Page 30 of True Blue

He leans back, dropping his hands and adjusting the duffle over his shoulder. “Perfect because I was thinking we could go out tonight for dinner.” He takes my hand as the doors open and tugs me along to my suite. “I found this hibachi place, Kitsune Grill. It’s twenty minutes away, but it looked great.”

I look down at the sweats and tank top I haven’t changed out of since waking up. “I don’t know. I kind of wanted to stay in tonight. We could get takeout.” I walk around him and unlock the door, holding it open as he walks in and dumps his bag on the couch.

“Baaaabe,” he whines, turning back toward me. “We haven’t had a night out in sooooo long and the food here sucks. And they do this volcano thing with the onions that looked so cool online. Please please please please please?” He puts his hands together, pleading and stepping closer to me with each please until he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me against him on the last one. I fight the urge to push him off and just close my eyes.

“Fine,” I say, stepping back when he lets go of me to double fist pump the air. “But I need some time to get ready.” He nods, walking around the couch and grabbing the remote.

“Take your time. I’m not super hungry yet.” He falls back against the couch, flipping through the streaming apps that appear after he turns on the TV.

I roll my eyes at the back of his head, palms itchy. Layla pushed me to break up with Christopher all week, continuously reminding me it’s dumb to stay in a relationship I don’t even want to be in. But Mom’s reaction keeps the words trapped on my tongue.

I walk into my room, closing the door behind me so I don’t have to hear whatever he puts on in the living room. Walking to my vanity, I sit on the little stool in front of it and pull open the drawer with my headband and skin care stuff. Making eye contact with myself in the mirror, I pull my hair back and start unscrewing the top of my face moisturizer. My eyes stray to the room behind me, lingering on the empty bedside tabletop.

Waking up the day after Mira’s party, the water bottle had been the first thing my eyes saw after the blurriness of sleep cleared. I knew Bentley put it there, remembering him asking me if I needed any before I fell asleep. After downing most of it, I’d grabbed my phone and opened my messages with him, staring at the one text in our chat. Different things I wanted to say flitted through my head as my thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

Thank you for taking care of me.

Thank you for helping me get home.

I’m so embarrassed.

The last one sat in my brain, spreading through me as I recalled the night before. I'd gotten drunk in under thirty minutes all because of a stupid taunt. I’d danced on top of, and then fallen off of, a kitchen island. I’d passed out against him when he had to carry me home.

He probably didn’t want to hear from me. Probably annoyed that I ruined his night. He spent the whole time looking out for me, probably out of some sense of obligation since he was the one who egged me into drinking in the first place. He didn’t get to relax and probably felt like I'd wasted his time.

I stayed in bed most of the day, occasionally opening Bentley’s chat again before turning off my phone and stopping myself from sounding even more pathetic than he already thought I was.

But when I saw him on Friday, I realized I needed to thank him. No matter what he thought of me, he’d taken care of me, made sure I didn’t get hurt or into any big sort of trouble. And he’d smiled at me when I thanked him. My heart had lurched at the affection I’d seen in his eyes then, all of my fears from the day before washing away.

And then he’d pulled that shit with Cassie, and it all came flooding back in. I felt like an idiot. Still do. Of course, the night before didn’t mean the same thing to him. In his eyes, I’m his best friend’s bitchy roommate who he had to take care of when she got sloppily drunk on basically a dare. Not to mention he knows I’m with Christopher. I made the attraction between us up completely. We were nothing.

The swirling thoughts in my head had stoked a bonfire in my gut as I watched him get Cassie’s number. I couldn’t sit there and just go back to researching Gutenberg. I needed to get away from him and maybe scream.

But even rushing back to my room and punching my pillow a few times to extinguish the fire hadn’t left me feeling any more settled. Instead, I felt empty afterward. I kept wondering what Bentley was doing, where he would take Cassie on their date, if they would go on more, if I would have to watch them slowly become a couple over the semester while Axel and I were forced to interact with him, so we didn’t fail class.

And then there was Axel. I keep feeling like Ishouldfeel guilty for wanting him just as much as I want Bentley, but I haven’t been able to summon even an ounce. For all the time I spent thinking about Bentley, I also thought about Axel. How he looked across the beer pong table, practically devouring me withhis eyes as we played. The sly smile when he let me win at Uno in front of Christopher. His intensity when he asked me a question about the project while we’d been researching.

The tension had mounted so high, I’d stripped down and thrown on my running clothes, going for a run for the first time since I got to the Coast.

And now I haven’t spoken to either of them for a week. They each separately cancelled our Friday library meet up this morning. Confusion and anger with a touch of despair had been my companion but reading their excuses in text had made all of it flare up again.

Finishing my light makeup, I pull the headband out of my hair and grab a scrunchie to tie it all back. Pulling on some soft leggings and a cropped hoodie, I take a second to try to shake some of my bad mood off before opening my bedroom door.

“Ready?” Christopher says, glancing back at me. “You’re going to wear that?” He looks over me before scrunching up his face.

“Is this place fancy or something?” I glance down at my outfit again, rubbing the side of my thigh.

“No,” he says, standing and shutting off the TV. “But you might as well have not changed,” he says under his breath. I scowl, clenching my fist as I slide on my sneakers.

Christopher blathers on about his week and work and everything mundane going on back in his world in Georgia as he drives us to the restaurant. I nod and murmur mmhmm when I need to, but I spend most of the ride staring out the window at the passing scenery. Layla’s words keep filtering through my thoughts.You don’t even like him.

The car stops and I glance around, clicking the button to my seatbelt and getting out. My feet land in a puddle, the ground still wet from rain that fell for an hour earlier this morning. Grey clouds still crowd the sky, but the air stays dry as we walk towardthe brightly adorned building with a flashing neon sign reading Kitsune Grill over the door.

Christopher puts his hand on my back as we walk into the dimly lit restaurant. Noise greets us, the splash of oil on a hot grill, cheers and claps from somewhere behind the hostess stand, light music in the background.

“Hi, hibachi or booth?” a young girl with bright red hair greets us behind the hostess stand as we walk up.

“Two for hibachi,” Christopher says, dropping his arm and rubbing his hands together excitedly. The hostess nods, picking up a pencil and scribbling some notes on the seating chart in front of her before grabbing two menus and ushering us to follow her. Christopher leads the way and I follow behind, staring down at my wet feet on the way to the table.

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