Page 83 of Where We Belong

“Like what?” I ask, knowing precisely what she means.

“Like you were some kind of dumb jock.” Her nostrils flare. “I hated it.”

I quirk my lips up. “It’s fine.”

Lexie’s eyebrows meet as she says, “No, it’s not.”

My foot wipes the floor between us, sneaker dragging a plastic bag that was left on the ground.

“Finn, it’s not.”

I wish she’d drop it. The longer this conversation goes on, the more chances she’ll have of figuring out what made Chrissy see me this way. I’m the guy girls want to be with only for the night. The one who still lives in his hometown and who never went to college. The one women like Chrissy would never have considered starting a family with.

“Look at me,” Lexie says in her coach voice, and despite the fact that I want to get out of here and never speak about it again, I do as she says. I don’t think she could ever ask something of me I wouldn’t give her.

“You can pretend all you want that everything’s fine and that you’re some casual guy who cares about nothing, but I see right through you, Finn Olsen. You’re not.” She pushes herself off the table and shakes her head, her mouth twisted in a frown. “In fact, if one of you is dumb, it’s her for making you feel that way and then going for some fucking Keanu Reeves wannabe while you were an option.”

I can’t quite catch my breath. In fact, my throat is uncomfortably tight. Lexie spoke like she was a history teacher in front of a class of students, like she was stating unarguable facts. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone talk about me this way. But doesn’t that just mean she’s the one who’s wrong? Even my parents have been ashamed of me at some point or another. They never said so, but it was obvious in their demeanor.Dropping out of school? Running off to travel? Really, Finn? Have you thought this through? What about us? You’re just leaving?I’ve heard all variations of these sentences over the last decade, and if that’s not disappointment, I don’t know what is.

“I’m pretty beat, actually,” I say like a real chickenshit, then get to my feet. “I think I’ll go to sleep.”

Lexie’s face is rigid. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then.” She steps forward and grabs her bag. We’re already in loungewear, but our sleeping bags and pillows are all in here.

“You’re coming too?” I ask.

“Is that a problem?”

I shake my head, then indicate for her to lead the way. We walk back to the floor section, and while I unroll my sleeping bag, I start scavenging for a mat. Lexie does the same, and it’s only once we both stop in front of a tiny mat under the balance beams that I realize this is the only one that’s left.

“You okay to share?” I whisper, the knot still ever so present in my throat.

“Sure.”

I don’t move yet, but when she drops her sleeping bag and pillow onto the mat, I do so too. It’s already dark and silent in the gym, so the moment we lay down side by side, we remain still and silent. I try my best not to think about who it is exactly who’s lying a few inches from me, the smell of her pear and vanilla shampoo making me want to groan.

“I can’t believe we’re voluntarily sleeping on a mat thousands of bare feet have stepped on,” she whispers.

I try to keep my laughter as low as possible. “That’s the beauty of lock-ins.”

“There’s nothing beautiful about getting a plantar wart on my ass.”

“You naked in there, Lex?”

She glares at me, then says, “The smell isn’t so bad when we’re upright, but this close to the ground, I might dream of millions of stinky feet trampling me to death.”

“I thought you didn’t dream?”

Her smile dips before coming back up as if nothing happened. “This smell is enough to awaken all that is dormant within me.”

I sniff. “So no cheese-and-sweat smell before falling asleep. Noted.”

“When are you planning on having me over?” she teases, and while it’s clearly a joke, I’m thankful that the darkness hides the warmth in my cheeks. If only she knew just how much I’ve dreamed of that over the months. Of knowing she’d be sleeping close to me, safe, and maybe at some point getting up during the night and going to join her on the couch, hoping she’d been thinking of me the same way I’d been thinking of her.

“I told you, I miss my roomie,” I say, voice rough.

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