Page 93 of Daydream

After ten seconds he finally lowers his phone. “Beautiful.”

“Do I get to see?” He nods and walks over, handing me his phone. “I’m deleting the bad ones.”

“But they’re my favorite,” he groans as I pull up his camera roll.

He wasn’t joking—I really do look possessed. I spend more time deleting awful pictures than I do looking at nice ones, but at least I know I’m not going to come here one day and see it hanging on the wall.

“Are you done being a photography critic? We have a dinner reservation and I’m so hungry.”

“I’m not done looking at your work,” I say. We stand side by side in silence, elbows touching, looking at the two people who made Henry Turner the man he is. “How do you feel when you look at it?”

He mulls over my question for a little while, but I don’t mind waiting. “Lucky. What about you?”

“Grateful.”

Chapter Twenty-EightHENRY

NORMALLYIDON’T LOVE OURChristmas party, but this year it feels different.

Robbie has relaxed a little with his party antics since starting grad school. I know he has a lot of work on his plate as well as trying to prove to Faulkner and the college board that he’s responsible enough for a permanent job at the end of the year. We’re still having our normal fancy dress party, but he hasn’t gone over-the-top the way he has in previous years.

He says it shows maturity and didn’t like when I said it seemed like poor time management, since he forgot to order the decorations by the cutoff.

That said, our house still looks like Michael Bublé himself threw up on it. Michael—and I’ve been forced to listen to him enough that I feel like I can call him by his first name—has been playing for the past week. In between exams, we slowly decorated the house to meet Robbie’s standards. Lola tried to help, but she’s easily distracted and not great at taking directions. Ironic for someone who wants a career on stage. I immediately banished Aurora and Poppy for similar traits, but Halle, Cami, and Emilia were very helpful.

I’m already drunk when guests start showing up, which makes everyone patting me on the back for our recently improved game performance more tolerable. People keep stopping to say hi to me and chat while I’m trying to mix a punch bowl for Halle. Multiple women I’ve hooked up with keep trying to talk to me. I have been politely telling them I’m not available, which results in their faces dropping before walking off.

Sure, I might not technically have a girlfriend, but I’m definitely not available, and the person I’m not available with really likes this punch I’m trying to concentrate on.

After people we know had their drinks spiked a couple of months ago, we stopped making random shared drinks, but tonight is the exception because I’m going to guard it with my life.

Cami is coming and it’s her first party since October, so we have a system to keep drinks separate from the rest of the party to help her feel comfortable. Poppy has stopped drinking alcohol altogether after she said she found herself panicking as soon as it started to have an effect on her.

Russ leans against the counter beside me. “Breaking hearts isn’t very Christmasy.”

The only thing I’ve broken today is the mistletoe above the front door. That went straight into the trash. There’s no way I was giving one of the guys the opportunity to kiss Halle when she gets here. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s, like, three women outside comparing conspiracy theories about why you’re not paying attention to them.” He sips his beer to stop himself from laughing. “They might need a support group once they see that post.”

“Why is everyone around me so annoying?”

I woke up this morning to a million messages in our group chat because the insidious UCMH gossip page posted me kissing Halle after her exam yesterday. I didn’t look at it properly because I don’tcare, but Halle was very embarrassed until I reminded her that she isn’t allowed to be embarrassed with me.

I add the final pour of vodka and grab us a cup to test it. When Russ takes a sip and his eye twitches and face tightens, I realize I forgot to add in the orange and pineapple juice, and I’ve basically given him lemon-flavored liquor. “My bad, buddy.”

“I feel like my tongue is sweating. Is that possible?”

“It’s the lemon… Or maybe the tequila and vodka, I can’t be sure,” I say, laughing at the way his face is twisting.

“Not to make this weird, but I’m glad you have your spark back after that bad time,” Russ says, and that’s when I realize he’s a little buzzed, too. “You’re a great friend and a great captain.”

“Why are you making things weird?” I ask.

He rubs the back of his neck with the palm of his hand, then pretends to fix his Santa hat. “I’ve said it now so there’s no going back. I’m just gonna go wait for Rory to show up and for Robbie to announce the game.”

If Halle blushes occasionally, then Russ blushes often. All the way to the tips of his ears. I’m not a huge fan of heart-to-hearts—they always feel awkward and unnecessary—but I believe it takes a lot to start one. “Thanks for saying it. I appreciate it.”

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for the girls to show up. Halle told me her favorite part of doing anything now is getting ready; she always wanted a big group of girlfriends she could do things with and now she has one.

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