Page 28 of Safe Place

“You’re right,” she says lightly. “It’s the pillow. Definitely the pillow.” She lets out that sexy moan again, lying her head on it.

“Then let’s test that theory. See what it is exactly that’d make you stay.”

Her gaze locks on mine, and I don’t break contact.

“I'm kidding,” I say, but it’s not true.

“I know,” she says. A beat too long passes before either of us looks away.

I’ve never had a girl in this room. Not even for a second. It’s always been mine—private, quiet, untouched. My sanctuary.

But right now, I can’t imagine anyone else fitting into it the way she does.

NINE

People might start thinking we’re a thing if you

keep wearing my clothes

SOPHIE

Lately, I’ve been sleeping better, which is surprising, considering what happened with Carter not too long ago. But I don’t jolt awake as often, and when I do, the knot in my chest doesn’t feel so tight. I can actually breathe. It’s almost unsettling in a way, to feel calm when my body’s trained itself to expect the opposite. But the side effect of sleeping better is, unfortunately, oversleeping.

I’m half-jogging across campus, my backpack bouncing against my spine and sneakers scuffing the pavement, completely undignified. I barely had time to tug a random crewneck over my head before running out the door. No makeup, hair in a simple low ponytail, and no breakfast. Just a sweatshirt, jeans, and the faint hope my professor won’t notice me slipping in late again.

By the time I slide into a seat at the back of class, my pulse is still racing. The windows are wide open, gray clouds hanging heavy over campus. They look swollen and ready to burst. Great. I didn’t even glance at the forecast before rushing out. Of course today would be the day I don’t have an umbrella—or even a hoodie to cover my head from the rain.

When class ends, I head toward the doors with every intention of taking some time to study at the library before my next class. Somewhere halfway through the lecture I heard the first drops of rain hit the windowsill. But the library is only across the quad. A minute if I run, maybe two at most. I'll get a little wet, but I'll survive.

When I push open the doors, it's not sprinkling. It's pouring. Sheets of rain come down so hard they bounce off the pavement. Students huddle under overhangs, clutching umbrellas. Others sprint into the storm, shrieking and laughing like it's fun.

I wish I had that luxury. I'm on campus all day, and if I soak through my clothes this early I'll be miserable for every hour of the rest of the day.

I hesitate, calculating the distance, chewing the inside of my cheek. I can make it if I run. My bag’s water-resistant enough. My sweatshirt? Not so much. My hair will be dripping wet. But I have no choice.

I’m about to step forward anyway when I spot a familiar figure across the way, exiting the library. Even from here, I recognize him instantly—the way his shoulders square, confident without even trying.

I’m seeing Micah more often than I should. And I’m definitely happier to see him than I should be.

There’s a girl beside him. She’s tall, with long brown hair and bright blue eyes that I can see even from here. She’s very pretty—effortlessly so. And of course she is. All the girls Micah seems to be associated with are. Like Ella—outwardly beautiful, at least. Seeing them together does something uncomfortable to my chest. I get a quiet, unwanted realization I don't particularly want to acknowledge. Of course that's the kind of girl he's used to having around.

She’s tucked close to him, under a black umbrella he’s angled more toward her than himself, making sure she’s fully covered while his own shoulder takes the rain.

And I accept that this isn’t something he does just for me. The care, the instinct to shield, to look after—it’s embedded in him. It’s how he moves through the world. He’s kind to everyone. Thoughtful with everyone. I shouldn’t take it to heart. Shouldn’t mistake it for something meant just for me.

They look like a couple pulled straight out of a rom-com, framed perfectly by the rain, laughing about something.

Then his gaze lifts. Somehow, impossibly, he spots me across the storm.

He slows, says something to her, a quick smile and a goodbye I can’t hear. He hands her the umbrella, then pulls the hood of his windbreaker over his head. And then he’s moving—jogging straight toward me through the downpour, long strides eating up the distance between us. The rain soaks him, but he doesn’t seem to care.

My stomach betrays me and flips again.

By the time he reaches me, his hair is damp at the edges, drops of water sliding down his jaw. He looks maddeningly unbothered.

“You weren’t seriously about to run in that, were you?” His voice is half amusement, half reprimand.

“Maybe.” I hug my arms around myself. “Well, you did.”