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“I don’t know if I should,” I respond.
“This your sister’s cute friend?” he asks, and my gaze flips from the letter to the man, wondering how the hell he knows. “Steele, you’ve been talking about her since we arrived back here, six months ago.”
Shit. “I have?” How the hell did I not notice that?
“Yup, and isn’t that her picture under the pillow on your bunk?” Damn.
Leaning back in my chair, I try to recall all the times I’ve spoken about Ava, and he’s right, I do talk about her. A lot.
Standing, I stride to my bunk and pull out the picture. The edges are frayed, and the color has faded. Because every damn night, I’m looking at it.
Goddamn. He’s right.
I suppose I have my answer now.
I’m writing Ava back.
What the hell do I say?
Rummaging through my trunk, I find the pictures our unit took last month and pull a couple out. It’s been a long fucking time since I’ve seen Ava in the flesh, and now that I’m romantically thinking about her, I want to make sure I’m clear about my interest.
Pictures will hopefully help.
I include one of my entire unit, one of me and our K-9, and two of me: one shooting at target practice and the other without a shirt, playing a game of basketball.
Shoving the images in the envelope, I stare blankly at the piece of paper, wondering what the fuck I’m supposed to write.
Chapter 3
Ava
Searching through my bag for my keys, I curse myself for taking the extra shift at the coffee shop. It’s dark, cold, and I can smell the rain yearning to fall. But I need the money. Since my parents’ divorce, Mom has been travelling like crazy after selling my childhood home, and Dad has a new girlfriend who’s pregnant.
Sure, college is paid for, my dorm is paid for. Everything is paid for. But I’m left alone, with no family. I work, I study, I go to school. My friends are few and far between.
Heather laughed when I confronted her about my letter to Steele when I realized it was missing the next day. After insulting me about how pathetic I was and telling me what a loser she thought me to be, she then confessed to mailing it. I haven’t spoken to her
since then.
When I moved on campus, I made sure to have all my mail forwarded to the dorms, just in case Steele wrote me back. But it’s been a few months, and I haven’t heard anything from the man. I struggle daily between crushing disappointment, embarrassment, and heartache.
Finally getting the building door open, I slip inside just as the rain lets loose. Unlocking my mailbox, I have junk, bills, and flyers. Exciting, not. The building is quiet and eerie as I climb the three flights to my dorm room. I’m not normally out this late.
Entering my room, which is more like a small apartment because I am fortunate that my dad is loaded, so he made sure I had my own space, at least, before ditching me for the new family. After dropping my mail and keys on the small entrance table, one envelope slips to the ground, and as I close the door with my hip and lean down to pick it up at the same time, I nearly fall on my ass when I see the return address.
Steele wrote me back.
Staggering, I drop onto the couch and stare at the envelope before opening it. A minute ago, I was dead tired; now, I’m wide awake.
Dear Ava,
I realize I wasn’t supposed to see your letter. And you’re likely pissed at Heather for sending it because, let’s face it, we both know she did, but I’m not disappointed.
In fact, I’m the exact opposite.
If you hadn’t written it, if she hadn’t sent it, I wouldn’t have been forced to examine how I felt about you. And, babe, there are some genuine feelings there.
Do you remember the end of the year party Heather threw last summer? You hid in the pool house nearly the entire time, hating that Heath was forcing you to wear that hideous black and green polka dot bikini. Christ, you hated that thing.
