Page 22 of Price of Victory
But there was no real heat in it, just the kind of automatic response that had become habit between us. He was already heading toward the exit, and I followed, because the alternative was standing alone in an empty locker room like some kind of creep.
The building’s front door revealed exactly what I’d expected: a wall of rain that looked like it had been falling for hours and planned to continue well into tomorrow. The campus was nearly deserted, just the occasional student hurrying between buildings with backpacks held over their heads or jackets pulled up as makeshift protection.
Rhett stopped just inside the doorway and cursed under his breath, a creative litany of profanity that would have made a sailor proud. He was wearing nothing but a T-shirt, jeans, and that backpack. No jacket, no umbrella, no preparation whatsoever for Chicago weather in late September, as if he hadn’t lived here his whole life.
I pulled my umbrella from my duffel bag and opened it with a satisfying snap, testing the mechanism to make sure it was sturdy enough for the downpour outside.
“Sucks to be you,” I said, because the opportunity was too perfect to pass up.
Rhett shot me a look that could have curdled milk. “I won’t melt.”
“No, but you’ll be wearing soaked underwear in about thirty seconds, and then you’ll spend the rest of the night shivering in your dorm room like a drowned rat.” I stepped closer to the door, umbrella ready. “Unless, of course, you want to accept a little help.”
He looked like he was about to say something cutting, probably along the lines of preferring to be soaked rather than owing me any favors. But then his shoulders sagged slightly, some of the tension going out of them, and he glanced at the rain with obvious reluctance.
I chuckled and opened the umbrella fully, stepping out into the downpour. “Come on, sugar cube. I’ll walk you safely home.”
For a moment, I thought he was going to refuse out of pure stubbornness. But then he sighed and moved to stand next to me under the umbrella’s protection, close enough that our shoulders were almost touching.
“Don’t call me sugar cube,” he muttered, but he stayed pressed against my side as we started walking across campus.
The umbrella was large enough for two people, but it required us to stay close together to avoid getting wet. I could feel the warmth radiating off him, could smell the clean scent of his soap mixed with something that was uniquely Rhett. Every few steps, his arm would brush against mine, and I found myself paying more attention to those points of contact than to where we were walking.
The campus looked different in the rain. Sheets of water blurred the harsh edges of buildings, and the streetlights created pools of golden gloss that reflected off the wet pavement. It was the kind of scene that belonged in a romantic comedy, two people sharing an umbrella in the rain, except this was real life,and the person next to me had spent the better part of his life avoiding me at all costs.
“God, I’m hungry,” I said as we passed the campus diner, its windows dark and a Closed sign hanging in the door. “Should have grabbed something before the gym.”
“It’s past midnight,” Rhett pointed out. “Most normal people eat dinner before ten.”
“Are you calling me abnormal?”
“If the shoe fits.”
But there was something almost fond in his tone, like we were friends having a casual conversation instead of two people who’d been circling each other like predators for weeks. It was strange, this sudden shift in dynamic, but not entirely unwelcome.
We walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, both of us focused on staying dry and navigating the puddles that had formed in the uneven sections of sidewalk. When we reached his dormitory, I expected him to thank me for the umbrella ride and disappear inside without looking back.
Instead, he paused with his hand on the door handle, key already in the lock. He stood there for a long moment, and I could see the internal debate playing out across his features.
“Do you want to eat something?” he asked finally, like the words were being dragged out of him against his will.
I raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “Are you inviting me up to your dorm room, Morrison?”
“I’m offering you food because you complained about being hungry for the past ten minutes.” But his cheeks were flushed again, and he wasn’t quite meeting my eyes. “Take it or leave it.”
“Well, when you put it so charmingly, how could I refuse?”
He opened the door, and I followed him inside, shaking off my umbrella and propping it against the wall near the entrance. The building had that particular dorm smell thatexisted in college buildings everywhere, a mixture of cleaning supplies, industrial carpet, and the lingering scent of whatever the cafeteria had served for dinner.
We climbed two flights of stairs, and I found myself studying the way Rhett moved, the easy confidence in his stride even when he was obviously nervous about whatever this was. When he unlocked his room and gestured for me to come in, I was curious to see what his living space looked like.
“Are you going to cook for me, Morrison?” I asked, stepping into the room and looking around with genuine interest.
“Keep dreaming, Whitmore.”
But there was no venom in the words, just automatic banter that felt almost comfortable. If only he wore fewer pieces of clothing, I’d be snacking all night long.
The room was smaller than my apartment, obviously, but there was something undeniably cozy about it. Two beds, two desks, two dressers, all the standard dormitory furniture that had probably been there since the building opened. But Rhett had made it his own in small ways. There were hockey trophies lined up on his desk, photographs tacked to the wall above his bed, and textbooks stacked in neat piles that suggested someone who actually cared about his grades.
