Chapter 2
I swing the apartment door open and there she is. The cutest floating ball of curly hair, holding two coffee cups.
“Oh! I am so sorry. I thought Gabe would answer.”
“One of those for me?” Before she can answer, I reach out and take a sip. I have to choke down the bitterness. That one is obviously not for Gabe who adds about ten packets of sugar to every cup.
“Black coffee?” I question.
“Like my soul,” she deadpans.
Fuck, I like her.
I love Januarys. I love a fresh start. I love the crisp winter air that kind of makes your balls shrivel up but also makes you feel alive. And I love that this January in particular is signaling the last semester of my MFA program. Graduation is around the corner and after entirely too many years of school, many of which I royally fucked up, I am ready.
Ducking in the doorway to grab a coffee from the campus coffee shop, aptly named Coffee Shop, I catch a flash of dark brown curls out of the corner of my eye. Like it does every time, my heart starts to race before it catches on to the fact that it’s not her. It rarely ever is, even though I’ve been back on campus for the last year and a half. I was worried about what coming back would mean, but Gabe encouraged me to continue my education, to give myself some sense of direction. He doesn’t know the real reason I wanted to come back to Hawthorne and he never will. But damn, that curly head haunts me everywhere here.
I order and wait for my coffee, staring at my phone and debating downloading another dating app. Over the years, I’ve tried to get her out of my head. Hell, I left this ridiculous college town with the hopes of getting her out of my head, but nothing has worked. My thumb hovers over the download button. I’m about to tap it when a body collides with mine, and my phone is essentially shoved out of my hand, clattering to the ground.
“What the fu—”
“Shit! I’m so sorry!”
I freeze. I know that voice. I dream about that voice. I’ve spent many nights wishing for that voice.
I bend down and pick up my phone, inhaling slowly through my nose. Immediately, I regret that decision because her brown sugar scent fills my lungs and elicits a very physical reaction down south, if you catch my drift. Pasting on the mask I use with her, I turn around.
“Baby Bardot.” I know she hates that nickname. “Long time no see. You aren’t usually on this side of campus.” She makes a face at me which makes sense, because I should not fucking know what side of campus she’s usually on. Her scowl is adorable.
“I have a class over here this semester.” Hope flashes through me. Does that mean I might run into her more this Spring?
“Well, that’s too bad for you, but great for me!” I sling an arm over her shoulder, feigning nonchalance. “Did you already get your coffee?” Holding it in the air, she nods.
I know I’ve always flustered Bex. It used to be a fun game for me and now it’s something I do to keep a wall between us. A large, adamant wall. An impenetrable wall… Which only makes me think of penetration. Which I should definitely not be thinking about.
Especially not penetration with Bex.
On second thought, her class on my side of campus is going to be very bad for me and my waning restraint. Get it together, Olsson. You’ve made it this far without crossing the line with your best friend’s sister. A line she probably doesn’t even want to cross.
I push the door open and usher her out into the freezing cold. “It’s my favorite weather: ball-shriveling cold.” Good, that’ll deter her.
Instead she laughs, a surprisingly loud snorting sound coming from such a small person. “I didn’t know you still had your balls, Anders. I would have thought some poor girl cut those off a long time ago.” And that right there is why I have an obsession with this girl. She’s bookish and reserved—until she isn’t. Until you get to know her and she uses that sharp tongue against you.
Don’t think about Bex using her tongue.
“Luckily, they are still intact.” But they are about to be very blue.
“Whatever you say,” she throws out as she starts to walk backwards down the sidewalk, away from me and presumably toward her class. I’m going the opposite way so I let her walk away, just like I always will. “Oh!” she continues. “And tell Gabe to stop sending me fan theories about how Logan is obviously the father of Rory’s baby! The reboot sucked and I don’t want to talk about it anymore!”
Well, that was the reminder I needed. Tell Gabe. I can do that because I live with him. Bex’s oldest brother and my best friend.
“Whatever you say, Baby Bardot!” I salute and turn to walk in the opposite direction, mentally shaking myself for not being able to shake her.