Page 25 of Don't Let Me Fall (Don't Let Me 1)

I dig my teeth into the inside of my cheek, regret pooling in the bottom of my stomach. “I assume you’re in Buchanan’s statistics class?”

“Yeah.” His tone is sharper but almost detached, too, leaving me on edge and so ready to end this conversation as soon as possible.

“Okay,” I murmur. “What if we start there?”

“Whatever you want, Sunshine.”

There’s the nickname again.

“When’s a good time to meet?” I ask.

“I’m free tonight.”

“All right.”

“Want me to come by your place?”

The idea of Colt at my house sends a shiver racing down my spine, but I shove the feeling aside. Besides, if we’re at Logan’s place, it’ll prove I have nothing to hide from him, and I’m already feeling guilty enough, thank you very much.

“Let’s meet at your place instead,” I counter.

There’s a slight pause before Colt’s gritty voice echoes through my phone. “See you then.”

The call ends, and I stare at my call history once more, then press my mom’s number. Again. It rings for another few seconds and goes to voicemail.

Of course, it does.

When the beep sounds, my voice is clipped as I say, “Hey, Mom. It’s me. Just wanted to see how you and Dad are doing. Call me back. Love you.”

I tuck my phone back into my purse and head outside. The grass is still a dull yellow from winter, but the air is surprisingly warm as I walk down the path toward the parking lot.

I could’ve walked, and I probably will from now on. But with how temperamental the weather’s been lately, I decided to play it safe. There’s a dark path surrounded by grass, tall maple trees, and a few benches along the edge of it leading to the student parking area.

I pause on the path and lift my head toward the warm sun. I let it soak into my cheeks, praying it’ll give me the strength to figure out what the hell I’m going to do with Logan. And Colt. And my screw-up from yesterday morning I’ve been avoiding. Oh, and let’s not forget my parents and their lack of communication. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but still.

The questions swirl around my brain, refusing to go anywhere as I take another sip of my drink. When I open my eyes, I find a familiar face from yesterday morning.

My annoyance spikes.

“See you found your caffeine,” Colt notes, motioning toward my iced latte.

“No thanks to you,” I return.

He clutches at his heart. “Ouch. Seems someone’s still prickly from yesterday.”

“Seems someone’s still unapologetic,” I counter.

Head cocked, he tucks his hands into his front pockets. “And what would I have to apologize for?”

“For dragging me into a fight with my boyfriend.”

He pulls out his phone and unlocks it, muttering, “We’ve already covered this.”

Even more annoyed, I watch him type something into his cell, effectively avoiding me.

“You know, it’s rude to use your phone when you’re in the middle of a conversation,” I huff.

With a quick glance up at me, he smiles, and my phone rings in my purse.

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