Page 48 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

"Can I come in? Your neighbor is recording this on her phone, and while I don't mind the audience, you might."

I glance down the hall to see a girl quickly hide her phone behind her back. Great. Just what I need—to be the subject of dorm gossip.

"Fine," I say, stepping back to let him in. "Five minutes."

He saunters into my room like he owns it, taking in the obsessively organized desk, the color-coded bookshelf, the precisely made bed. Then his eyes land on the closet, still partly open, a shoe poking out where I didn't have time to arrange things properly.

"Were you hiding in the closet?" he asks, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"No," I lie. "Absolutely not. That would be childish and ridiculous."

"You were totally hiding in the closet." He walks over to it, peering inside. "Isn't this a bit ironic, considering how we met?"

"That's not what irony means," I say, but I can feel heat rushing to my cheeks.

"What were you going to do, wait until I left and then pretend you were never here?"

"Yeah," I confess.

He turns to face me, his expression softening. "Why are you avoiding me, Hannah? For real."

I sigh, sitting on the edge of my bed. "Because this—" I gesture between us, "—is a bad idea. You know it, I know it. Even the girl recording you on her phone knows it."

"How do you know if you won't give it a chance?" He sits beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from him but not so close that we're touching.

"Because I'm responsible. I am the person who thinks things through. And everything about you screams 'impulsive bad decision.'"

"Ouch," he says, but he's smiling. "But fair."

We sit in silence for a moment, and I find myself studying his profile—the strong jaw, the slight crook in his nose (probably broken at some point), the length of his eyelashes, which is frankly unfair given that he's a guy.

"What if we just try?" he says finally. "One real date. Not an ice cream consumption event. A proper date."

"God, Sand Man?"

He smiles. "Banana, I know you like to be around me."

"You can’t do that." I twirl my finger at his smirking face.

He turns to me, his eyes surprisingly serious. "We can figure it out as we go. No pressure, no expectations. Just two people who like each other seeing where it leads."

It sounds so simple when he puts it that way. So reasonable. So not like hiding in a closet to avoid him.

"You hid in a closet to avoid me," he adds, as if reading my thoughts. "I think you owe me a yes just for that entertainment value alone."

And just like that, the tension breaks. I laugh, covering my face with my hands. "Oh my god. What’re you doing to me?"

He does something with his mouth. Is he biting his tongue? I track the movement because it’s ridiculously hot. "So? One date? In public?"

I look at him—really look at him—and my heart does that ridiculous flip again.

In public?

He watches me. His gaze dropping to my lips, so I lick them.

"Okay," I agree. "But we're not calling it a date. It's an…extended social interaction."

"An extended social interaction," he repeats, grinning. "You're weird, Hannah Banana. I like it."

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