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“See you later, Rylan,” she tells me, then scurries off.
I remain in place, resisting the urge to play with my hair or fiddle with the zipper of my jacket.
I’ve started putting more effort into my Tuesday outfits and stopped changing into sweats after my last class of the day. Today, I’m wearing my tightest pair of skinny jeans tucked into boots and a knit sweater that I bought in Scotland.
Aidan’s eyes skim over my outfit as he nears, but there’s no change in his expression.
He looks…subdued, wearing joggers, a gray Holt Hockey sweatshirt, and an exhausted expression. Even with dark circles under his eyes, he’s annoyingly gorgeous.
Without asking, I know his trip home went as poorly as he expected it would go.
“Hey,” I say when he reaches me.
He clears his throat. “Hey.”
“Kinda busy down here. You good going upstairs again?”
“Sure.”
Neither of us says a word as we walk over to the elevator.
I press the button, then chew on the inside of my cheek as I wait for the doors to open.
It’s all fizzing inside of me—everything I was trying to feel over the weekend. I went out on Saturday night, taking advantage of knowing Aidan was in another state and there was no risk of running into him at a party.
Talked to a dozen guys.
Kissed one.
Went home alone.
And part of me has been in denial since Thursday night, thinking my reactions to Aidan at the bar and in his car were because of the booze.
But I’m stone cold sober now.
He’s not looking at me. Not talking to me. I’m not even sure if he’s happy to see me.
And it feels like fireworks are going off inside of me. Like the nerves under my skin are raw and exposed. Like my deep, even breaths aren’t pulling in enough air.
My heartbeat is erratic, my palms sweaty.
Basically, I’m a mess.
At least Aidan appears oblivious to it. He waits for me to stepinto the elevator first, presses five, and then goes back to staring into space.
As soon as the elevator doors close, I ask, “How was the trip home?”
Partly to distract myself from the way my body’s freaking out about being this close to him again. Mostly because I really want to know.
He sighs, cracking his knuckles. “Shitty. Highlight was the open bar and the view. My folks rented out a restaurant right on the water.”
“Was it sunny?”
“Yeah. Weather was good.”
Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t—
“Your ex was…there?”
