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I run my hand through my hair, resisting the urge to tug at it in frustration. “You’re not the first person to give me unsolicited advice about this.” Annoyance sparks in my chest when I think about Brantley’s comment at lunch today.
“And I’m sure I won’t be the last. But the difference between me and Brantley is I actually know Charlie, so I would hope my advice carries more weight.”
I eye her pleading expression, knowing she’s probably right.
“Why don’t you talk to Trey about this, anyway? He’s your best friend, and he’s arguably closer to Charlie than I am.”
“He already knows everything—we’re on the same page about where we want to be. I’m just trying to work through some guilt.”
“Charlie told me some of it, but do you care to elaborate?”
“Not really. But I fucked up, and it’s hard for me to accept that I’m deserving of love, as lame as that sounds.”
Flowers steps closer, her eyes softening. “I give you a lot of shit, Evans, but you really have a soft, gooey center, don’t you?”
I give her a dark look. “Only for Trey and Charlie. Don’t tell anyone though. I have a reputation to uphold.”
Flowers giggles. “God, the hold she has on you two. I hope I can pussy-whip two guys someday—especially stubborn assholes like you and Trey. Frankly, it’s impressive.”
I give her a deadpan look.
There’s a quick knock, and then Flowers’s door flies open. We jump apart reflexively, looking guilty as shit despite our innocent rendezvous.
“Sorry, Fi, I know you said ten minutes, but the dining hall was out of…” Charlie’s eyes narrow when she sees me standing there.
Every muscle in my body tightens, screaming at me to run, but I stand my ground.
Confusion clouds Charlie’s features. “Link, what’re you doing here?” Then her eyes widen, and I swear their color darkens from meadow green to haunted forest black. “Wait, are you two…”
Flowers and I glance at each other, and then we simultaneously understand what she’s inferring, and we step apart, as if distance itself can exonerate us.
“No!”
“Ew!”
I glare at Flowers. “Ew? Really?”
“What? You’re not my type.”
“I’m sorry? Tall, dark, and fuckably handsome isn’t your type?”
“More like, I don’t fuck guys in love with my best friend.”
“Okay, fine. Fair point,” I concede. And then I wince when I realize what I implied.
I turn to stare at Charlie. Her pink lips are parted, and they’re a stark contrast with her skin, which is sheet white as she gazes at me. I glance down and see she’s wearing my gray Whitmore U hoodie, and a tickle of what can only be described as butterflies erupts in my stomach. Her dark hair is pulled back into two long braids, and my fingers twitch with the urge to pull on them playfully. She looks like she’s holding her breath, and I wonder if she’s about to have a panic attack.
“Sunshine? Are you okay?”
She takes a shuddering breath and blinks rapidly as she looks away. I get the distinct impression she’s fighting tears, and it shreds my already bloodied heart just a little more.
She clears her throat. “I’m okay,” she says quietly before looking at Flowers, who gives her a warm smile. “I’m sorry,” Charlie says. “You both just looked so guilty, so I thought maybe…”
“It’s okay,” Flowers says. “I totally get it.” She walks forward and loops her arm through Charlie’s. “C’mon, girl. Lincoln was just leaving,right?”
Then she leads Charlie out of the room before I can respond, glaring at me darkly over her shoulder.
CHARLIE
