Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Things with Sophie are off the charts. Insanely good.
Next level. Somehow I already love her more than two weeks ago, when I told her for the first time.
But everything else? Well, my shirt is scratchy, the protein bar I ate for breakfast was dissatisfying, and it doesn’t feel like a Sunday.
Sundays never feel right anymore. I should drive back to Graham, go to church with my family.
I never do. Never even go visit on Sunday nights like I used to.
Sunday is always a mad dash to get my work done since I’m escorting Sophie all over the place on Saturdays.
All the stuff I plan isn’t on her. I want Sophie to love her life and have all the new she can stomach.
But it feels like nothing quite satisfies her.
Like yesterday. I gave her two options of escape rooms. She picked one, the crew came, and we had a blast. But …
then she talked them into doing the second one, which was as unnecessary as Avatar’s water sequel.
Same plot, just soggier. And after that she convinced Levi and Kit that they were dying to go on a double-date dinner I hadn’t planned on. So, zero homework done.
She was so thrilled with me after the full day of excitement that she dragged me to the fence deep in the pines that night.
We huddled in our spot, where she kept snuggling into me, singing “Happy Anywhere,” whispering in my ear, kissing all over my face and neck and ear.
It was incredible—how’s a guy supposed to leave?
But safe to say I didn’t get nearly enough sleep last night. What else is new?
It’s Super Bowl Sunday today, one of the best days on the calendar.
A1, A2, and Flooders band together every year, turning Albert Hall’s shared public lobby into a full-blown football fiesta.
Lofts from every lounge. Couches hauled in by the dozen.
A potluck spread for days. It’s an all-day ordeal.
Usually I’d be pumped, but this year … no energy left.
No time left. I don’t get to enjoy my own stuff anymore, and I hate that.
As I carry loft after loft, couch after couch with the other Flooders, I’m mentally calculating how long my homework will take and whether I can knock out a big enough chunk before kickoff.
Electromagnetics is a cool class, but it’s tough.
Advanced Electronics is no breeze either.
And no sneaking upstairs to work during halftime, because the guys do a talent show I need to support.
So … a late night. Again. At least there’ll be plenty of food, even if it is a hundred different kinds of chips.
I’m the worst for not pitching in this year. I used to bring chili.
Midway through the Great Couch Migration, I spot Sophie in the lobby, setting up tables.
She knows girls aren’t really invited to the Super Bowl event.
There’s barely enough room for all the guys.
But there she is, knocking out our tasks, humming to herself, looking like a dream come true.
It’s the first shorts day in months, and she’s taking full advantage in her favorite teal workout shorts.
Her hair is full and wavy, like she let it air dry. My favorite.
Oops, I’m leading the guys astray, veering toward her instead of the lofts.
The second we get it situated, I beeline for her.
“Soph, hey.” I rub a thumb across her upper arm, happier than I should be to see someone I spent every minute with yesterday. A hint of vanilla floats in the air between us. I’m dying to pull her close and breathe her in.
Like she heard my thoughts, she droops her whole body against mine with that perfect smile.
Her iced-latte eyes cool the heat in my chest. I squeeze her close and bury my nose in her neck.
Yep. Vanilla. Her fingers sneak just under my T-shirt sleeves.
Hitches my breath every time. Grade A flirting from my drop-dead gorgeous girl.
“Austin,” she says low, “you looked so good carrying that like it was nothing.”
I inch back and play it off like I’m not a bowl of Jell-O when she talks to me like that. “Whatcha doin’?”
She steps back into motion. “Tables and whatever else Calvin gives me. I just called in reinforcements. They’ll be here soon to pitch in.
Lots of girls are already in the Griffin kitchen whipping up a feast too.
It’s the least we can do for our sensational football coach.
” Her fingers find mine. Her eyes sparkle.
I deteriorate from Jell-O to oatmeal.
“I know this isn’t supposed to be a G1 thing, so maybe you could say the food is your contribution?”
Speechless, I bob my head like an idiot.
I wish I could pick her up and carry her around instead of another stupid couch.
Almost lifting her off her feet, I turn our bodies to give us the slightest bit of privacy.
The guys will have a field day with this, but who cares.
Hand behind her head, I plant an intense kiss on her lips. Like I need it.
That woman will be the end of me, but one look at her smile and I’m not even mad about it.
She slow-blinks—like every kiss matters, like it carries weight—and pushes me toward the stairwell with two hands. “No more distractions, mister. Off you go.”
The game is over now, and Sophie and I have a few minutes to hang in my room before Open Dorms end.
“I’m sorry.” I flip open my textbook. “I hate that I barely saw you today. But I have to get this done before tomorrow.”
“For sure, Hiro Hamada. Lock in.” Producing a nail-filer thing out of nowhere, she settles against the armrest, legs draped across my couch.
Singing “In Christ Alone” absentmindedly, completely content.
A soft smile rests on my favorite human’s face.
Obviously I’m getting nothing done. Couldn’t be happier my sofa isn’t one we carried down to the lobby.
“It’s cold in here,” she says.
Yep, goose bumps on those beautiful legs. I half reach for the T-shirt quilt hanging off my bed—until I catch the look she’s shooting me. That sly smile?
Pencil down. Book irrelevant. I’m all hers.
And then she grabs my button-down off the arm of the couch and starts unbuttoning it.
“Hey now. I’m gonna have to button alllll those buttons next time.”
But that’s not the troublemaking she had in mind. She slips it on, buttons it up, rolls the sleeves three more times.
When she stands up, I can’t see her shorts beneath it. I gulp.
“Do I look like you?” She poses, exaggerates the way I push my sleeves up.
I’m not laughing. My heart is racing.
Wild waves. Bright eyes. Big smile. My shirt. Bare legs.
She’s breathtaking.
My brain? Gone.
I try to reboot. To form words. “Soph. Keep it.”
Calvin calls down the hall for the girls to head out.
She leans on my shoulders, presses a kiss to my lips. With a wave, she walks out, grinning at my paralysis.
And now I’m supposed to concentrate on homework?
The. End. Of. Me.
Haymitch slows to a stop at my doorway. “Okay, up ya go. Time for a cold shower.”
I rub the back of my neck. Avoid his gaze.
“No, none o’ that. It happens. Gettin’ married doesn’t magically flip a switch—it’s there all along. C’mon.”
I stand and shuffle off obediently.
Halfway back to Griffin, something makes me stop and twist back. New hangman letters I noticed earlier, on my way to help set up the Super Bowl party. I pull his shirt tighter around me, still laced with that clean, woodsy scent that’s tangled itself around my heart.
_ETTER
THAN A
_REA_
He said those words to me half asleep in Dallas.
And now they’re on display—a message for the world, written in a language only I fully understand.
He knows people will figure out who’s behind these hangman games.
And still, he doesn’t try to cover it up or tone it down.
He’s not hiding how he loves me. He’s letting the world see it. But not yet. It’s still just for us.
I cross the field with a smile that’s starting to ache in my cheeks.
When I skip out of Griffin’s stairwell into the hallway, Zoe stops me in my tracks.
“Sophie,” she accuses.
“What?”
“You look like you just crawled out of someone’s bed.”
I recoil.
“Did you?”
“No. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Actually, it is. But separate from being the RA, you’re not being fair to Austin.”
I sputter. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She shifts her bag. “We used to hang out. He’s one of the most quality guys at this school.” Her eyes drag down my legs, then back up. “You’re either going to change that or you’re going to lose him.”
My blood goes cold. “Slut-shaming much?”
Her expression falters. The edge slips. “Sorry. Just … think about it, okay?”
Austin
Song of the day
“More Than I Know” by Jordan Davis
More than he knows what to do with. He doesn’t know what he’s gotten into.
I tap out a reply before I can talk myself out of it.
Compliment or complaint?
Compliment for sure. What’s up
Nothing