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It’s just… I feel like I was justified, but I botched the approach. And you kinda took the brunt of it at the end and I’m sorry
I reread that several times over. I put my phone down on a shelf, take the jacket off, and hang it. Then I come back to the phone. The words I’m sorry from Tinker Bell are still there. She’s a pretty commanding type of person, and seeing as how long it took her to type out the words, this feels like something that was hard for her to say. Especially for a second time.
Me
Thank you *wide-eyed emoji*
But this is like with the creeps at the gym
It’s not about me
You were def justified
Sorry for coming across like a villain
Sparks
Why can’t the rest of the Bolts be more like you?
Me
The world’s not ready for so many perfect men
Sparks
I take everything back
“What are you giggling about?” my roommate asks, his voice sounding grumpy.
I snort. “Puh-lease. I don’t giggle. I exude a manly chuckle.”
“You straight-up sound like a five-year-old girl giggling.”
The glare I toss over my shoulder goes unnoticed, since he’s still busy clacking away at his keyboard.
After tonight’s win, the team wanted to hit up O’Malley’s to celebrate with burgers and darts, but I bowed out with the excuse of studying. Which is valid. Exams won’t ace themselves.
Instead, I spend the whole night texting with Tinker Bell. And the next day.
When Monday rolls around, we sit together in Intro to Entrepreneurship. I had a smart moment earlier where I set my watch to not beep if my heart rate exceeds a certain level, which probably saves me from the embarrassment of her realizing how much she affects me.
Sometime during the lecture, I’m biting the end of my pencil when I feel something. I turn my face slightly and catch Tinker Bell staring up at me. She doesn’t even turn away or act like I have something on my face.
Naw, she’s not like that. Her eyes, black like onyx, stare into mine with such blatant openness it’s me who feels heat travel up my neck. What if those impossibly deep eyes have the power to stare into my soul? What if she can see that I’m going wild about her?
The only way I know to deal with this is by joking. I grin and pull the pen out of my mouth to ask, “Jealous of the pen?”
Her eyes flicker to it for a second, then to my lips. The same heat burning me up from the inside settles on her cheeks. Like maybe she hadn’t noticed she was staring.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Cassiano.”
It wasn’t even in the gutter until that moment. But after that, I keep imagining all the parts of her body I would love to nibble softly.
A couple of days later, I’m going even crazier.
We don’t have any other classes together, and with the tension between the Bolts and the Strikes, it’s impossible to even catch a glimpse of her at the gym. My addiction to peeking around in hopes of seeing her gets even worse. I almost murder Conor once while he’s bench-pressing and I’m supposed to spot for him.
“Damn, Cassiano!” he shouts while he and I struggle to pull the weights back up safely. “You almost killed me, bro.”
