“Yeah.” I kissed his neck. “Too bad they’re upstairs…”
* * *
We settled on my bed, backs against the wall with my laptop balanced on Nick’s knees and the Tupperware of goodies between us. His drenched Barbour was draped over my desk chair, and he’d shaken his hair like a golden retriever. I kept combing my fingers through his curls. Nick’s hair always got super curly when it rained.
“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this,” he said through a mouthful of pretzels and chocolate. “It’s a classic.”
Ever since Nick had revealed his love for Sweet Home Alabama, we’d talked about our favorite rom-coms, and he’d been shocked to learn that I had no idea who Nancy Meyers was. “Are you serious?” he’d asked, eyes wide. “Nancy Meyers? She directed The Parent Trap?”
“Well, yeah,” I said. “Of course I’ve seen that. The girls who feud at summer camp before discovering they’re twins, and then switch places to meet their other parent?” I smirked. “They also happen to be redheads…”
He chuckled. “Right, exactly.” He nodded, then cleared his throat. “Now how about The Holiday?”
I’d given him a blank look.
So now the opening credits were rolling on this 2006 movie where two women, Amanda and Iris, swap houses for Christmas to escape their guy problems.
“Oh, wow,” I said when Amanda’s sweeping California property came on-screen. A gorgeous white mansion that sparkled in the sunlight. The complete opposite of gloomy Bexley. “I’d give anything to be there right now.”
“Me too.” Nick wrapped his arm around me. I leaned into him, feeling his lungs expand and contract. “I first watched this movie with my mom,” he said a while later. “It was on when I had the flu once, and then rom-coms became our thing whenever I was home sick from school. She’s the one who introduced me to Sweet Home Alabama too.”
It took me a second to respond. I didn’t know what to say. Nick and his mom watching rom-coms on the couch together?
Cutest thing ever.
But Nick misinterpreted my silence. “Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “I know it sounds gay. Like, really gay.”
“No,” I said quickly, trying not to wince at his words. “No, it doesn’t, Nick. It’s sweet…”
My eyes drifted away from the screen and over to my chaise. Or, as Luke called it, the therapy couch. Where he’d been sitting several hours ago, where he’d told me something so special…
Before I knew it, the fictional Iris and Amanda had swapped back houses after finding both self-love and true love. “Good, right?” Nick asked once the credits rolled.
“Absolutely.” I nodded and kissed him. “I loved it.” The fact that Amanda had ended up with Iris’s brother was not lost on me. “An oldie but a goodie.”
Nick grinned. “Told you.”
“You did,” I said softly, eyes going back to the therapy couch, but no longer thinking of Luke.
“Hey.” Nick shut my laptop. “Where are you? It’s like you’re interstellar.”
Interstellar was Nick-speak for spacing out.
“Oh, um, sorry,” I said, and blinked a few times. “I was thinking about Charlie.”
“Charlie?”
I plastered on a smile. “Yeah, tonight. It’s just hitting me, how incredible he was.” Charlie’s Prince Charming had been larger than life onstage, so great that Reese remarked: “I will deny this later, but I seriously want to push him up against a wall and kiss his face off.”
He’d cast a spell on everyone.
Nick nodded slowly, and only once. Now he’d gone interstellar.
“Everything good?” I asked.
“Don’t let him under your covers again,” he murmured.
I cocked my head. “Huh?”
Nick shut his eyes. “Please don’t let Charlie in your bed again. Like you told me earlier.” His throat bobbed. “If it’s just going to be us…”
“Don’t worry.” I laughed and waved him off. It was all I could think to do. “You seriously have nothing to worry about. He needed a hiding spot, that’s it.”
I caught Nick throw a glance toward my overflowing closet, as if say, Well, isn’t that a perfectly good spot?
No, I thought, heart beginning to race. Nobody should have to hide in there.
Nick missed my drift, saying, “Actually, I take that back. I bet that’d be pretty difficult.” He chuckled. “You have so much stuff in there!”
I tried to laugh along. “Yeah, yeah, I’m a total hoarder.”
He wrapped me in his arms. “I better go.”
“No, don’t.” I buried my face in his chest and hugged him tight.
Nick squeezed me tighter, lifting me off the floor. Tears suddenly welled up—it had become so hard recently, saying good night to him. Always, I thought. I want to be with him always.
But a minute later, he was zipping up his raincoat. “So I have a question,” he said as I straightened his collar. “Do you want to go to homecoming together?”
My hand immediately dropped down to my side, and I sucked in a breath, hoping to god he didn’t hear it.
He did. “I know we’re not—”
“No, it’s not that,” I said quickly. “It’s just, Charlie’s always my date to homecoming.”
“But he’s still with Val.”
“Well, yeah,” I said. “But he’ll break up with her before then.” Granted, Charlie hadn’t told me told me, but I knew he would. We’d gone to homecoming together every year.
“Oh…okay.” Nick glanced toward my bed, pillows and blankets everywhere. Please don’t let Charlie in your bed again. My heart plummeted. He still didn’t believe me, and I wasn’t sure what else I could say to make him believe me. I was worried only Charlie could do that.
Someday, I hoped. Someday.
“Feel free to take someone else,” I added. “You know, if you want to.”
“Do you actually mean that?” he asked.
“Yes!” I tried to sound upbeat. “I totally don’t mind if you take a date.”
“Do I need your, uh, approval for whoever I ask?”
I shook my head, even though my mind went to Emma Brisbane, and the idea of Nick with his arm around her… “No, Nick,” I said. “Of course you don’t!”
Then after successfully sneaking him back downstairs, I let him pull me outside and kiss me in the rain.
Sparks fly, I thought, while at the same time a creepy feeling formed in the pit of my stomach. Sage, what’s happening? You’re going to end up doing exactly as Charlie predicted back on the beach.
Chapter 12
Charlie
The musical’s after-party was seniors only. Despite the serious rain, Greer and the guys and I met up at the baseball field around 11:00 p.m., armed with Gatorade and Grey Goose. “Mikey never disappoints!” Josh Dennings said, pulling down two handles of vodka from the dugout’s rafters.
Mikey was this guy who worked for Bexley’s Building and Grounds crew, and it was no secret that if students wanted something—alcohol, pot, etc.—he would get it for us. So far, I’d only visited him once this year, my inner pirate requesting some Bacardi. “Charlie,” he’d said, giving me a fist bump. “I was wondering when I was gonna see you, man. How you been?”
I mixed the drinks, spilling Josh’s Grey Goose into everyone’s orange-flavored Gatorade and then advising people to shake well before sipping. Or in Greer’s case, chugging.
“Oh, man,” Josh said. “Cinderella’s come to play!”
Then we all followed her, to prove that we too were capable of greatness. I killed my bottle first and chucked it at the dugout’s concrete floor. Victory is mine!
“Okay, okay, Charlie,” Greer said later, when she was halfway through another screwdriver. “I want to know the truth.” She sighed. “Why did it never happ
en between us? You can’t deny it, we’re so good together.”
I shrugged as I topped off my drink again. And then while Samir Khan and Josh argued over whether or not the rafters were strong enough to be used as a jungle gym, I began humming “Come and Get Your Love.” A sign that I needed to slow down, because whenever I got really drunk, I acted like it was my own personal karaoke night. The last time Sage’s ringtone went off, it was a voice memo of my latest performance. I’d groaned, but Sage cracked up. “I’ll have to get Reese to send me the video,” she said. “None of us knew you were so good at flipping your hair!”
“Please tell me, Charlie,” Greer whined again.
“You know I’m with Val,” I said.
“But—”
Josh cut her off. “Greer, why do you even want to be with Charlie? I don’t understand the hype.” He looked at me. “No offense, dude.”
I rolled my eyes. “For the record, Dennings, a lot of people swoon over my dashing good looks and think I’m wickedly funny.”
Greer giggled. “Exactly.”
Josh sighed. “Yeah, fine, but you’re forgetting about…”
“The Sage factor,” Samir supplied.
“Right,” Josh said. “Right!”
Greer looked confused. “Huh?”
I kept drinking while they explained. “If you were to date Charlie,” Samir said, “you would always be second place to Sage. Just like every single girl he’s been with has. They’ve known each other their whole lives, and yeah, they might say they’re”—he made air quotes—“‘just friends,’ but we all know it’s going to be more than that someday. It’s, like, inevitable.”
“Uh-huh.” Josh nodded. “That’s why things pretty much end after a month. Because nobody can compare to Sage Morgan.”
“Wow,” I said, in this bored voice. “That’s quite the theory.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Samir asked.
I shrugged, hoping they didn’t notice me strangling my almost-empty plastic bottle. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
The guys laughed, and I drained my drink. Greer spoke then, with that melodramatic sigh: “I think you should go for it, Charlie. Go tell Sage how you feel. Live happily ever after!”
I rose from the bench and made sure I had my balance before trying to walk. Luckily the world wasn’t totally spinning yet. “Thanks, Greer,” I said, locating my backpack. “It means a lot.” I turned to Samir and Josh. “Make sure she gets back to Simmons okay.”
Josh took a step toward me. “Hey, we didn’t mean anything by it, Charlie.”
“Yeah,” Samir added. “We just think you’d be good together, that’s all.”
I nodded. “I gotta go.”
* * *
It didn’t occur to me until I was pounding up the stairs that I had no idea where Luke’s room was…because I had never been there before. Second floor or third? I debated, stopping halfway up to the second for a breather. I’d somehow run most of the way back to main campus and now was feeling sort of dizzy. Not to mention, sopping wet from the rain. My stomach was also churning, but I didn’t want to think about that.
Third floor, I decided. PGs usually lived on the top floor, in the unclaimed rooms from the room lottery the spring before. I remembered Jack being completely stoked about how he’d gotten first pick; he ended up choosing some room on the second floor with a private bathroom. “I’m living large now, Chuck!” he’d declared. “It’s triple the size of our freshman room!”
It also didn’t occur to me that Luke’s door might be locked. I found his room about three-quarters of the way down the third-floor hallway, once my eyes focused in on his nameplate:
Luke Morrissey
Postgraduate
Grosse Pointe, Michigan
Although, the postgraduate part had been crossed out; instead, there was SUPER SENIOR written in chicken scratch off to the side. I shook my head, knowing it wasn’t Luke’s handwriting. Luke had nice handwriting, interesting handwriting. Half cursive, half print. I suddenly wondered what my name would look like in his handwriting. Charles Christopher Carmichael, I thought to myself, and then promptly grappled for his doorknob and heaved my shoulder into the door. But I went nowhere; it was locked. “No…” I whispered.
“Hello?” Luke called from inside.
“It’s me!” I responded.
A beat later, I heard the click of the door unlocking, and then Luke was in front of me.
“I have something for you!” I blurted before he could say anything.
He let me inside. “What is it?”
“A souvenir,” I answered, now unzipping my backpack. I pulled out my quarter-zip and unwrapped it, revealing my Prince Charming crown. It was gold and silver, and I was a thief because it was against the rules to take anything from the costume shop. But whatever, I thought. What’s done is done. When I moved to give it to Luke, I laughed. He was wearing my blue Survivor bandanna, which I’d given him over a month ago for that dance.
Face on fire, he quickly ripped the thing off, messing up his hair. I quickly smoothed it back down, realizing he must’ve taken a shower recently. It was soft and damp, and the air smelled like peppermint. “Did you steal this?” he whispered as I crowned him.
I smirked. “Did you think I was good?”
“Yes.” He didn’t blink. “Magnetic.”
I laughed again and put my hands on his shoulders. Thin, I thought, feeling his bones through his T-shirt. But perfect. Then I started to run my hands down his arms, touching his warm skin. The vodka made this so easy, no longer a dream. “I almost forgot them,” I murmured.
Luke shivered. “What? Your lines?”
I closed my eyes and nodded. “Right when I came onstage. I saw you, wearing the sweatshirt…”
I trailed off; he was now combing his fingers through my slick hair—gently, slowly, agonizingly.
“The sweatshirt…?” he asked.
“Right.” I felt goose bumps on the back of my neck. I licked my lips and kept my eyes shut. “The gray sweatshirt, with the black Adidas logo on the front.” I paused. “The one you left in my room the first weekend.”
“Yeah, that sounds vaguely familiar.” Luke laughed, and I opened my eyes to see him smiling at me. My heart squirmed.
You could do it, I realized, body quaking. You could just lean forward and kiss him.
So I sort of did—or started to, at least. Luke took a few steps backward, putting several feet between us. I released a deep breath and watched as he reached up and adjusted the crown. “Do you want a glass of water?” he asked, and then gestured to the Keurig on top of his mini fridge. “Or maybe some coffee?”
I coughed. “No, why?”
Luke looked at the floor. “You’re drunk.”
“No, I’m not,” I lied.
“Yeah, you are,” he said, kneeling to open the fridge. I noticed his pants right then: red-and-black plaid pajama bottoms. Shit, I thought, connecting the sight of Luke in pajamas to bedtime, and then bedtime to curfew. What time was it?
I fumbled around in my pocket for my phone and jolted: 11:56 p.m. I had four minutes. “I have to go,” I told Luke when he handed me a water bottle.
He nodded. “Okay.”
I didn’t move.
Luke cut his eyes toward the closed door. The hallway was far from silent: footsteps, laughter, shouting. Everyone coming back for the night. He cleared his throat. “You’re going to be late.”
“I know,” I said, voice sounding distorted. I could hear the blood pumping through my ears. “I just…”
One of Luke’s eyebrows quirked up. I’m listening.
I swallowed. “You aren’t interested in Nina, right?”
He shook his head.
“Or anyone else?”
“I don’t know, maybe.” He
crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you care?”
Everything in me lurched, and I opened my mouth to respond, but someone banging on the door stopped me. “Poker in Brewster’s room, Morrissey!” a guy shouted. “Two minutes!”
I glanced at my phone again: 11:58 p.m.
Chapter 13
Sage
It rained Sunday too, and the sky was still ominously cloudy when Charlie and I ran on Monday morning. “Slow down!” I shouted once he pulled ahead of me. I could see our puffs of breath in the air.
“‘Winter is coming,’” Nick would’ve quoted.
“Sorry, sorry.” He held back so I could catch up. Our paces were far from in sync, and I knew what that meant—he had something to say, or I had something to say, or both.
Both, I thought, since my secret was swirling inside me, and Charlie was running like something was chasing him.
So I tested the waters. “Is anything wrong?”
He thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“You preoccupied with something?” I rephrased.
“Should I break up with Val?” he asked.
“Oh,” I said, and did the mental math. Four weeks, I surmised. That sounded about right.
“There’s nothing there,” he said flatly.
“Then break up with her.”
He nodded, speeding up again. I pumped my arms harder to stay with him.
“You know, I know someone who’s interested…” I teased, mind half elsewhere. Because someone definitely was. He’d told me, right after the musical.
Charlie gave me a look. “And who would that be?”
I bit down hard on my lip. Shit. My hands were tied, remembering that Luke trusted me not to say anything. I couldn’t, wouldn’t out him. No freaking way.
My genius comeback was: “Guess!”
Charlie chuckled. “Erica Lee?”
“No.”
“Hannah Rogers?”
“Um, not sure…”
How do I get out of this? I worried while Charlie rattled off a few more names. Lie?
But then suddenly, the truth arrived. Literally. “Sorry I’m late,” Luke said, catching up to us. He yawned. “Alarm didn’t go off…”
If We Were Us Page 11
