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My heart leaps with excitement. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I can't help but gush.
In a gruff tone, he responds, "Really, it's no problem."
"Well, it means a lot to me," I chirp, feeling my cheeks flush with gratitude.
"Don't overthink it." He quickly looks over at me, running a hand through his still-wet hair.
My smile falls and he curses. "Fuck I didn't mean it like that."
I try to hide my disappointment and force a wobbly smile. "It's okay."
He barks, "It's not okay."
"Really, it's f-fine. I shouldn't have said anything. I was being a lot."
"Stop." He takes a deep breath and exhales before continuing. "I didn't mean it in a bad way. I want to take you, and I'm glad it makes you happy."
"Oh," I whisper, feeling a mix of relief and confusion.
"Yeah, oh."
"Sorry."
His jaw works back and forth harshly before he finally tells me, his voice softening, "Don't be. You shouldn't be sorry because you didn't do anything wrong."
I nod absentmindedly, my gaze drifting to the window. I'm eager to catch a glimpse of the dorms and see if we're getting closer. Unfortunately, it seems we still have a few minutes before we arrive.
Coughing to recapture my attention, Lincoln leans in and says, "I remember we talked about hanging out the other night, but we never really made any plans. Are you still up for it?"
I divert my eyes from the window and back to him, even though we're now pulling into the dorm parking lot. "Well, we're hanging out right now," I say, a little lamely. I don't want him to feel obligated to spend time with me, especially after the awkward encounter on the train.
He persists, "I don't have a game this Saturday, and practice is in the morning."
Trying to steer the conversation away from the trainwreck, I reply, "That sounds nice, having a day off on the weekend."
I'm relieved that my response seems to work as a good conversational pivot. Keeping my composure has been a challenge since my visit to Lane's office earlier, and I've been teetering on the edge of panic.
However, Lincoln doesn't let me dodge the subject. "Yeah, so this weekend," he insists. "You and me?"
It's now or never.
"Um, uh, yes," I stutter.
"Saturday?" He asks, his voice laden with anticipation.
I nod slowly, feeling a rush of nervous energy. "Yes, Saturday."
Is he being deliberately vague, or am I just overthinking it? A friend's hangout, he asked to hang out. That's perfectly normal, right?
But we also crossed that precarious line between friendship and something more when we went out last week.
Why can't I muster the courage to ask him outright?
I recall my conversation with my brother last night. He called me a weakling. It was in jest, but it struck a chord. Maybe there's some truth in it.
As I sit in the car, my heart races, and I sneak a peek at the front doors. There, Leia waits for me. Relief washes over me. I've never been more grateful. My legs feel like jelly, and the comfort of my own bed beckons.
I'm about to spend time with Lincoln. Alone. On a date.
