Page 68 of Penalized Love

It’s stupid, really, how much I’ve overthought this moment. I keep replaying that afternoon in my mind—the way he showed up at my door with the goodies he purchased for me in hopes that it would make me feel better. It’s not like I forgot how kind he could be. But feeling it again, so unexpectedly, cracked something open inside me.

I take another deep breath as I stare at the message I’ve typed, urging myself to press send. What if I’m being foolish about all of this? Could this be something that I’ve just drummed up in my head, and he’s not thinking anything about it?

Honestly, I don’t even know what“this”is.

Me: Thanks for everything a couple of days ago. I was wondering if we could talk?

The words are lame, but I’m not sure what else to say. Before I can stare at the message for fifteen more hours, I hit send and toss my phone down on my bed. It’s silly because I’m going to end up picking it back up in the next minute to see if he responded anyway.

I glance at Tessa’s side of the room, thanking the universe that she has class right now and isn’t here to watch me do this. The only one who can judge me as I pace back and forth is me. The likelihood of me getting a response anytime soon is low because of his busy schedule, and I know that. Even with that in mind, each second still feels like an eternity. Have I made a terrible mistake?

All of that changes, however, when I hear the tiny sound of my phone vibrating on my bed, stopping the spiraling that I’ve gone down and am about to get deeper into.

Asher: Of course. Are you feeling better?

I read his words once and then twice. The fact that he’s still concerned about my well-being, even days later, makes the butterflies in my stomach flutter.

Me: Yes, much better. Thank you.

I press send quickly this time, so I don’t stare at the text, and he responds in a flash.

Asher: I’m glad. How about you come over to my place? We can talk here.

Relief washes over me, followed by a fresh wave of nerves. Going to his house feels intimate, but it’s better than meeting in public or here because Tessa might disturb us.

Me: Sure, that works. When do you want to meet?

Asher: I’ll be free in an hour if you are. No practice today.

I stare at his response. In an hour? As in today? I knew there wasn’t practice today, but the timing of this is throwing me for a loop. I glance down at my outfit—an oversized sweatshirt and leggings. At least I have time to change.

Me: An hour works. See you then.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself. Now, I have less than sixty minutes to get ready and go to Asher’s place. My heart races as I rummage through my closet, trying to find something to wear that looks put together but not like I’m trying too hard.

Why am I even thinking this way?

I settle on a pair of dark-wash jeans and a soft, cream-colored sweater. It’s casual, but still nice. I decide to shower and change, which takes up most of the time. I run a brush through my hair and apply a touch of mascara and lip gloss.

Asher sends me his address just before I leave my room. Although I was there for the hockey party, it was dark, and I was drinking. Once I hit the road, the drive to his place feels way too short, but it makes sense because his house is just off campus. When I pull up out front, I sit in the car for a moment, trying to gather my courage. The place is typical of what you’d expect for a group of college guys—rough around the edges, but I can still see the charm in it. The house itself is two stories, built decadesago, with weathered brick and white trim that could use a fresh coat of paint. Their front yard is small and unkempt, unlike the grounds of the university. But I have to admit, I’m surprised by how clean the outside is and wonder if it carries on into the inside of the home.

This is it. No turning back now.

I step out of the car and make my way up the front porch. I can feel myself slightly shaking as I make my way to the front door, but before I can even knock, it swings open.

Asher.

Has he been watching and waiting for me to arrive? I can’t deny that the thought of that makes me happy.

“Hey,”he says, stepping back to let me in.“Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for inviting me,”I reply.

I step inside, taking in the surprisingly tidy hallway and living room. The furnishings are simple but comfortable, with a well-worn couch, a couple of armchairs, and a coffee table with a few textbooks. It feels lived in but not messy.

Asher closes the door behind me and gestures toward what I assume is the kitchen.“Make yourself at home. Can I get you anything to drink?”

I shake my head, feeling too nervous to even think about consuming anything.“No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

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