Chapter 7
SUMMER
I wake up to a throbbing ankle and a deep sense of embarrassment.
Oh my god. My Counseling Theories professor had to carry me up nine flights of stairs. I officially need to drop out of Cascadia U and never show my face anywhere that Asher might see it again.
I roll over and notice the empty water glass and painkillers bottle on my bedside table.
Something uncomfortable flutters in my chest at the nice gesture.
I grab the painkillers and the glass before hobbling over to the kitchen sink.
I refill the glass and greedily drain the water after taking two painkillers, and try not to think about how nice Asher was to me.
He was probably just being nice. He felt bad that my phone died and that I hurt myself, and he felt like he couldn’t leave me to my own devices.
Milo butts her head against my chin, and I give her a quick scratch before pushing myself to my feet. My ankle threatens to buckle, but stays strong as I slowly limp my way toward the kitchen to feed her.
After the queen has finished her breakfast, I plug in my phone and wait for it to boot back up.
I see an apology text from Sam for leaving the bar without me.
I fire back a text that it’s nothing, and he responds with the eye emojis.
I sigh, knowing he’s fishing for anything on Asher—Professor Stirling—and I decide to never tell anyone about it.
No one needs to know that my Counseling Theories professor had to take me home and put me into bed.
I collapse on my bed with a groan. How am I going to face him in class on Monday?
Another text from Sam pings on my phone.
Sam:
Let’s go out for drinks 2night and you can spill the
Hot embarrassment flushes my cheeks at the idea of even considering going back to the Pour House.
I plan never to go back to that bar and to keep my head down in class for the remainder of the semester. I respond after Sam sends a few more emojis.
Can we go literally anywhere else?
Mama’s Tacos?
His response comes so fast that I have a hard time believing he actually read my message.
15?
I finish showering and am throwing on leggings and a sweater when my mother calls.
“Hello?” I answer, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder while I lace up my combat boots, a struggle considering how snug the fit is with the bandage wrap.
“When are you coming home to visit?” my mother asks without preamble.
“When I have the time?” I offer.
“Which will be?” she questions, the end of her sentence trailing off.
I sigh. “When I’m not drowning in classwork? Maybe… Thanksgiving break?”
She scoffs, and I immediately know it was the wrong thing to say. “Thanksgiving break?” Her voice has risen in pitch. “That’s months away, Summer.”
“And home is five hours away. That’s not a quick drive, Mom.”
“Did you have to pick a grad program so far away?”
“I could’ve gone farther,” I point out as I pet Milo goodbye. “Denver had an excellent program, but I just couldn’t live with myself if I’d abandoned you to live all alone in a state without me.”
“One of these days, your sarcasm is going to get you into loads of trouble.”
“Who says it hasn’t already?” I snicker, locking my door behind me. I can practically hear my mother gritting her teeth. “Look, Mom,” I sigh. “I promise to try and come home as soon as I have a second to breathe, okay?”
My mother finally concedes and says goodbye.
I make it down the block in record time, even though every step makes me wince. I manage to snag a corner booth amongst the lunch-rush crowd.
Sam waltzes through the door. “The regular?” he calls as he passes by the booth, making his way toward the counter to order. I nod, but he’s already across the restaurant.
I tap my fingers on the glossy tabletop as I watch Sam chatting with the worker—hopefully ordering our food, but most likely flirting.
My thoughts start to drift to thoughts of Asher—dammit, Professor Stirling.
Had he been flirting with me last night?
Do I want him to have been flirting? It was entirely unacceptable, and I was probably imagining things where there were none, and yet…
I can’t get his laugh out of my head. His muttering, ‘At a later date,’ is living rent-free in my mind and sending a swarm of butterflies through my stomach.
Though I doubt he’ll approach me to offer to buy me a drink, again, it’s completely inappropriate, but that won’t stop me from hoping he will.
Maybe he’ll just send a drink over to me, and he won’t speak to me.
Or maybe he’ll ask to play another game of pool after he buys me a drink. Maybe—
“How was the rest of your night?” Sam asks, plopping down and startling me.
“What?” I blurt, my voice cracking as if I’ve been caught red-handed.
Semi-fantasizing about my Counseling Theories professor is wrong. But Sam doesn’t need to know anything about that.
He gives me a shit-eating grin, like I’m a mouse and he’s a cat that has me stuck under his paw.
He raises a suggestive eyebrow, ready to toy with me.
“I was just asking how the rest of your night went?” he asks, innocently.
“You know, I left you playing pool with Professor Stirling and a completely paid-for bar tab.”
“Ah.” I nod as if I’d forgotten. “Right, he thanks you for the free drinks.”
“Did he appreciate the tequila shot?” He leans across the table, giving me a mischievous smirk.
“Doubtful.”
“Did you appreciate the tequila shot?” he counters.
“Considering I barely made it home last night? Not this time.”
“Wait.” His grin widens. “Did you almost go home with our professor?”
“First of all, lower your voice,” I start.
“This is a totally respectable volume to speak at.”
“And it’s still too loud when throwing out completely inaccurate scenarios.” He rolls his eyes but waves his hand at me so that I’ll continue. “Second of all, absolutely not.”
“Did he almost go home with you?”
Images of Asher helping me into my apartment flash through my head, and my traitorous face heats, flushing my cheeks. “No,” I state, deciding to leave out the fact that he did give me a ride home. It’s none of Sam’s business, and it won’t happen again, so there’s no point in bringing it up.
While I trust Sam, there’s a selfish part of me that wants to keep my interaction with Asher all to myself.
“I thought we promised to always be honest with each other,” he teases, batting his eyelashes at me.
The waiter drops off queso and guac with chips, shrimp tacos for me, and steak tacos for Sam, along with two large margaritas. I lick some of the salt off the rim and take a sip before responding. “We did, and I am.” Guilt gnaws at my stomach with the lie.
He takes a healthy bite of one of his tacos before speaking through a mouthful of food. “Fine, don’t tell me.” He takes another bite and washes it down with the margarita before continuing. “So,” he draws out, poking at the guac with a tortilla chip. “I have a date with Derek tomorrow.”
“Does he know you’re going home with random boys from the bar?”
“No,” he snaps defensively, tossing the chip at me. “And it’s not relevant.”
I wipe guac off my sweater and roll my eyes at him. “Just curious what kind of relationship this whole thing is gearing up to be.”
“So far it’s going good, but not good enough to swear off all other men,” he sniffs.
I wince. “Is he swearing off other men?”
Sam freezes, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. “We haven’t discussed it.”
“Do you think he could be?”
“Oh god,” he groans before putting his face in his hands. “Could he be?”
“Look.” I pause to take a bite of queso. “It’s okay to date other people, but it’s only fair to make sure he knows that’s what you want so that he has the same opportunities.”
“You’re right,” he mumbles, swirling his margarita around. “Do I have to tell him that I’ve been sleeping around with other people? Or can I just ask if he is?”
I pat his hand sympathetically. “I think the polite thing to do would be to tell him. I would want to know if someone I was seeing was seeing other people.”
“Ugh!” he moans. He lets his head rest on the table before peeking at me with one eye. “Speaking of you dating—”
“I am not dating,” I cut him off.
“Okay,” he says, hunkering down for what appears to be a debate.
“Jokes about our hot professor aside, what about the guy who came up to you a while ago?” I rattle my brain around for who he’s talking about, but come up blank.
He sees the confused look on my face and laughs.
“You know, that guy that came up to you after you got told off in front of the whole class for being on your phone? When you were looking up our professor’s first name? ”
“Yes, yes,” I say quickly, not needing to relive that embarrassing moment. “What about him?”
“Why not go out with him?” He shrugs. “Didn’t he say you were pretty?”
“He didn’t even ask for my phone number, and he’s barely spoken to me since,” I point out.
“He’s probably drowning in schoolwork like the rest of us and decided dating right now would be a nuisance.
” I’m taking four classes this semester, which is one more than my advisor recommended.
The last thing I need is distractions in the form of random, most likely boring, dates.
Sam holds up a finger. “Dating should not be a nuisance.” A second finger springs up. “Maybe he hasn’t asked you out because he can’t tell if you’re interested or not.”
“I’m not interested,” I state.
“Not even one date?” he whines.
“Why is this so important to you?”
“Because I don’t want you to be forty with like six cats.”
“I only have one cat,” I say defensively.
“That’s how it starts,” he responds gravely.
“Look, I will… keep an open mind,” I offer. “But I’m not going to date just to date, okay?”
“Summer, when’s the last time you got laid?”
I scoff. “Not important.”
“Uh, yes, it is,” he shoots back, throwing another chip my way. “I happen to believe that if you got off, even once, you’d be a happier person.”
“I’m happy.” I scrunch my eyebrows at him.