Page 24 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

Logan holds up a palm for me to high five, and I slap his hand. Before we part, though, he grabs hold, and his fingers suddenly weave between mine. He coaxes my hand down to rest on his thigh, and my gaze follows, my mouth hung open as he flips my palm over and runs his thumb along the vein in my wrist. I’m sure it’s pulsing like the heart of a baby bird. He must feel it.

“Dude! No weights tomorrow morning, bitches!” Deep and bellowing voices fill the house, breaking the magic. Logan’s on his feet in less than a second, his brow pinched and shoulders raised.

“What part of I’m studying with Rachel so try to be chill did you miss?” he scolds. Four guys pour into the kitchen, filling the space instantly with their presence and sucking up every last breathable molecule. Oh, wait, nope. That’s just me hyperventilating.

“Oh, yeah. I know, and hi, Rachel!” The tallest of the bunch leans across the table, his bronzed arm like a sculpture, tendons flexing and forearms flexed. I feel like I’m living in a charity calendar.

I take his hand, and his palm is literally twice the size of mine. This must be Dante, the quarterback.

“Nice to meet you. I like your art,” I say, nodding toward the misshaped can art attempting to spell TIFF.

His eyes light up. I guessed right.

“Thank you!” Dante stands up straight and rolls his shoulders before glancing to his equally enormous friend. Sizing this guy up, I’d say he’s a corner. Maybe a wide receiver. He’s mostly arms and legs.

“Rachel, you don’t know what you have done,” the second guy says, pushing Dante off balance and rolling his eyes. “He’s going to make more of that ugly shit now. Can you tell he thinks he’s an artist when he’s drunk?”

He reaches for my hand and we shake as he introduces himself. “I’m Jax.”

I’ve heard both of their names often from Logan. The roommates, but also good friends. There’s an instant camaraderie in the room, and while it’s loud and I feel as though I’m buried in a crowd, it’s also nice. I envy this. It’s what I thought I had with Dalton and Stella.

“I’m sorry. We can go to the library if you want. Or maybe push this to the morning since I don’t have weights?” Logan says in a hushed tone as he leans on the table to give us feigned intimacy.

I shake my head, a little overwhelmed with the barrage of bodies and also still racking my brain over the fact we held hands a minute ago. Like, really held hands!

“It’s fine. Whatever you think you need, Mister I got a B.” His lips curl up at my compliment, and I dare say his cheeks seem red. I think he’s embarrassed but also proud. I get that juxtaposition. It’s where I thrive, which unfortunately means I’m always in a state of knowing my worth yet not feeling like I fit in.

The other two teammates introduce themselves and I do my best to tuck their names into my memory bank—Bradley and Liam. Everyone is either sitting at the table with us or digging in the fridge to piece together some semblance of a meal when Dante shoots up his hand and pulls his head from staring into the freezer.

“Party! We have a party!” He’s reading a text on his phone, his eyes scanning what I assume are the details while he reaches around the kitchen and somehow high fives everyone but Logan without even looking.

“It’s at Meg’s, which means her dad’s pit BBQ, which means kegs and food. Dude, no weights in the morning. We have to.” Dante drops his phone on the table in front of Logan, who glances at the message then to me, his mouth pulled into a tight line. I can see the tug-of-war happening behind his eyes.

“Go,” I say, closing up his folder for him. I tuck it in his bag, but before I can zip it shut, his hand covers mine. My gaze flies to his then darts around the room to see if anyone else is witnessing this. Jax is. His lips pucker into a smirk and he turns his back to us.

“I don’t need to go to a party,” Logan says, but there’s a slight lilt in his voice. He wants to go. I can tell.

“I know, but also, you deserve to go to a party. You’ve worked hard. Reward time. Professor Rachel insists,” I say, sliding my hand out from under his. I lean back in my chair and drop my hands to the hem of my dress, squeezing my knees together and tucking the cotton under my thighs.

“Come with us,” Logan says.

My mouth waters with the vomit sensation.

“Oh, yeah . . . no,” I say through nervous laughter. I get up from my chair and scoot it into the table, then turn directly into a giant chest.

“Yeah, come with us, Rach! You’ll love Meg’s barbecue. Her dad owns a meat shop. It’s literally heaven over a fire pit,” Dante says.

Rach. Like we’re familiar. It’s . . . nice.

“I don’t know,” I waver, turning back around and meeting Logan’s eyes.

He’s standing now, but keeping distance between us. An eyebrow ticks up and he mouths, “Please.”

I swallow down the most vile taste and force myself to take a deep breath through my nose. I don’t party. I don’t really drink. I don’t even know how to behave at something like this. What if Logan leaves me alone? Who will I talk to?

“Don’t think. Just come,” he says.

I exhale while holding his gaze, and there’s something about the way he’s looking at me that settles the butterflies in my chest.

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