Page 76 of Oar Than Friends

I shouldn’t have bothered getting out of bed this morning.

‘Shit. I have to go. I’m so late. I’ll call you later.’

‘You’d better.’ He smiled, and I finally smiled too.

The laptop was teetering on the pile of books I’d propped on my chair, positioned at the side of my bed. I had abucket of freshly popped popcorn thanks to the campus grocery store, and a steaming cup of herbal tea. Sadly this could probably go down as one of the more rock and roll Thursday nights I’d spent here. Two thirds of the pumpkin pie had been eaten, the remainder wrapped carefully in the fridge. I’d have eaten it all, but I was already dicing with the likelihood I’d sink the boat at tomorrow morning’s training as it was.

Tap.

Tap.

Hunkering down under the comforter, I pressed ‘go’ on Netflix, then stopped it again and sat up.

Tap.

Tap.

That noise.

Tap.

I was so cosy in bed, but that noise was so annoying. And there it was again. I threw back the covers and stormed to the middle of my room.

Tap.

The window. It was coming from the window. I threw open the drapes only to be met with mostly darkness, save for the lamps lighting the pathway below.

Tap.

Peering down, I needed a double take. That’s right, I was here in my dorm, in my pyjamas, and outside, a baseball cap shielding his perfect face, with a hoodie pulled over the top, was the unmistakable shape of Oz throwing tiny pieces of gravel up to my window.

I glanced around. There didn’t appear to be anyone else outside who could see him, and I tugged the heavy sashopen, only for the freezing air to blast me in the face, and promptly pushed it back down.

My cell was already vibrating before I reached for it.

‘Hey, Yankee Doodle.’

I peered into the darkness. ‘Is that really you outside my window?’

‘It really is. Now let me up.’

I typed out the code to the security doors and sent it to him before I could blink, or think. I didn’t even have time to run a brush through my hair when there was a thud at the door, and I yanked it open for him to rush inside and lock behind him.

I stared, open-mouthed, still not quite believing it, as he rubbed his hands together, then blew into them for warmth.

‘Did anyone see you?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘But wh … what are you doing here?’

‘I came to check up on my favourite sweater.’ He grinned, dropping his head with a smile. ‘I came to see you, of course.’

‘Why … how?’

‘You were crying, and I didn’t like it,’ he replied, like it was the most obvious answer, and I found myself leaning into his big warm hand, cupping my cheek as his thumb swiped along my lip. He bent down, brushing his lips so tenderly over mine it almost set me off crying again. But then he added, ‘Nice PJs.’

My head tilted downwards at the little burgers, hot dogs, bottles of ketchup and mustard, slices of tomatoes, pickles and lettuce scattered all over the soft, thick fleece.When I looked back up, he was grinning wide, wider when I gave a little curtsy.

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