on my shoulder and smile up at him, forcing it wider when it wants to wobble. “Text me first so I can make sure I’m not mid-panic attack or on the toilet.”
“Got it,” he says dryly.
We stop at the bottom of the stairwell. This is usually where he says something dumb, pats my head, does some little ritual that makes it feel like everything’s okay. Instead, he shifts his weight, looks like he’s about to say something, and then his phone buzzes in his pocket.
He checks it and I watch as his expression shifts, that small tightening happening around his mouth again.
“Stacey?” I ask, because I’m a masochist.
He nods once, thumb moving over the screen.
“She, uh…” He clears his throat. “She wants to grab coffee. Talk. I told her I’d do something with her today anyway so she’d stop… being pissed.”
The words hit me exactly where they’re supposed to—right in the sore spot I’ve been trying not to touch.
I nod like it’s nothing. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”
He looks up, searching my face. “I’ll still come by,” he adds on quickly. “After. To help with the… outfit thing.”
Even the word outfit sounds like it hurts his teeth.
“Cass.” I stop him, forcing a laugh. "It’s fine. You don’t have to explain date night to me. I’m not your mom.”
He makes a face. “Gross.”
“You know what I mean.”
He stares at me for another second, like he doesn’t fully buy it, but he nods anyway.
“I’ll text you.”
“Cool.” I shift back a step. Act normal. You are normal. Everything is normal. “No problem. Text me when you’re done. I need a hot outfit for tonight. Something that’ll snag me a guy.”
His jaw locks.
“There it is.” I point at him. “That’s the face I was looking for.”
“What face?” he grinds out.
“The I-hate-everything-you-just-said face.”
“Maybe I do.”
I shrug, trying not to let the tiny thrill I get from that show. “I need to get laid,” I say, as casually as I can manage. “Maybe then I’ll stop being obnoxious and clingy or whatever your girlfriend thinks I am.”
He goes still. Like, full-body still. His shoulders tense. His hand tightens around his phone. That little muscle in his jaw starts ticking again. For a second, I think he might actually say something he can’t take back. Instead, he inhales, slow and sharp through his nose.
“Don’t say that shit about yourself,” he mutters. His voice has dropped, rougher now. “And don’t… don’t let some random asshole touch you just because you’re having a bad day.”
My heart flips.
“I didn’t say random,” I tease, trying to lighten it again. “Maybe I’ve got a target in mind.”
His eyes snap to mine, something dark and messy swirling there. It steals my breath for a second.
“Zae,” he says, warning in his tone.
I back up one step toward the stairs, giving him a little mock salute. “Relax, Brin Lee. I’m kidding.”
I’m not entirely kidding.
He doesn’t look like he believes me, but he also doesn’t chase the conversation. He just shoves his free hand into his pocket like he’s trying not to reach for something he can’t have.
“I’ll text you later,” he says again. “Don’t back out on the party.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He hesitates like there’s more he wants to say, then turns and heads for the door, shoulders tight, phone still in his hand.
I watch him go. Watch his back. Watch the way he runs his hand through his hair like he’s already stressed about whatever conversation he’s walking into.
Something in my chest squeezes around the idea of him sitting across from Stacey, listening to her tell him I’m too much again.
I force myself to turn away and start up the stairs, one foot in front of the other. By the time I reach my room, I’ve already decided two things:
One, I’m going to Sigma Tu’s stupid party if it kills me.
Two, if I can’t have the guy I actually want, then yeah, maybe getting laid by someone who doesn’t know me will at least make the noise in my head shut up for a night.
Even if the thought of someone other than Cass touching me makes my stomach twist in a way I don’t look at too closely. I drop my bag, fall face-first onto my bed, and lie there for a second, listening to my own heartbeat pound against the mattress.
He tensed when I said it, but he still left. And I’m not sure which part hurts more.