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“It’s not that,” I sniffle, and he rolls his eyes. “No, I’m serious. And I don’t know why you think I hate you. I don’t. I never have. You drive me crazy, but I don’t hate you.”
“Well, if it’s not that, then why are you crying?”
I sniff again, and he reaches into his bag and hands me a tissue.
“Um, I think the day is kind of tumbling down on me, if that makes sense?”
“Yea, it does,” he says kindly.
“I mean, it wasn’t a bad day. It was a good day. I did some holiday shopping, saw my family, then drove back here, got my laundry all sorted and tidied my apartment. And then I was studying. And now…now I’m here all night and there’s no bathroom and no food and no bed and I didn’t plan for this. Who would? But I like plans and…”
Sometime during my diatribe, Koz scooched closer to me. “I got you, Ash. It won’t be so bad. I was never in Scouts, but I’ve spent most of my life with hockey players. I can find food and a place to take a leak, no worries.”
He riffles through his backpack again and produces a couple of protein bars, and two bottles of water. He unscrews the cap of one bottle and chugs it down before hopping up and walking over to a bookshelf. With a flourish, he shows me the bottle, then places it behind the huge wooden shelf. “My lady, your washroom.”
I smile. Sure, peeing in a bottle will be easier for him than for me, but at least it’s a plan.
He resumes his seat next to me on the cold, hard floor. The worn orange carpet is straight out of the 70’s, but I’m not paying much attention to the décor, since Koz is so close. He’s gorgeous—I’ve always known that. It’s hard to miss 6 feet, 2 inches of Viking hotness. All that long blonde hair? Those ice blue eyes? Yes, he’s a beautiful specimen of manhood. I never let myself dwell on him, though. I was in a relationship. Besides, Koz is hot the way celebrities are hot. Yes, Harry Styles is a gift to eyes everywhere, but there’s no harm in noticing that—he’s untouchable.
So is Koz.
My mind wanders to Catlover99. It’s funny, but since I can’t picture him, looks don’t matter as much as personality. Now, if he does, in fact, have a pelt of back hair, I may change my stance on that.
“And we’ll dine on a feast of protein bars. I’ll even give you the chocolate one. We can share this bottle of water, so we’ll survive. I can’t do much about the lack of a bed, but…hold up! Ash, you are so lucky you got stuck in a storage closet with me.”
I turn as he dashes behind a row of ancient projector carts. He emerges triumphant, with two trash bags in his hands.
“We’re sleeping on trash?”
“Of course not! Only the best for my favorite Ice Queen. We’re sleeping on shredded paper.”
He tosses the bags in a pile next to us, and sure enough they’re filled with ribbons of discarded paper. “What’s wrong, Ash? I know it’s not ideal, but our basic needs are met, right? Look, there’s even an outlet over there. On the off chance I have a charger in my bag, we’re golden. We can do this. I’ll text Ollie to come to the library when it opens tomorrow to spring our asses out of here.”
“Thanks,” I say, my lip trembling.
“Hey, what’s really going on? What, you’ve got a date or something?”
“Or something…”
“Oh, shit…well…”
“It’s a study date tomorrow morning,” I clarify, even though it’s really a coffee date, or a coffee non-date…
“Must be some hot study date.”
“Very hot,” I say, a little more defensively than necessary.
“Lucky you. Listen, the library opens again at 10 a.m. So, we’ll be out of here in a little more than 12 hours. Think you can handle that?”
***
Koz
Ash looks up at me, clearly still rattled. “I can. It’s just—"
And that’s it. I’ve had enough. I stand and pace, mustering all the patience I have left, which admittedly, isn’t much. “You know what? Believe it or not, Ice Queen, you’re not the only one with stuff going on. I have plans tomorrow, too.”
She looks a little stunned at my outburst, and I sigh, leaning back against the wall and threading my hands through my hair. “Look, I have a call to make, but…just give me a break, ok? This sucks, I know. It sucks for me, too.” Ashley opens her mouth to respond, but I look down, needing to focus on the fact that it’s almost ten p.m. and I’m supposed to be calling Seriousley617. I grab my phone and pull up the app and tap the number she texted earlier. I feel like a jackass, but I can’t talk to her tonight. There’s no privacy in this room and I’m not sharing my first phone call with this girl while I have an audience. My fingers run over the keys as I send her a quick message.
