I try to think about what they’re saying, but none of it makes sense. Evan doesn’t like me. He might tolerate me, sure, but he can’t like me.
But he did drive with me all the way to my aunt’s house for no reason other than to keep me company. We both pretended it was so he could help with the interview, but we knew that wasn’t the real reason I wanted him there. I just . . . wanted him around.
He went to a bar to pick me up, and made sure I got back to the hotel okay. He let me use his shower and he gave me a shirtto sleep in that I still haven’t returned. And I’mprettysure he let me sleep in his bed while he slept on a chair.
He told me about his OCD because he thought I’d understand. He trusted me with that part of him, let me get to know him in a different way.
And he kissed me back, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t just kiss him—hekissed me, with purpose too. And he put his hands under my shirt and his fingers in my hair and his lips on my neck and it feltsogood.
I’ve denied it for years. I’ve forced myself to not think about it for more than a minute at a time, but the truth of it is so clear, so forceful, taunting my every waking thought.
Evan Branson is hot.
I don’t think he even tries to be. He just exists with those lined dimples and creased shirts and loose ties. He exudes this simple confidence with everyone else that it feels like his softer side is reserved just for me. Like when his mask slipped in Denver or when he asks me questions or holds my hand while we run through the woods. He’s sweet and thoughtful even when he tries not to be. He listens to me. Not just when I’m telling him to do something, but the important stuff too.
“Are you okay?” Wren asks softly.
I let out a weird sound like a yelp and a cry. “Just . . . processing.”
“Right, well, take your time with that. I think we’ve all been waiting a while for you to catch up,” Kennedy says, folding her arms against her chest and laughing.
I tug at the strands of my frizzy hair. “I-Ijustcame to terms with the fact that he’s a decent guy, and I’ve just made out with him and made things weird.”
“A bit of a change in your relationship won’t kill you,” Wren offers.
“It might! I can’t even look at him anymore. I told him the whole thing was a moment of weakness.”
“Well, take it back,” Kennedy says easily.
“Take it back?”
“Yeah, tell him you’ve come to your senses, and you’d really like to kiss him again.”
Fuck. Do I want to kiss him again?
I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea, that’s for sure. But Evan is . . . Evan. And I’m me. He’s a Branson above it all, and getting involved with him more than I am already would be a bad,badidea.
I shake my head. “No. I’m not doing that.”
Kennedy all but growls at me. “Fine. Have it your way and be miserably horny forever since you won’t admit that you want to be smooching faces with Evan Branson.”
I don’t argue with her. I can’t. And for the rest of the night, I hardly say a word.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: EVAN
I’ve learned over the years that sitting across from Scarlett is a lot less productive than sitting next to her. When we’re sitting across from each other, all I have to do is lift my head and she’s right there.
I can see all of her. I can see the way she holds her pen a certain way and the ink marks that are left on the side of her hand. I notice the way she tilts her notebook when she’s writing and the way her eyes narrow when she reads, like she’s trying tolivebetween the lines. It also doesn’t help that we’re both tall and our legs constantly brush against each other.
I usually hate when other people touch me, or when materials don’t feel right against my skin, but it doesn’t feel like that with her. Sometimes I need to put a little bit more pressure between our legs for it to feel right, but she never retreats. I see the way her shoulders relax a little when we touch. There’s a kink in her neck that is begging for attention, and the more I look at her, the more I wonder what it would be like if it were my hands on her skin. IfIcould be the one to help her relax.
But there’s an unsaid agreement now. We don’t talk about the kiss. We don’t bring it up. It’s like it never even happened. Which means I should probably stop thinking about all the different ways I want to touch her and where I want my mouth.
I don’t know who was more surprised that we’d meet at my mom’s library today. I was shocked when she texted me asking if she could get some work done here, and thenshewas even more surprised when I turned up and sat with her.
We’ve been finishing up homework for our respective classes for a while, but I’ve hardly been focusing. Too busy thinking about my application for the SEI and what stage of the process it’s in right now. We handed them in at the end of last week, and even though I’m pretty confident with my references and my portfolio, there’s still that fear that the opportunity might slip right through my hands.
Tiffany was right. Competitionisfierce. NU students make up only a small portion of the amount of students that apply for the program, and there’s a chance that no one from our college could get picked. I’m up against Scarlett, for God’s sake. Her application alone could be enough to sway the judging board to choose her over me.
