When I come to a standstill, he stops with me.
I impulsively test his sincerity. “You’re used to getting what you want”—I dig in the knife—“who you want.” That will be enough to bring out his true nature. I brace and silently beg for an angry response.
To my astonishment, he gazes at me like he’s impressed, even enamored. “I guess I am.”
Our train wreck of a coffee date was proof that I can’t actually date him. So this? I can’t have this. How do I get out of it? Falling for a guy I can’t even be alone with is begging for heartache. But his slip up and earnest apology is beautiful proof of his kindness, his goodness, his gentleness.
No. I can’t. No more of this.
Be kind to one another, tenderhearted,
forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.
No, please. You know how it is. This isn’t going to go well. I can’t. Look at him. I can’t.
Be kind to one another, tenderhearted,
forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.
What a disaster, but I can’t disobey. I could forgive Levi butrefuse to hang out with him—or our group—again. But I won’t. I know I won’t. My friends are his friends now. He’s everywhere. And he’s … him.
Fine. Okay. You’re going to take care of this? I can’t. I can’t not like this guy. I can’t keep this from going off the rails.
I smother my anxious sigh. “Yes, I forgive you.”
Humility and relief shine from his eyes. He opens the door for me to proceed into the math building. “You say what needs to be said. I really like that about you.” That soft voice is delicious—rumbly, like a special secret. I’m slow to translate the meaning because I’m distracted by the tone.
And he’s gone.
My heart beats too fast and my fingers tingle. I’m jittery as I maneuver through the hallway. Matt will be getting a no after class. I couldn’t distract myself with another guy to save my life. Or my heart.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Mia could help too,but pick me!” I say to Ayumi, standing up after Thursday’s game. “Calc One was my favorite class ever.” I twist out the stiffness in my back from sitting on the sideline.
“Yes, pick Kit,” Mia says. “I wouldn’t exactly have heart eyes talking about limits and derivatives.”
I gather the blanket we shared—muddy from recent rain—and wad it into a clump.
My arms freeze when I spot Levi sauntering toward us.
No big deal. Just a bold, insightful, thrilling guy who I can’t actually date.
Mia kicks my butt from behind. “Speaking of heart eyes.”
Ayumi takes the blanket wad from my arms.
“To MSC. I want chicken,” Sophie says. “Bye, Kit!” she sing-songs.
Margot Robbie alerted us to some impressive Barbies outthere. Physicist Barbie, Diplomat Barbie, Supreme Court Justice Barbie. Ryan Gosling might have been “just Ken,” but Levi has collectible looks too. This one is Dreamy Athlete Levi. Brimming achievement and flushed cheeks. And slightly sweaty hair that gives a magnificent texture to his waves, better than any mousse could manage. Not touching said hair is a battle between the logic of my frontal lobe and the instincts from my limbic system. Yes, I’m a nerd. Back to Levi—his biceps, which I’ve been watching catch and intercept for an hour, gloriously peek out of his shirt and tempt me to gape at them. This Levi always comes accessorized with an orange Flooders shirt, running shorts, and a black water bottle.
Who started the tradition of the sister floor coming to every game? Come along, they say, and watch the guys we know act like Olympians and flash their proud smiles and slap each other’s butts. They’re all just our casual friends, and nothing is strange about staring at them like this for an hour every single week! I haven’t missed a game.
Levi arrives in front of me. “Hey, friend. Can I walk you back?”
I am the epitome of cool with my “Okay, sure.”
He likes to call me “friend.” If only we could be more Chandler and Monica and less Joey and Phoebe.
