Page 9 of The Road to Finding Us

Selma and I had just parked at the gym when she realized she forgot her tennis shoes. Both of us have been trying to keep up with working out even though volleyball season is over. We’ve done great at sticking to the weight room during the off-season. But today, due to the shoe mishap, we’ve had to turn around to get them.

So, here we are, pulling into the driveway of the house Selma, Maverick, and Aspen share. She better bust her ass finding those shoes before I lose all motivation to work out today.

The car is barely in park before she’s darting out, running up the front porch steps, and unlocking the door. I decide to follow her inside, afraid if I stay seated for too long, I’ll fall asleep.

I thought it’d be the best idea to take eighteen credit hours this semester, and I’m drowning. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.

My feet drag on the steps as I follow Selma inside. She throws her purse down on the entryway table before rounding the corner to the hallway. “Come in and wait here. Do whatever. I promise I’ll be quick.”

Selma and I have been friends forever, so I already know all about her tendency to misplace things. Because of this, I also know her search for the shoes could be anything but quick. I strut into the small kitchen and climb onto a barstool, where I lazily thumb through social media while I wait for Selma to find her shoes.

Is it bad that I hope she doesn’t find them so I don’t feel guilty for not going?

Just as I get the nerve to double-tap on my crush’s new post (his name is Blaine), I hear the rumble of a car outside.

My stomach drops. Only one person I know drives a car that loud and obnoxious. And I was kind of liking not having to be around him, because anytime I am, I feel violent. As if I could throat-punch him at any moment. It was a nice month, not being constantly annoyed by the single existence of one human.

Aspen.

“Selma!” Aspen yells. “You’re parked in my spot.” He’s closing in on the kitchen, and any second now, he’ll have a nice surprise of me sitting in his kitchen. I’m sure he’ll look dumbfounded.

Because here’s the thing…in the midst of the memes over break, Aspen and I had a very different phone call.

It all started one night when I went out with some of my high school friends. One thing led to another and the next thing I knew, I was drunk—very drunk.

Now, there is nothing wrong with a drunk Lily. I’m actually a really fun drunk. I can hold it together for a long time.

But on this night, I did the unimaginable.

I called Aspen.

I don’t have anything to blame for my obvious lapse in judgment. I was drunk, and he’d just sent me a very funny meme.

Drunk Lily thought it was a good idea to call him with my reaction. And that call ended up turning into a conversation that lasted more than an hour.

You heard it here first, folks.

Aspen and I discovered we could have a solid conversation for more than two freaking minutes without arguing, and now I feel all sorts of odd around him.

When I see him in about point-three seconds, are things going to be weird between us?

I find out sooner than I’d rather. The moment he sees me, his shoulders tense and I get a dreaded once-over.

We have an awkward stare-down for what seems like an eternity. After it gets abnormally uncomfortable, I decide to try to make it less awkward by climbing off the barstool and backing up toward Selma and Maverick’s room.

“Well, hello to you, Aspen,” I say as sweetly as possible, trying to sneak past him and his brooding stare.

While Maverick and Selma don’t usually pay attention to the banter between me and Aspen—and I definitely didn’t tell either of them about the phone call—I know that he and I left alone together is a perfect recipe for disaster.

“Lily,” he purrs. “How lucky am I to have you here this afternoon?”

I cringe at the tone of his voice. To every other girl it seems flirty, cute. To me, it seems predatory. “Don’t worry, you won’t have little old me here for long. I’m just waiting for Selma to find her shoes and then I’ll be out of your hair.” I try to sidestep him again, but I’m smaller than him and he’s faster than me. He’s now way too close for comfort and I can’t help but stare into those familiar eyes.

“Lily.” He sighs, and I think he might say something nice for once, but I’m not surprised when he says, “Will you tell Selma that her car needs to move?”

I want to scream at how uninterested he sounds. I thought we’d made some sort of progress after our phone call. Hell, I came back weirdly anxious to see him—in a good way, not that I’d ever admit it to another human being—and here he is, acting like we never had that conversation. Like it meant nothing to him.

Fuck you too, Aspen Bellevue.

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