Page 81 of Collide
Banging my head against my car frame doesn’t help ease the weight of my stupidity. What was I thinking? A girl like Summer doesn’t give an opportunity like this easily, and I let it slip from my fingers in minutes. I seriously need to be evaluated because she’s right. I have to be the first guy to turn down the girl he’s been dreaming about. This could have ended with her peach scent rubbing all over my body, but I know despite everything that I would still make the same decision. She deserves better than the view of the arena and the smell of leather.
I sit in my truck and follow behind her to make sure she gets home safely.
This nice guy shit really is annoying.
26 | SUMMER
I’M SECONDS FROM tossing my five-year plan in the trash and dropping out. How important is it to pursue dreams anyway? Living a life that rivals a crash on the I-95 can’t be that bad.
“You’ve totally disregarded the basis of your original proposal,” Donny continues berating my work.
“My research can differ from my proposal. That’s the whole point,” I argue. This conversation is making my eye twitch. After storming out of Aiden’s truck two nights ago, I haven’t slept. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he kissed me. Or the moan that left his lips when he rolled his hips against mine. Until his damn conscience became a cockblock.
“The final paper should still be based on it,” Donny states.
“I changed a few things in my methodology and literature. That’s bound to happen.” Arguing with Donny is impossible.
He tightens his jaw and turns to our professor. “Don’t you think what I’m saying is correct, Lau—Dr. Langston?”
Donny averts his eyes, and a weird tension looms in the air of her office as if I’m missing a large piece of a puzzle. The slip-up isn’t significant, but no one calls Langston by her first name unless you’re a colleague. She made it very clear the first time I met her to call herDr. Langston. I guess that’s one way of getting your money's worth for a Ph.D.
“Donny has a point. We want to keep the methodology close to your original plan.” She reads over the paper. “You're almost done, Summer. I’d hate to see you lose sight of your goal now.”
Those words sounded a lot like Donny’s. When I pack up to leave, he doesn’t move. I’m not sure why he still needs her guidance if he got early acceptance to the program.
“I’ll send you the edited version,” I mutter. Donny doesn’t make a move to leave, so I head out alone. I’m halfway down the hall when the door clicks shut.
The odd thoughts in my head burst when I see Shannon Lee parked outside the Annex.
“Shannon,” I call, waving as she carries a large box into her car. “What are you doing?”
She slams the car trunk shut. “Packing my things.” She fidgets with her keys. “Turns out the program’s more competitive than I thought.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.” I pull her in for a hug and she squeezes tight. “They have no idea what a mistake it is letting you leave.”
“It’s fine, I got into my backup. Go Tigers!” She smiles weakly. “What about you?”
“Just finalizing my application. My backup is waiting for my answer.” Stanford University sent me an offer weeks ago, and I’m hoping I’ll get to deny it once my Dalton application goes through.
“If I’ve learned anything, it’s to make your own decisions before someone else makes them for you,” says Shannon.
THERE ARE TIMES when I let my irritation about one thing trickle into other parts of my life. Today, I feel it happening when I wake up to a stuffed animal sitting on my desk.
A fucking cow plushie.
“Who left this here?” I demand, stepping into the living room clutching the plushie.
Amara shrugs. “Maybe someone enjoys leaving you gifts.”
The box of tea Aiden left for me also miraculously made its way inside the dorm. I’m starting to think loyalties are shifting around here. It’s pretty clear how this tiny thing sat itself on my desk and watched me while I slept. It’s probably the reason I woke up with a start. It’s one of those Palm Pals that can fit in your pocket. The ridiculously adorable cow gives me the urge to rip it in half but also to safely tuck it into bed. The extreme mood swings ravaging my mind are because of one guy.
With a vengeance, I call an Uber, head straight to the hockey house, and ring the doorbell.
“We don’t want your cookies!” Cole opens the door, brows pulled tight in irritation until he sees me. “Oh, I thought you were a girl scout. You good, Sunny?”
“Can I come in?”
He nods, moving to the side. “Cute cow.”
