Page 71 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

“Wait a second. So you’re saying Rachel is entered. And now I’m here, as her date. And word on the scientific street is I’m the frontrunner, which means by default Rachel is the frontrunner.” I scan the room for my competition, spotting Amy in her green dress, sitting at a table near the cluster of people. Her date is, well, he’s not tall. And he is definitely in over his head because even from across the room I can see the heart shapes in his eyes while he stares at his date.

“Pretty much,” Claire confirms. “But I’m not sure she told you the whole deal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I wave off. “You need to prove you did it. Whatever, that’s . . . I mean, if I need to show people here I will. What’s the pot up to?”

Claire checks her phone.

“You guys have an app for this?” Wow! Beats the group chat and napkin notes the football team uses for the freshmen.

“Uh, yeah,” Claire says with that duh tone.

“Seven five,” she says. And I know from what Amy mentioned that she means seven grand, not seventy-five.

“Hold my bag,” I say, handing the gift to Claire and moving my way through the thinning crowd to Rachel. I step up behind her, my hand light under her elbow. She turns into me, her eyes flickering with that familiar joy I’ve come to recognize every time we’re apart then come back together.

“Congratulations,” I say, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“You came!” She throws her arms around me, her strapless dress accentuating the curves of her shoulders and the crest of her breasts. I’m not the only man in this room who has spent time staring at her upper body, and that includes a few married dudes and so far at least six professors.

“I got done in time. It took . . .” I waggle my head and glance up, “a minor miracle to pull off, but yes. I made it. Your speech was great.”

“Did you say it along with me?”

“Maybe in my head,” I admit.

She picks the award up from the table at her side and hoists it in front of me.

“Watch this,” she says, pressing a button on the side and lighting up the inside of the test tube. I smirk at the novelty.

“It’s a lot cooler than the football plaques. That’s for sure,” I say. I’d still take a bowl ring over this, though. “Hey, mind coming with me for a second?” I take the award from her hands, cradling it to my chest. This sucker is heavy.

“Sure,” she says, her brow raised on one side, her expression curious. I guide her to the far side of the room, and as we close in she realizes what we’re walking into and stops.

“No, no. I told you. I didn’t enter. And really, this thing is embarrassing, and?—”

“You’re going to win,” I cut her off.

Her wide eyes click to mine.

“I’m going to win? How? I didn’t?—”

“Claire,” I explain. She swivels her head and scans the room, spotting Claire, who holds up a thumb.

“She didn’t,” Rachel grumbles.

I tug her hand and draw her back to me.

“She did. But don’t be mad. And did you hear me? You’re going to win.”

Her eyelids lift again, her blinking on hold. I stare into her pupils, watching as they stretch and shrink as if she’s a computer calculating what all of this means.

“It’s almost enough,” I add.

She starts to shake her head, so I place my palm on her cheek to hold it still.

“It’s almost enough. I want you to promise me you’ll go.”

She has to. Not getting to study in Germany was a blow to her passion. If my knee hadn’t healed, I would have been in the exact same emotional, sinking boat. I can’t imagine not getting the chance to try.

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