Page 59

“You can be offended about it tomorrow. Eat the taco.” I nudge his plate closer to him, and he finally picks up the taco, half the toppings ending up on the plate.

He eats. Mostly. He also asks for more lime wedges and lines them up by size on top of each other before knocking the tower he’s made over. Then he laughs like it’s the best joke ever. A guy at the next table looks over. Quinn waves at him, then looks horrified.

“I don’t wave at strangers.”

I laugh. “You just did.”

“I need to go home before I join a club.”

I pay before he can remember he likes paying, because I asked him here and also because he’s currently trying to dip his debit card in the salsa. I catch his wrist. He stares at my hand like he’s never seen it before.

“Warm,” he announces.

“Yes. Come on, lightweight.”

Getting him out of the booth is an adventure. He stands up fine and then lists into my side like his center of gravity moved to my chest. I get an arm around him, and he makes a pleased noise that I am not going to think about.

“You’re big,” he says into my shoulder.

“You’ve mentioned that before.”

“I like it. That’s new. I used to not like people being bigger because they take up a lot of space. You take up a lot of space, but I don’t mind. I’ve made a mental note about it.”

“Great. Walk.”

Outside the air slaps some of the pink out of his face and then the cold gives it right back. He tips his head up at the streetlights.

“They’re blurry.”

“That’s the tequila plus your glasses are crooked.”

“I like tequila. I didn’t think I would. Wine was terrible. This is…fizzy in my knees.” He stops on the sidewalk so suddenly I have to catch him. “Daniel. Your underwear won.”

I lose it. Right there on Third Street, two blocks from our dorm.

“Batman won,” I correct, wiping my eyes when I can catch my breath. “Give credit where credit is due.”

“I pictured them,” he whispers. “You asked if I would, and I did. During the game. That’s inappropriate. Friends don’t do that.”

Friends also don’t say that out loud to the friend in question, but I’m not correcting him while he’s this soft and bright. I start walking again. He follows, tucked under my arm, talking into my coat.

“Christine knows,” he continues. And I’m not exactly sure what she knows…that he pictured me in my underwear or something else. “She didn’t say it out loud, though. And Vee said I was glowing. I don’t glow. Humans don’t bio-luminesce unless there’s a specific enzyme involved. I checked.”

“Of course you checked.”

“I have a crush on you.”

I miss a step.

He doesn’t notice. He’s watching his own feet like they might not listen to him. “I told myself I could ignore it. But when you waved at me today, my heart did a thing. I don’t know what to do with it. You don’t date. You go out. You kissed someone in Vee’s building. I hid in the laundry room. That was a very bad night. Tonight is a good night, though. I’m not going to think about the laundry room.”

The sidewalk is suddenly too long and not long enough. He saw me kissing someone else. That had to be weeks ago. And he’s been walking around with that in his chest and still tutoring me and sitting in my lap twice a week. I should definitely stop him from any more drunk confessions, he will regret it in the morning. I should say something decent. But I’m drunk on my win and the margarita and the fact that he’s warm against my side, and I do the thing I always seem to do. I make it smaller.

“You’re drunk, brain. Crushes feel huge when you’ve had tequila. Tequila has been known to cause one night stands, and we know how you feel about those. Tomorrow, you’ll have a headache and a very stern opinion about margaritas.”

He hums, unconvinced and cheerful. “Tomorrow, I will still like your face. That’s been consistent for weeks. Consistency is data that can be trusted.”

“Okay.” I swallow. “Dorm. Water. Bed.”