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And…
“We might even be—oof.” Allison’s head slipped from the cold metal bar, cracking her temple against his glasses.
He made a strange noise in his throat, and even from so close up, where they looked as large as planets, and spun just as fast, Allison saw his hazel eyes widen. Her heart stammered in response and, fortified by her drunken state, she said words she didn’t think to regret.
“We might even be a good team.” Like that time they’d line danced. Or those rare moments back in Lit Theory at Brown where they’d worked together to interpret a text rather than try to prove each other wrong.
She’d never know if Colin heard her.
As if in time with the traffic light, his face blanched green, and a painful gurgle sounded in his throat. He swallowed once, hard, his pointed Adam’s apple bobbing.
Allison had enough time to jump to her feet before he vomited all over the balcony. The swift movement sobered her up like all the alcohol had been zapped from her veins. She averted her eyes from the mess beside him and focused on Colin as he groaned.
“I’ll go get you some water and…” She gestured to the ground. “A bucket, I guess.” She was already halfway through the sliding door.
He fumbled around to face her, almost dropping his glasses in the puddle. “You don’t have to take care of me.”
“Yeah, I do. We have a mild truce now, remember?”
She bent to help him scoot back so his spine was set securely against the glass door. As she turned away, his hand caught hers and squeezed.
The touch couldn’t have lasted more than a heartbeat. By the timeshe glanced back, his fingers were folded in his lap and his head was lolled toward the street. But the feel of his skin on hers warmed her palm the whole way through Kara’s apartment, making Allison’s own stomach roil.
Already, she was starting to worry that the promise she and Colin had made to each other would be impossible to keep. How could they ever erase their past when it was so tangled with their present?
Chapter 9
Allison’s phone buzzed beside her as she stared up at the vaulted ceilings of the Edelman dining hall, puzzling out exactly what she’d tell Professor Frances about her first two weeks of teaching.
Assuming it was Sophie or her mom, she swiped it open without glancing at the notification.
Unknown Number: Running late! Be there soon.
Colin.
Allison probably should have added his name to her contacts, but something about “Unknown Number” appealed to her. It suggested he didn’t hold a solid enough place in her world to earn a name. Even if the string of messages they’d shared since Kara’s party contradicted that.
Her finger tapped the screen, bringing up a few older texts.
Unknown Number: I can’t believe I retched all over Kara’s balcony.
Allison Avery: I can’t believe you use the word retch.
Unknown Number: Was it as bad as I remember it?
Allison Avery: It was pretty spectacular.
Allison Avery: Technicolor, like Joseph’s coat.
Allison Avery: “… red and yellow and green and brown… scarlet and black and ochre and peach.…”
Unknown Number: Stop or I will spew (heave? puke? hurl? barf? are any of these better?) again.
Allison Avery: “… and ruby and olive and violet and fawn…”
Unknown Number: STOP. PLEEEAAASSEEE.
Allison’s heart stuttered, and her insides tightened. The same thing had happened the first time she’d read those messages.
