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I like knowing I can still surprise him.
Love knowing I can let go and he’ll be there to catch me.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You don’t ever have to thank me for that. It was my pleasure. Literally.”
I roll my eyes. “Can you be serious for two seconds?”
Holden smirks. “I am. You don’t ever have to thank me, flower. For anything. I’ve got you. Always.” He opens his arms, his smile turning more tender than teasing. “Come here.”
I glance down at my wrinkled shirt. “I need to shower. I smell like tequila.”
“Like I give a shit.” He tugs me closer before I can protest more.
Unlike me, he smells good. Like cinnamon and laundry detergent and woodsy cologne.
“It’ll be okay,” he murmurs.
“I know,” I reply.
My answer is a little more confident than it was yesterday.
My advisor’s office is on the fifth and highest floor of the main science center. It’s a seven-minute trek if you take the stairs or a fifteen-minute wait for the elevator.
I opt for the stairs, hoping if I start sweating it won’t smell like tequila. At least I know I smell fine at the moment. I took a quick but thorough shower as soon as I got back to my apartment, changed into a clean outfit, and then rushed onto campus.
I did stop for an iced coffee. Condensation drips down my fingers as I grip the cold plastic cup, forcing my lungs to take deep breaths as I climb the stairs.
My calves are burning by the time I reach the door with a large number five written on it. The walk down to Professor Miller’s office is familiar. She’s the youngest member of the science faculty and favors a hands-on approach. We’ve met multiple times a semester since I started at Richmond College.
Our meeting today takes longer than usual. Professor Miller runs through all the requirements for every vet school I’m planning to apply to, and we discuss my personal essay at length.
By the time our meeting ends, I’m running late for Genetics. I rush down the hallway, only pausing to toss my empty coffee cup before I head down the stairs. At least my class is in the same building.
When I reach it, the door to the lecture hall is still wide open. I relax slightly, since Professor Cassidy always closes it behind her.
I hurry inside, then skid to a stop.
“What are you doing here?”
Holden is standing at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the stadium-style seating, holding a coffee cup.
He holds it out to me. “Thought you might need this.”
My bloodstream is probably more coffee than cells at this point. Better than tequila, I guess.
I take the cup, smiling at the thoughtful gesture. My cheeks warm from more than exertion as I register all the eyes on us. Professor Cassidy might not be here yet, but most of my classmates are.
And they’realllooking this way.
Not to stereotype, but the sciences aren’t a super popular major at Richmond among athletes. In three plus years of classes, there have only been one or two in mine. I had one class with Holden’s roommate slash teammate Henry, who’s pre-med, freshman year, but our schedules haven’t overlapped since.
Sports are a big deal at Richmond. And Holden’s not just an athlete. He’s the poster boy for the basketball team—literally. His face is plastered all over campus. You’d have to actively avoid any mention of the basketball team—and possibly be blind—to not know who he is.
I might have to move to the back row, just so no one can look at me.
“Thank you,” I say
