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If this is a taste of this summer, I’m going to need to adjust my expectations. When I’m the graduate student in charge of undergrads, I’m going to be a hell of a lot nicer. We’re all colleagues, after all.
I stare at my computer, but I’m all keyed up now. My mind doesn’t want to focus. I rub the burn over my knuckles. It’s nothing bad, no blistering, but the slight ache reminds me of Sebastian. Our meal last night was nice, at least until it wasn’t. I can still hear his quiet voice, telling me goodnight.
What did he tell me in that voice, once upon a time?
Good girl, Mia Angel.
Project GOSMC has been an utter failure so far.
I don’t understand his obsession with wanting to make sure we’re friends. Friends is a label too, a promise of something I’m not sure I’m going to be able to keep. Shouldn’t he hate me, anyway? I ghosted him. I went back on my word. He has every right to be the one shuttingmeout, and instead, the past few days have been filled with his presence.
My phone lights up by my elbow, and even though I should ignore it, I can’t help but pick it up when I notice the name.
Sebastian
Heading to the grocery store after the game
Want anything?
I’ll get more of that oat milk you like
I think I’m going to make chicken scarpariello for dinner
Just some protein bars, thanks. I can pay you back
Those aren’t a meal, di Angelo
Do you like my gift?
???
Connor, another graduate student in the lab, calls, “Someone just dropped off a package for you, Mia.”
What did you do?
Sebastian chooses that moment to stop responding, so with a sigh, I haul myself up from my worktable. There’s a shoebox on an unused desk by the door, cluttered with papers and an old model of the solar system.
Alice raises an eyebrow as she passes by. “It’s not the journal proofs Beatrice is waiting on, right?”
There’s a note stuck to the top. Sebastian’s scrawl. “Nope. It’s for me.”
“Let me know when those come in,” she says, taking a sip from her thermos. She disappears into her office, humming something horribly off-tune. Despite her attitude, I do admire her, but her focus on artistry instead of hard data is annoying. There’s a reason why her code is messy—she doesn’t pay attention to the right details.
Connor peers at the shoebox, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Who is S?”
“No one.” I take the box to my desk. It’s obvious that shoes are inside, and judging by the size of the box…
I set the note aside, taking the top off the box. As I expected, a pair of black suede boots, identical to the ones I had to throw away, lay nestled in the tissue paper. I check the size automatically. Eight. They’re going to fit perfectly.
I put the lid back on and turn to the note.
Hey, di Angelo —
You can’t be a warrior without the proper armor.
-S
P.S. The ticket for Wednesday night’s game is under ‘Princess Leia.’
