Page 25 of And Then There's You

The second I move backward and out of the way, a warm hand lands softly on my shoulder. I know who it is before I turn around to look at him. When I do, Troy’s gray eyes meet mine. I wasn't imagining the surprise in them, but I wasn't mistaken about the apology either. How could this dude think an apology is acceptable this late? I’m about to ask him, although I know it will come out as more of a demand. But at that moment my two shots of vodka seem to be mixing with the wine I had earlier, and my stomach flips. I spin away, out of his grip and take off down the hall, opening the first door I come across. Thank the Universe it’s a laundry room with a trash can. I close the door behind me, instantly yanking out and leaning over the white plastic bin that was in between the washer and dryer. Ugh, it tastes worse coming up than it burned going down, but it doesn’t last long. Surprisingly, I feel better physically, lighter. Now my head is spinning and filled with thoughts that shouldn’t mix at all–like that wine and vodka–in an otherwise empty stomach.

The door creaks. Please be Kylie or someone random. I already know it’s not because I can sense caution in the way it’s opening. Of course I’m not that lucky. By the time he slips in through the door and closes it behind him, I’m sitting on the floor with my back against the wall, my arms draped across my knees, my eyes closed. I hope this is all over soon.

He sits down next to me. We aren’t touching, but the warmth radiating off him lets me know he’s close. “Maci,” he whispers. “Are you okay?”

Even though the room is spinning a bit, I open my eyes and turn my head slightly in his direction. He looks good. A plain baby blue shirt hangs perfectly on him and brings out the blue in his usually gray eyes. He’s wearing dark jeans and his white Adidas, with his legs kicked out in front of him. His hair is perfectly in place, and I have a flash to the guy pouring the Smirnoff a few minutes ago. Wait, is Troy in this fraternity? I guess I don’t know much about him at all considering I haven’t talked to him in months, after misreading what I thought was the perfect date.

I stare back at him with the best glare I can muster, though it’s probably outweighed by the tears burning my eyes. Through the spinning and the blur of the room, I get one moment of clarity. It almost feels like I’m not drunk anymore, and I take advantage of it. “I’m fine, but I don’t want to hear it, Troy. Get out, please,” I tell him, not breaking our eye contact so he knows I’m serious.

He hesitates a moment, and I can tell he’s considering his options. “Maci, let me explain, please. We can go outside, get some fresh air.”

“No.” I’m firm because I don’t think I can handle a serious conversation right now, and at this moment I don’t care what his excuse is. “Please leave, I know you know how.” Okay, that was a little harsh, Maci. “I’m sorry,” I add under my breath. I reach out, my hand falling to his thigh. “I’m just really drunk, Troy. I don’t want to have this conversation in case I don’t remember.”

“Okay, maybe later.”

He looks away from me as he stands, then locks our eyes again as he backs away toward the door, not breaking contact until he’s out in the hallway, the door between us again.

I wish my head would stop spinning, it's not helping me steady my thoughts about what just happened. I get the impression he was being genuine, and maybe I should have listened now. I don’t really know why I’m upset. It’s not like I ever developed real feelings for Troy. Maybe I’m anxious about the rate at which I’m developing them for Dean, and frustrated that Troy is willing to communicate when I’m convinced there’s something Dean is keeping from me. Maybe that’s just an insecurity caused by Troy though. Hmm. That’s actually a reasonable thought. Wow, what an epiphany. Hopefully I remember it in the morning.

I stay on the floor a few more minutes before willing myself to stand and steady myself. On my way out the door, I spot Kylie in the corner of the room chatting with one of the fraternity brothers. I decide to leave without interrupting her. I’ll text her when I get home and let her know I made it. On the way out the front door, I can’t help laughing to myself, remembering when Dean told me frat parties were overrated.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Deanwassupposedtocome home yesterday. I’m not sure what time, so it could have been late. It’s not that I expect him to let me know he got back or make plans to see me, but part of me does hope he missed me even a fraction of the amount that I missed him. I check my phone for notifications, and there’s still nothing. Needing a distraction, I pack my books and drive to the library.

The sensible thing to do would be to go inside the library, where cell phone service does not exist and I could actually get some work done. Instead, I sit on the wooden bench outside, telling myself it’s because it’s an unusually nice day in Oregon for the beginning of December. As I pull my books out of my bag, I admit to myself that it’s really because I’ll have cell service out here.

I’m distracted reading about psychotropics in my Psychology of Drugs book when my phone vibrates against the bench next to me. I’m sure it’s Avery asking me to grab margarita mix for taco Thursday tonight. Picking up my phone, I sigh, knowing I won’t see the name I’m hoping for flashing across my screen.

To my surprise, I do.

Dean:Whatcha doing?

Maci:At the library, you?

I’m trying not to give away how much I’ve been going crazy over getting any text at all from him.

Dean:On my way, I’ll be there in 10.

I love how he seems to show up whenever he wants to see me. I want to be better about saying and doing what I want. I stay cross-legged on the bench, while I wait by staring at my book. I’ve read the same line over and over but haven’t retained any of it. I’m anxious to see him and hear about his trip.

I catch his white truck pulling up to the library parking lot out of the corner of my eye and look up to him smiling through the open window at me. He’s wearing the purple sweatshirt I noticed he wears on days he wants to be comfortable, and his skin glows from the type of tan you only get on vacation.

“You hungry?” he asks, as I zip my backpack, slide my flats on and start toward him.

I sink into his passenger seat cautiously, nervous about making the first move to kiss him. He doesn’t lean over to kiss me, but he reaches to put the truck in drive and then over to rest his hand on my thigh. Instantly, I feel that spark as he touches me and look over at him. I’m not going to overthink anything. He said we are exclusive after all.

“How was your trip?” I ask, my eyes on him as he stops at a red light.

“Great. Part of me already wants to go back.” Keeping it vague as usual.

“Umm no. I need more than that. Tell me everything about South America.” I grin. I’m jealous he went but excited to hear about it.

His eyes roam my face for a moment as if he’s contemplating telling me or not, but then shares all about the place they stayed and their excursions. I soak it all in as the hot air blowing out of his vents hits my face. He finally got his heater fixed. He’s also got the windows rolled halfway down, letting fresh air swirl around us. I thought I was the only one who did that.

We pull into a dirt parking lot of a Mexican restaurant I’ve never been to before. We head for a round, light blue wire table, and as we sit, two waters and a basket of chips and salsa appear in front of us. I go to pick up the menu to look it over, but I pause, noticing Dean hasn’t glanced at his. He’s staring right into my eyes when I look over at him. The table is small enough that he’s easily able to reach over and brush a strand of wind blown hair out of my face. Tucking it behind my ear he says softly, “I lied to you the day we met.”

“Wait, what?” It comes out as confusion, but my heart races in anticipation of hearing something I don’t want to know. What could he have lied about? We hardly talked that day.

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