Page 57 of Level Up for Love

Something in my chest seizes, and it’s not the familiar grip of panic. It’s too warm.

Finally, I see Mona hunched on the curb next to where Wesley stands, her right leg extended before her. I approach at a fast clip, and my tone is snappier than it needs to be. “Hey.” I pause, take a breath; it doesn’t help. “What happened?”

“I sprained it.” Mona sighs. “I slipped during class. I’ll be fine, but I can’t drive.”

I look down to where her ankle is swollen and red. It’s nothing, I try to tell my heart, which thuds at a frantic pace inside my rib cage. See?

I force a laugh, and it comes out a little high-pitched. “Why didn’t you just say so, Mona?”

She groans. “There was so much happening, my class was all worried, I just—I got overwhelmed. I’m sorry.”

“Did you call Shay?”

Weirdly, her eyes jump away from mine. “I think she’s at office hours for something.”

For the first time, I turn to Wesley, who shields himself from the cold with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He flashes me a quick smile. “I’m glad it’s not too serious,” he says.

“Me, too. Thanks for coming anyway.” For once, I don’t try to bite back the warmth and relief in my voice.

“Want help getting her into the car?”

“That would be great, actually.”

With only a bit of awkward maneuvering, we manage to get Mona standing, and we brace her on either side with our arms tucked under her shoulders. I curl my arm around Mona’s waist to keep her steady, and I’m hyperaware of where Wesley’s skin, chilled from the wind, touches mine—his knuckles brush against my side with each of Mona’s hop-steps to my car.

“I’m sorry,” Mona whines again once we get her situated in my car. She’s looking at Wesley, her eyebrows bunched in an apologetic knot. “I’m going to make you late to the game and everything.”

Wesley shoves his hands as deep into his pockets as they’ll go. My fingers are freezing, too, and I huddle next to the open passenger door to block some of the wind. “I’ve already canceled it,” he says.

Mona winces. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“We’re not going to play without you two,” he says gently. “And Arthur wouldn’t mind having more time to finish the skeleton circle before the party tomorrow.”

I blink. “The what?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Mona releases a dramatic sigh and sheepishly drops her gaze from Wesley’s face—then freezes. Her lips twist into a puzzled smile. “I have that shirt,” she says suddenly. “Mine’s pink, though. Have you been?”

Wesley looks down at his chest. In slow motion, his expression shifts from confusion to mild horror and gets stuck there, his lips half parted and his eyebrows so high they nearly float off his forehead. I’m fairly certain it’s not the wind that turns his cheeks pink.

“I have not,” he finally says.

I look to his shirt, and my eyes go wide. Much of the color has leached out since I last saw it, but even though the logo has faded, I can still make out the familiar words.

Miami Dice.

Mona cheerfully carries on. “You have one, too, don’t you, Rea?”

It’s like I can hear the gears in my head clicking faster and faster as I do the math.

“…I did.”

The beat of silence bounces between the three of us, like a hot potato no one’s willing to catch. Then the realization hits Mona with a start. She presses her hand to her mouth just as I extend my pointer finger toward her, trying to preemptively cut off any smart remarks.

It doesn’t work. Mona begins to giggle through her fingers. “Oh shit—”

I spare enough of a glance to make sure all her limbs are tucked safely inside the car before I shove the passenger door shut.