31
Nate
By noon, I’ve decided the best way to handle seeing Hannah Reed after last night is to be normal.
Calm. Casual. Not weird. Not the kind of guy who spent ten minutes staring at his own couch this morning like it had committed a felony. I am excellent at normal. Historically, I have gotten away with a lot by looking composed while absolutely spiraling beneath the surface.
So, when I see Hannah across the quad, standing near the fountain with Ella and Ava, I tell myself this is simple. Walk over. Say hi. Be the fake boyfriend everyone expects. Do not look like I know exactly how she sounds when she stops trying to be quiet.
I make it three steps before Carter appears beside me like a curse with a backpack.
“You just did the thing,” he says, not even looking at me.
“What thing?”
“The pause. Your soul briefly left your body.” He looks ahead, then whistles under his breath. “She looks cute.”
My head snaps toward him. His grin spreads, and I realize too late that I’ve been baited.
“There it is,” he says.
“Shut up.”
“I have many tones, Nate. Most of them are punishable, I know.”
He laughs, but I’m only half-listening now because Hannah has seen me.
Her eyes meet mine across the brick path, and the whole campus seems to rearrange itself around that look.
She’s wearing a pale pink sweater, her blonde hair pulled half-up.
She looks like a normal college girl on a normal afternoon.
Except I know what she looked like last night, wrapped in my blanket, wearing my shirt, her eyes soft while she told me she was still green. My brain is a traitor with a high-definition memory.
“Hey,” she says when we reach them.
One syllable. Perfectly innocent. Absolutely devastating.
“Hey,” I say back.
Carter and Ella are watching us like it’s the season finale of their favorite show. Ava is taking a very careful sip of her coffee, pretending she isn't witnessing a total collapse of my internal defenses.
“How was class?” I ask, going for casual and landing somewhere near over-rehearsed.
“Fine,” Hannah says. “Professor Hale assigned another lab write-up.”
“Villain behavior.”
She presses her lips together like she’s trying not to smile. That—that little almost-smile—is the problem. It’s the way she looks pleased when I make her laugh. The way I know she’s been overthinking the same things I have.
Ella, sensing the density of the air between us, pulls the others away with the subtlety of a marching band. “Books! We need the bookstore! Carter, you have arms, come with us.”
Left alone by the fountain, the silence stretches.
“So,” she says.
“So.”
“This is normal,” she whispers.
“Textbook.”
She laughs, and I have to slide my hands into my jacket pockets to keep from touching her.
“How are you?” I ask, the question weighted with everything that happened on my couch.
“Real good,” she says softly. “No bad weirdness. Just... aftermath weirdness.”
I shift closer, my voice dropping. “Hand okay?”
She nods. “Green.”
I take her hand. The second her fingers slide between mine, the public moment is hijacked by the private one. I’m thinking about her hand on my wrist, her hand on my skin. I keep my face easy, but it's a battle.
Then Ethan Cross walks out of Langford Hall.
The plan is working. He sees us. He sees the hand-holding. He walks over, his gaze flickering between us with a new edge of curiosity.
“Coffee was fun yesterday,” Ethan says to Hannah. “We should do it again.”
My thumb stills against her hand. I don't mean to react, but I do.
“Sure,” Hannah says politely. “Text me.”
Ethan leaves, and I let go of her hand. Not abruptly, but enough that she notices.
“You’re doing it again,” she says. “Pushing.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“You do it when he shows up.” She looks at me, her gaze searching. “Why?”
“Because the fake dating is supposed to help with him,” I admit, the honesty feeling like a breach in my armor. “But the lessons are private. And the two things are starting to step on each other.”
She looks down, the notebook clutched to her chest. “Yeah.”
“Later?” I ask. “To talk?”
“Later.”
Practice is a mess. I’m over-skating pucks and missing passes. My head is sitting by the fountain, replaying the way Hannah looked at me.
Coach blows the whistle and calls me to the bench. “Wilder, you want to tell me where your head is?”
“I’m distracted, sir.”
“Personal life getting noisy?” He studies me. “Don’t confuse looking better with being better, Nate. Be disciplined.”
I skate back into the line, forcing the noise out. I shove the memory of the couch into a box and nail the lid down. I play hard, fast, and clean. By the end, I’m exhausted enough that my brain has finally gone quiet.
After I shower, I check my phone.
**Hannah:** *Back at dorm. Also I think we should talk later. Not big scary talk. Just... rules?*
Rules. I can handle rules. Rules are edges. Rules are safe.
**Nate:** *Rules. Tonight?*
**Hannah:** *Your place? It feels easier.*
My heart kicks. My place is where the lines blur. My place is where she gets brave.
**Nate:** *My place. Talking only unless we both agree otherwise.*
**Hannah:** *Green.*
I pocket the phone and sit there for a minute, listening to the locker room noise around me.
Coach is right.
Carter is right.
Hannah is right.
This is stepping on itself now. Fake dating. Ethan. Lessons. Public touches. Private truths. Lines we keep redrawing every time we get brave enough to cross an older one.
We need rules.
We need a reset.
We need to be smart.
And tonight, when Hannah comes to my apartment, I am absolutely going to be smart.
Probably.
Maybe.
God help me.