He grins, a small one that still somehow forces me to smile back. How can a girl not be stupid for that smile? I’ve hooked up with a lot of guys—that I’mnotproud of—and none of them made me feel a fraction of what Bash does, and he’s not even actively trying to sleep with me.
“Hey,” he says, softer now. “I…wanted to ask you something.”
“I’ll try to answer,” I say, teasingly.
“Would you…maybe wantto grab coffee, one day after class…or whenever you’re free?”
I’m confused at first, and my brain is only hearingethicsanddangerandyes please, all at once.
“Isn’t that…not allowed?” I ask.
“Yeah—so.” He rubs the back of his neck, and I watch the nerves flicker across his face. It’s…cute, which I willnotbe telling him. “I wanted to talk to you about that, too. I mean, it sounds weird after I just asked you to coffee. I probably should’ve led with this part. They’re not connected, and I don’t want you to think they’re connected—”
“Bash,” I say, smiling. “Breathe.”
He huffs a little laugh. “Right. Okay. Well, I got switched out of the CRC group. My professor moved me to the suicide loss group. It’s something we’d talked about for a while, and the slot opened. It wasn’t…I didn’t request it because of—” He gestures vaguely between us. “I wasn’t expecting it to be this soon, but…I think it’s where I’m supposed to be.”
The words make me feel relieved and scared. The tape on that box loosens. Excitement sparks inside me. I hate that a little. I love it too.
Dammit.
“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”
“And the coffee thing was just…separate,” he adds, smoother now. “Publicly and no pressure. If that feels like too much for any reason, I understand.”
It doesn’t feel like too much. It feels exactly like what I need. “Yes,” I tell him. “But…on one condition.”
His eyebrows tick up. “Name it.”
“Pali bailed on me,” I say, rolling my eyes with a smile. “Debate tournament season. She was helping me catch up, and now I’m kind of…on my own. I need tobe ready for midterms, and I’m so behind. If you can’t, it’s fine, I’ll figure it out—”
“I’ll help,” he says immediately. Then he smiles like he’s trying not to look too pleased that I asked. “I wouldn’t leave you hanging like that,” he shrugs. “Maybe coffee can double as a first study session.”
“I’d like that.”
“How’s tomorrow?” he asks.
I nod before my anxiety can talk me out of it. “Tomorrow works.”
“Cool,” he says, backing towards the door, eyes still on me. “I’ll…text you?”
“Yeah,” I say all awkwardly, and nod again. I need to stop nodding like a bobble-head. “Sounds good.”
He gives me one last look. “See ya, Lydia.”
“Bye, Bash.” I hate how much I like the way his name tastes.
He peels off toward the door, and I stand there for a second in the emptying classroom, holding my backpack and my breath. I don’t want to turn this into some grand narrative in my head. I also don’t want to pretend my heart didn’t just do a stupid gymnastic routine because a boy I think I like asked me to drink coffee.
On the walk back across campus, the cravings try to slide in, offering their miracle cure for everything that always aches. I put my earbuds in and play the playlist I always have ready to pull me out of my own head. I feel okay. This is okay. This is good. Right? I mean, I’m excited. I hate that I’m excited.
I actually, really don’t hate it.
67
Lydia
I see him sitting in the cafe that’s attached to the library as I walk up to the door—head down, books open, and…two coffee cups in front of him.
