Aspen?Begging?I can’t picture that. He’s always so firm, so sure of himself. Not the kind of guy who pleads for anything—especially not forme.
I never responded. I didn’t know what to say.
If we cut contact now, cold turkey, then the feelings won’t have a chance to linger. We won’t get any more invested than we already are.
At least… that’s what I keep telling myself.
Over break, most people went home. Others took trips with their friends.
Me? I found the love of my life.
I can’t believe I’m actually saying that, but what else could this be? Lust? Maybe. But deep down, I know the truth.
I just left the person I was probably meant to spend the rest of my life with.
And now, all I feel is this ache.
Is this really what love feels like?
Does love always hurtthismuch?
As I sketch new outfit designs in my notebook, my phone dings.
I glance up—only to lock eyes with the professor through her wired bifocals.
Her expression is nothing short ofhideous, the kind of look no student should ever have to endure.
“Ms. Brown,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “I know you have far moreimportantthings to focus on, but some of us are actually trying to learn.”
A hundred and eighty heads turn toward me.
Fantastic.
I don’t bother responding. Instead, I roll my eyes anddramaticallyflip the switch on my phone to silent, making sure she sees it.
She smirks like she’s just won some kind of battle.
Please. The only thing she’s winning is the WorstDressed Facultyat this university.
Her cardigan is riddled with holes, her dress looks like it's time-traveled straight from the ‘80s, and don’t even get me started on her hair—three different shades of brown, gray, andfadedbrown; barely clinging to the claw clip holding it together.
Theonlyredeemable thing about her outfit is her Mary Janes, and even those are wasted on her because she hasnoidea how to style them.
And her makeup? Adisaster.
Honestly, I’d love to give her a full makeover—if she wasn’t such a bitch. But since she is, she can suffer in a fashion crisis for the rest of her life.
Not my problem.
Once she goes back to lecturing her boring class, I quickly glance at my phone.
A Tinder notification from Everest.
Again.
Why is he texting me? I never even responded.
My heart skips a beat.
