Page 26 of Past the Broken Bridges

I let the caffeine work its magic and stare at the list I made that’s still taped to the fridge.

Turning to her, I set my cup down. “Want to see what I plan to do with it?”

* * *

One thing I notice over the course of the next few weeks is that my neighbor is avoiding me. I’m not entirely sure why. I’m starting to wonder if I did something dumb the night we all went out together. I even asked Dixie, who had no clue why he’d be keeping his distance when he always says hi to her when they see one another on campus.

I was going to ask him in class, since we have creative writing once a week. We usually sit next to one another when he doesn’t show up late and occupy one of the seats in the back near the door. I always smile and wave, sometimes even trying to make friendly conversation, but his replies are too lackluster to give me the courage to ask if I did something. So I chicken out and focus on the workshops Professor Grey gives us to do with other people, never bothering to pair upwith the boy whose familiar brown eyes find mine at least once during the three-hour course.

During lunch the day after I tried and failed again at speaking to Banks, I spot Dawson sitting with a group of boys who I’ve since learned are on the basketball team with him. Apparently, Dixie is an avid fan. She even convinced me to go to an upcoming home game with her next week.

When he sees me, he pushes off the table and ignores the guys hooting at him for ditching them. “Hey, pretty lady,” he greets, giving me the same one-armed hug I’ve grown accustomed to. He keeps the arm around my shoulder as we walk to a nearby table that’s half empty.

“You didn’t have to leave your friends,” I tell him, looking over at where the guys are wiggling their fingers at us and laughing.

Dawson turns his back to them and flips them off before making himself comfortable across from me. “You’re my friend too.”

My brows go up as I doctor my sandwich. I can’t say I’m particularly hungry today, and I don’t know if that has to do with the low mark I got on my last journalism assignment for not getting a second interview for the article I was assigned or if the heaviness in my stomach is something else completely. I don’t remember the last time I felt well enough to try crossing things off my list because it’s always something bogging me down. “I am?”

He chuckles. “Damn. Way to hurt a guy’s feelings,” he muses. He’s clearly fine, so I don’t bother with an apology.

“Speaking of,” I lead in, smacking the top roll back onto the meat. “Did I do something to Banks? You’re friends, right? If he said something, I’d rather know about it.”

Confusion furrows his brows. “Not that I know of. Why?”

I shrug, trying to seem unfazed by the fact that Banks doesn’t put in an effort to talk to me. In hindsight, he barely did the night at The Station either because Dawson talked most of the night for all of us, but it feels personal. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s just quiet, but I get the feeling I did something that annoyed him.”

Dawson watches me for a minute, curiosity marring his face as he scratches his chin and the small amount of stubble there. “Nah, I doubt it. It takes a lot for Banks to get pissy with people. Trust me. I’ve tested those waters a time or two.”

I’ll have to take his word for it because I have no reason to dwell. “Okay. I just wanted to make sure since we’re neighbors. I was always told it’s important to have good relationships with the people you live near. You never know what could happen.”

He stretches his long legs out so they’re in the aisle between tables. “I’m sure he wouldn’t leave you in the building if it were on fire, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he jokes, although there’s something off about his demeanor. “But even if he does, I’ll save you.”

I ignore his flirty wink. “Good to know.” Spooning out some of the soup of the day, I blow on the steam billowing from my spoon. “So Dixie and I will be at your home game next week.”

He perks up. “You will?”

I nod, carefully setting the utensil down and dipping my roll into the broth. I would have thought she’d tell him, but maybe it was meant to be a surprise. “She got us tickets. She’s really excited.”

“And what about you?” he pries.

“I’ve never been a sports girl,” I admit. I watched football with Dad once, but I didn’t understand anything that wasgoing on. “But I’m looking forward to it. I think Dixie even got us matching jerseys.”

His dark eyes sparkle. “Hopefully with my number on them. Gotta represent the best player.”

I smile because I wouldn’t be shocked if Dixiedoeshave his jersey. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

Dawson leans back, drumming his fingers along the edge of the table. “Wish you would’ve told me sooner. I probably could have gotten you the tickets for free and saved you two some money. Players get a certain amount a year to give to friends and family.”

“Does your family not come?”

He shakes his head, watching me eat. “They’re divorced and don’t live around here. But it’s fine. They went to almost all of my games in high school even after they split. Can’t expect them to follow me around forever.”

I suppose that’s true. “Well, we’ll keep it in mind for next time. I’m sure she already has other games planned out.”

His lips kick up at the corners. “Good.”

I debate how to stay on the topic of Dixie without giving too much away. “She told me you majored in history.”

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