Page 29 of Any Port in a Storm

Oblivious to any sort of subtext, Sam grins. “Yeah, you too.” He turns to face me. “Laurel, I’ve been meaning to ask you if you wanted to join our study group. We meet on Tuesdays after class at the library.”

“Oh,” I say, suddenly feeling very flustered indeed. “Um, maybe?”

“It’s Dave Markham and me, and the girls from the back lab table—Linda and Sarah and Krissy,” he continues. “We’ve been prepping for that big unit test together.”

I have been finding physics a bit of a challenge. All through high school, I did quite well in my science classes, but Physics 101 is a different animal entirely. It’s as much math as anything else, and I’m pretty solidly a humanities girl.

“That could be good,” I agree. “Want to text me the details?”

It hits as soon as the words are out that it might sound like I’m flirting with him, but Sam doesn’t seem to mind, because he’s already whipping out his phone. “Yeah, totally. Here, add your number.”

Nick pulls out his own phone and busies himself with a text message.

I’ll have to apologize to him later.

I add my number to Sam’s phone and hand it back to him. “I appreciate it,” I say. “It’ll be great to have someone to study with.”

Sam shoots me an incredibly charming grin. “I’m glad you’re going to join us.”

I try to return the expression, but it feels forced. Sam is exactly my type—tall and built and brunette—and, under any other circumstance, I might really enjoy flirting with him. But here, with Nick, even talking to Sam feels like a transgression of the highest order.

“I could definitely use the help,” I say in a measured tone.

“Cool. I guess I’ll see you there, then!” Sam waves and heads back to a group of rowdy hockey players who are doing shots off the bar.

“Sorry about that,” I mutter, reaching for Nick again even though the slow song we were dancing to is over.

“You should ask him to dance.” Nick takes a step back and nods toward Sam.

“Oh,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “No, that’s okay.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m here with you.” I squeeze his hand.

He looks down. “Yeah, but you seem interested in Sam. And I’m just your stodgy, much-older friend. I don’t want you to miss out on the great love of your life.”

I snort. “I doubt Sam is the great love of my life. And anyway, you’re only three years older than me.”

“Ah, but I have the wisdom of the ages.”

“Oh, Nicholas.” I pat his head, silently pleading with him to let this go. “I’m fine just hanging out with you tonight.”

“Laurel.” His tone slides into something deeper; more earnest. “I don’t want to hold you back. You deserve to be happy.”

Looking at him now, I’m struck by the overwhelming desire to tell him—that I am happy; that he makes me happy. That whatever we are, or aren’t, to each other, I’m okay to live in that limbo. That this is all I need.

But before I can say anything, Nick speaks again, softly, as if he’s afraid to shatter something fragile. “We’re just friends, Laurel. You should dance with him.”

My heart executes a perfect triplet of palpitations. “I⁠—”

Nick gently nudges me forward. “It’s okay. Just go. I’ll hang out here until you’re ready to leave.”

“But you’re my date.”

He shakes his head. “Yeah, but I’m not your boyfriend. You don’t have to worry about me.”

The words reverberate through me, a deep, thrumming ache. I’m not your boyfriend. I blink hard, willing myself not to cry. So what if I was about to confess my feelings? So what if I’d heard Grace’s words and was starting to believe them?