Chapter Nineteen #3
“Nice. Do you like doing those videos? Like the ones you do before recruitment and stuff?”
I nod as I think of the highly choreographed dance routines sororities now produce for social media content.
“Yeah. I love dancing, and usually they have me do a tumbling move to open the video—they were excited when they found out I can do some gymnastics stuff—so I like that. And I’m used to performing because of artistic swimming, but it’s the hours of practice, getting a whole group of girls to be on the same page, that kind of stuff that makes it more of a challenge.
Luckily this one is just dressing up and walking on the beach, so it won’t take loads of rehearsals or getting up at a crazy hour to shoot it. ”
We reach campus, which looks so beautiful all lit up at night. There are still people milling around, heading to and from the union and the various libraries and night classes. The fountains are all lit up for the night, and it’s very pretty.
“Wy? Can I ask your opinion on something?”
“Fire away.”
“Okay, this is about my roommate, Maddie. I need your expert male opinion.”
“You want my advice?” he asks, sounding surprised.
“You’re my A-plus boyfriend. Of course I want your advice.” I glance up at him, his profile illuminated by the streetlamps, and I see a proud smile on his face.
Good. He should feel proud. He’s a great guy, and it’s time he realized that.
“Okay, I don’t know how helpful I will be, but go ahead.”
I explain to him the whole situation about Maddie—how she met Thad and that they’re doing long-distance. I go into my observations and concerns—how he treats Maddie like crap and can’t even commit to a regular snap, blows off prearranged calls, all the things that are red flags to me.
“I don’t even think I’d call this a situationship, let alone a relationship,” I say as we walk along.
“You want my honest advice?”
I nod.
“He’s being a dick. There could be a couple of things going on.
He’s got no balls and he doesn’t know how to end things with her, or he’s keeping her on his roster, so if he’s ever this way, he can get laid.
He’s got a girl back in Vegas and this is a game for his ego, or he’s just an asshole who doesn’t care about her feelings.
They’re all bad. But here’s the thing, Gracie.
If Maddie is allowing herself to be treated this way, there’s not much you can do about it. ”
I sigh. “I know. I just hate seeing her hurting so badly. She’s sweet and funny and everyone loves her. She could be with someone who would treat her the way she deserves to be treated.”
“If she asks your opinion, you can give it,” Wyatt suggests.
“But you risk a lot giving her advice when she isn’t ready to hear it.
Maddie could take it out on you. Or it could damage your friendship.
I’ve seen this happen with Rachel and her friends in high school.
The friends tell the truth, and the girl gets mad, and it locks her in more with the crappy boyfriend.
So I say, if she asks, tell her. And just be there for her when he ghosts her, because odds are it’s coming. ”
I stop walking and look up at him. “What?” he asks, looking down at me.
“I’m going to keep telling you this so much, you’re going to get sick of hearing it, but you’re a great guy. You’re going to be someone’s A-plus boyfriend someday, and whoever that girl is, she’s going to be so lucky.”
My stomach tightens a bit at the last words that came out of my mouth. Because he’s only my fake A-plus boyfriend now.
And he’ll never ever be mine.
I can’t read Wyatt’s expression. I wonder if I’ve made him uncomfortable or embarrassed him. I quickly clear my throat and pull him along. “Come on, I want to see if we can snag a pod.”
We reach the media building, and Wyatt opens the door for me and ushers me inside.
The place is light and airy, a very spacious feeling, with lots of lounge areas for studying on the first floor—from oversized chairs to light-wood tables and chairs.
The pods—enclosed glass cubicles—are across the back wall of the first floor.
“See how they’re lit up in different colors?” I say. Some are blue, others a soft red, green—my mind is still blown that this is an option.
But as we grow closer, I see two problems. One I anticipated. Every single one is full. But the other? They are all designed for one person, with one chair in each.
“Um, are you going to sit in my lap when we study or do I have to stand the whole time?” Wyatt says, reading my mind.
Suddenly I have a flash of sitting in his lap, his arms wrapped around me, dropping a kiss on the top of my head or nuzzling the side of my face with his.
I REALLY WANT A STUDY POD RIGHT NOW.
I quickly bat the thought away and focus on what he just said. “I didn’t even notice that,” I confess. “I saw them on TikTok and thought they were cool. I didn’t think about them being singles!”
He grins down at me. “We can grab a seat somewhere else. Do you want to stay here or go to the main library? Or the union?”
I spot a vacant table and chairs. “We can study here. It will save time, and we can get started right away.”
We walk over to a table, and I take my backpack off and put it down, then pull out a chair.
To my surprise, Wyatt doesn’t take the seat across from me but sits down next to me.
“I’m warning you now,” he says, taking out his laptop, “it’s going to be hard for me to focus.
My mind is already fixated on hockey. Next week is our first scrimmage. ”
“Ooh, you get to show them what you’ve got,” I say.
Then I get a flash of seeing Wyatt in his hockey gear, tearing up the ice, shooting and scoring a goal. I quickly busy myself with digging things out of my backpack and try to get the image out of my mind. This seems to be a theme tonight. Trying to get Wyatt out of my head.
And failing miserably at it.
“I want to walk into the dressing room next week and see that yellow jersey in my stall,” Wyatt says, his voice determined.
I turn my attention back to him, and this time, there’s a wistful expression in his eyes.
“What does the yellow jersey mean?” I ask.
“It means I’m playing on the top line,” Wyatt says.
“I’ve busted my ass all summer for this scrimmage.
To show them I’m ready to play on the first line.
If I can get that line, if I can play with Antoine—he’s this phenom from Canada who wanted to play college hockey here so he could play against stronger guys—I know I can score. And get the attention of NHL scouts.”
I can not only see how much this means to him but hear it in his voice, too. Wyatt is so determined to get drafted, to make it in professional hockey, and admiration for him swells within me. “I think you’re going to crush it,” I say confidently.
Part of his mouth quirks up in an amused smile. “You do?”
“I do. You’ve worked so hard, Wy. You’ve wanted this more than you wanted anything. You dedicated your entire summer to improving your game. It takes a lot to do that. I believe in you, Wy. It’s your time to claim what you’ve earned. And that’s to play alongside the best player.”
Something shifts in his eyes. He looks surprised by my words. Maybe I said too much. I’m talking like a real girlfriend would, not a fake one.
I quickly clear my throat. “But you have to pass your classes to play hockey, so it’s time for me to quiz you on the city-state era in Greek history.”
He groans and pushes down on his baseball cap. “If you insist.”
“I not only insist, but I think you are going to pull an A.”
Wyatt snorts. “Now you’re delusional.”
I open my laptop to my notes. “I’m not because I’m an excellent tutor. I’ll quiz you over the material.”
“Fine.”
I decide to tease him. “No stall tactics? No need to run and get a coffee or something?”
“What am I, five?” he asks with a mischievous smile.
I giggle at that. I love how he can always make me laugh.
“Okay, let’s get started. Let me get a question,” I say.
I’m about to ask him key characteristics of a polis when Wyatt puts his hand on my chair and drags it toward him, so it’s lined up right against his, with no space between us. I begin to laugh. “What is this?”
Wyatt smiles. “You’re my girlfriend. You were too far away.”
My heart slams against my ribs from his sweet gesture.
Then Wyatt bends down closer to whisper against my ear.
“If I were studying with my girlfriend, I’d put my hand on her leg,” he murmurs, his voice sexily reverberating against my ear, his breath caressing the side of my face.
“Is that okay? If not, tell me, Gracie. I—I never want to do anything to make you uncomfortable.”
Conflicting feelings bubble up to the surface. Wyatt has no idea what an incredible boyfriend he’s going to make some lucky girl someday. Just this simple pull-the-chair-closer move set off hundreds of butterflies in my stomach.
Now he’s seeking consent to put his hand on my leg. To play the part in public the way he would play it if it were real.
If it were real.
Which it is not.
He lifts his head. I could tell him no, sitting close together is good enough. But I want to feel his hands on me. Before this all comes to an end, and I’ll never feel him again. “That’s okay,” I murmur softly.
His eyes meet mine. Wyatt’s so locked in on me, I find it hard to breathe.
Without breaking eye contact, he lifts his hand and places it on my thigh, his palm resting on my jeans.
I draw my lower lip between my teeth, and his gaze immediately shifts to my mouth, lingering there for a moment.
His fingertips begin to slowly move across my thigh, drawing slow circles, and I grow hot all over from his touch.
“Are you good?” he murmurs.
“Yes.”
Nothing else is said, and I’m feeling all this chemistry and heat between us. My breath catches in my throat as his brown eyes grow more intense.
Oh my God, is he feeling it, too?
Wyatt clears his throat. “Go on. Ask me a question.”
Right. Ask him a question. I shift my attention back to the laptop screen, and I ask him about the characteristics of a polis. But inside, a different question is begging to be asked, a question that is in my heart.
And that is if he could ever like me.
For real.