But my conversation with him from two nights ago at my work-study job floats back to me.“I wasn’t getting the time to study that I wanted. Soccer kind of consumed my life. I don’t think I could balance a job and school.”
I think I’ve been wrong about Mac.
And I hate being wrong.
“Do you spend a lot of nights and weekends here at the library?” I ask.
“About half my weeknights and every Sunday night.”
“Why have I never seen you here?”
“Probably weren’t looking for me. I’ve seen you.”
It isn’t so much what he says but the way he says it that sends something hot from my heart into my stomach and all the way to my knees. I bite the inside of my lip to keep a smile from creeping over my face. He leans in, elbows on the table, voice low.
“We could have been studying together this whole time,” he says. It isn’t a particularly sexy statement, so why does it send that fluttery jolt below my belly button? Why is my heart beating faster?
Mac stretches a hand across the table, palm up, an invitation. For what? Is he trying to hold my hand? Is he about to say something that’s actually sexy? Because I don’t think I can handle that. I stare at his hand for so long, unmoving, that Mac finally speaks up.
“I can take your trash for you.”
“Oh!”
I hand over my trash like it’s on fire. I will myself not to blush, but I can feel the heat on my cheeks and neck. God, I hope he can’t tell.
“I could use some coffee. What about you?” he asks, collecting his trash and standing.
“I’m okay,” I say too quickly.
“It’s on me,” he says. “I insist since I stole your psychology paper and all.”
“Okay, but just a small one.” I relent. “Sugar and cream, please.”
He smiles, and with a nod disappears.
What is happening to me? I keep getting into these scenarios with Mac where all of a sudden I feel like we have this crazy sexual tension. Is he feeling it too?
Oh my god, it doesn’t matter, Jessie. Stop thinking about Mac like that.
I squeeze my eyes closed and press my palms against my forehead, conjuring Sexy Shakespeare and the Halloween party. Even if Mac did like me and I was…starting to maybe be interested in him in that way too, could we possibly have the kind of chemistry I had with Sexy Shakespeare? Will I ever find that with anyone again?
Or is it time to just accept that it was one really awesome night and that’s it? I don’t like to give up on things so easily, but if I can let go of my years-long resentment of Mac, I can definitely let go of a barely month-old crush on a stranger.
With food in my stomach and coffee on the way, I try to work on statistics again, but by the time he’s reappeared I still don’t feel like I’m making any progress. It’s just a homework assignment, but I’m only halfway through, and that’s after hours of work on it from earlier.
“Are you any good at statistics?” I ask as Mac slides my coffee across the table.
I hate asking for help, but I’m desperate.
“I’m all right, but two heads are better than one.” He takes the seat next to me, setting his coffee on the table. I shift my laptop so he can see my screen, and he scoots the chair a little closer.
I don’t have to give too much context since we’re both in the class and he recognizes the assignment. As it turns out, Mac is really good at explaining things. He doesn’t make me feel dumb at any point, and he repeats and reexplains things as many times as I need it.
It’s refreshing, participating in schoolwork together instead of against each other. Is this what it would be like to date Mac?
Whoa.
I shake the thought from my head as Mac stands, taking a sip of his coffee and coming around to my side to see the laptop screen better, presumably, but just as he does, that deja vu feeling comes back. It sweeps through me, that sense of remembering, and I get lightheaded. It’s overwhelming, such a sense of familiarity being so close to Mac. I stand suddenly, pushing my chair back with my legs and bumping into him, causing him to spill coffee all over himself and a little on the chair. The deja vu feeling finally passes.
