Chapter 20 Avoiding Complications
Avoiding Complications
Harper
I wake up late to sunlight streaming through my blinds and the unusual sound of silence from the rest of the dorm. Maddie must still be asleep, which means she either had an amazing time at the party last night or a terrible one. With Maddie, there’s rarely any middle ground.
I stretch in bed, that lazy, full-body stretch that comes with waking up naturally instead of to an alarm, when the memory of Cole’s kiss flashes through my mind unexpectedly.
The way he leaned across the coffee table, careful but certain, the weight of his gaze before his lips met mine.
The little catch in my chest that followed me home and apparently decided to set up permanent residence.
I shake my head against the pillow, annoyed with myself for being this distracted over one date. It was a good date, sure, but it was still just one date. I’m not the type to get starry-eyed over a guy I barely know.
Except apparently I am, because here I am replaying every detail like some lovesick teenager.
An hour later, Maddie bursts into my room carrying a chocolate chip muffin and wearing the kind of grin that means she’s about to regale me with every detail of her evening, whether I want to hear them or not.
“Morning, sunshine,” she says, settling cross-legged on my bed like she’s planning to stay a while. “You missed quite the party.”
“Did I?” I keep my voice carefully neutral, accepting the muffin she offers. “How was Sirus?”
“Sweet. Attentive. Possibly the most gentlemanly drunk person I’ve ever met.” She pauses, studying my face with that expression that means she’s about to say something I won’t like. “Cole was there, by the way. He asked about you.”
My pulse does a little skip that I try to ignore. “What did he say?”
“Just wondered if you were coming. Sirus mentioned that I was supposed to drag you along.” She grins. “I told him you were probably at home being antisocial and that he should text you.”
“Maddie—”
“What? He likes you. You like him. It’s simple math.”
Before I can argue with her logic, she drops her voice conspiratorially. “Although, fair warning—apparently Liam was there with some girl. Sirus said they disappeared for a while and she left looking... satisfied.”
My stomach does this weird little flip that I absolutely refuse to analyze. “Good for him,” I say, proud of how steady my voice sounds. “He can do whatever he wants.”
And in that moment, I make a decision. Whatever was happening between me and Liam—the late-night texts, the hookups, the way he makes my pulse race—it’s done. Maddie’s right. He’s a player, and I’m not interested in being just another conquest in his rotation.
The thought should make me feel relieved. Instead, it sits heavy in my chest like disappointment I’m not allowed to acknowledge.
“Exactly,” Maddie says, apparently taking my response as confirmation that I’m finally seeing clearly. “Forget about Liam. Focus on the guy who actually wants to get to know you instead of just get in your pants.”
After she leaves to nurse her hangover with coffee and whatever’s leftover in our fridge, I stare at the back of her head, wondering if she knows I’ve been hooking up with him without telling her.
I inhale, trying to contain my irritation about the Liam news and pad to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee.
I lean against the counter, cradling my mug, and try to not be upset over Liam.
I have no say over what he does, who he sees.
Heck, I’ve even made it very clear that we’re nothing beyond a late-night booty call.
I stare at the ground, wondering what I was thinking would happen with a guy like Liam.
It’s not like I’m any better. My mood lightens when I think of Cole.
I catch myself replaying Wednesday night again.
Cole leaning across the table during dinner, the way he really listened when I talked, the calm certainty in his voice when he said he’d been wanting to kiss me since we sat down.
It was different from anything I’m used to—steady instead of fiery, thoughtful instead of impulsive.
I shake my head, annoyed that I’m this distracted over boys. It’s not like me to get caught up in analyzing every interaction, every glance, every moment of contact.
My phone buzzes against the counter, and I glance down to see Liam’s name on the screen.
Liam: You were missing last night.
I stare at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The smart thing to do is not respond. The smart thing is to let this fade away naturally, to focus on Cole and whatever potential we might have together.
But my pulse still kicks up just seeing Liam’s name, and I hate that my body doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo about making smart choices.
I set my phone face-down without responding and take a long sip of coffee that burns slightly on the way down.
“Harper!” Maddie calls from her bed. “Come keep me company. I’m dying and need to remember I’m alive.”
I walk over to join her, noting the empty water bottle, the ibuprofen on the coffee table, and the way she’s squinting at the TV like the volume is personally offensive.
“So,” she says without looking away from whatever cooking show she’s barely watching, “me and Sirus…”
I shoot a glare at her. “Continue that sentence.”
“We…” She squints like a dog in trouble.
“You?”
She closes her eyes and blurts, “We touched each other!”
“Ew!” I put down my mug and fake vomit. Then I grab the pillow. “Ew! Ew! Ew!”
She starts laughing her head off and she squints again. “Ow, my brain.”
“You big baby. If you remember––” I make a face, “––touching each other, then you weren’t that drunk!”
She covers her mouth and blushes. “I really like him.”
I lean back and hug the pillow in front of me. “God, I hope so if you’re letting him touch you!”
She glares at me. “I never give you this much shit. Please stop!”
I throw my head back and laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You are so fun to poke at.” Her face is bright red, and I’m loving it.
“One of these days, I’ll be able to tell you when I hit first base.”
She smiles. “You and Cole?”
I nod.
“So, you’re going to see him again?”
I curl up in the corner, snuggling against her. “You always dreamed we would date best friends.”
“I always fantasized about brothers, but I guess that would be gross if we both got married and had kids.” She takes a moment to think. “I didn’t think that one through.”
“Yeah, no. Maybe if we were just best friends, but being blood related and let’s face it, Maddie, we are sisters.”
She grabs me, leaning on my shoulder. “You are my sissy.”
I rest my cheek on her head. “Twins five-ever,” I say in a sassy voice just like we would when we were young.
She squeezes me and says, “I’m so happy we have each other.”
“I count my lucky stars everyday your mom went out and got pregnant right away with a random.”
That gets me a pinch.
“Ow!”
“My mom liked my dad, okay? Just not the traditional way.”
I smile. “I know. I’m just––”
She mocks my voice, “Poking fun.”
I nod, laughing.
Then we quiet down and let the silence fill the room.
My mind starts racing at how complicated my love life has gotten.
I exhale because that’s a bit dramatic. Nothing crazy is happening.
I just can’t stop my mind from flipping between images of Liam’s knowing smirk when he called me “Trouble,” Cole’s steady smile when he asked if he could call me.
The way Liam makes me feel reckless and alive, the way Cole makes me feel safe and seen.
I hate how different they are. I hate how each of them appeals to opposite sides of me—the part that wants excitement and the part that wants stability, the part that craves passion and the part that needs security.
Eventually, I throw myself into homework for the afternoon, spreading my marketing textbooks across my desk and keeping my phone face-down where I can’t see the screen.
I’m determined not to check messages from either of them, to focus on something productive instead of spinning my wheels over guys and feelings and decisions I’m not ready to make.
But even with my phone hidden, I can feel it there, a persistent awareness of unread messages and unanswered questions.
That night, I’m lying in bed scrolling through social media when I accidentally open my text messages. Cole’s last text from Thursday is still there—something funny about Rex stealing his breakfast that morning, followed by a photo of the dog looking completely unrepentant.
I start to type a response three different times, then delete each attempt. What am I supposed to say? Sorry for not responding for two days, I was too busy having an existential crisis about whether I want the nice guy or the bad boy?
Instead, I turn off my phone and flip off the light, even though I’m wide awake and my mind is racing.
Somewhere in the darkness, I can feel myself standing at a crossroads I didn’t ask for, with two paths leading in completely different directions. And for the first time in my life, I have absolutely no idea which way I’m supposed to go.