Page 24 of Night Shift

He lets my hand drop. I miss his touch immediately.

“There’s no game,” Vincent insists, twisting in his chair so he’s facing me straight on. “Look, I’m not great at this either. You don’t have to come to the party if I’ve made you uncomfortable, but I—I’d like to have you there, and your roommates might have fun, and there’s gonna be a ton of free alcohol, and I’m sure we could get a poetry reading going once everyone’s played a few rounds of beer pong.”

I want to laugh. I do.

Instead, I say, “I’ll think about it.”

Vincent opens his mouth like he’s going to argue. “Okay.”

“I really do have to go.”

“Thank you. For helping me with the poetry. I mean it, Kendall.”

I nod, turn on my heel, and start toward the door.

But I can’t help myself from adding one last comment over my shoulder.

“I think your friends are here for you.”

My tone is just bitter enough that I’m sure Vincent will connect the dots between my departure and the arrival of his teammates. But I don’t stick around to hear him try to explain why half of the basketball team is posted up at a table across the coffee shop.

Outside, it’s hot and bright. I’m immediately miserable. The whole walk home, birds chirp and sunlight winks through the trees and students laugh as they breeze past me toward campus, and it’s all so cheerful and picturesque that it makes me want to throw my head back and scream into the cloudless sky. Because honestly? How dare everyone have such a delightful day while I’m trying not to think about what’s being said about me in the team group chat.

I get the Venmo notification when I’m crossing the street in front of my building.

Vincent Knight paid you $100.

The subject line is a lone tiger emoji.

And somehow, this is the final slap in the face. The cherry on top of the shit sundae. I’m grateful I’m already bounding up the front steps of my building. I don’t need any of the students walking by to see me fighting back tears.

• • •

Harper is sprawled across a yoga mat on the living room floor, her bare feet in the air and her legs all twisted together like a soft pretzel. She always stretches after her swims. When I shoulder through the front door of the apartment, her head pops up, corkscrew curls tumbling everywhere as they slip loose from her topknot.

“She’s back!” Harper hollers.

There’s a distant sound of scrambling, and then Nina’s bedroom door flies open. “Already?” She marches out into the living room with her reading glasses on. This just goes to show how concerned she is about the events of my morning—she never lets us see her with her reading glasses on. “How did it go? Did you guys hook up in the bathroom?”

“That’s so fucking unsanitary,” Harper says.

“I’m gonna second that,” I grumble.

Nina, in true empath fashion, frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“He paid me a hundred bucks,” I announce with a laugh that is not at all funny. “For the tutoring. I got the notification on my way back here.”

“Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?” Harper asks.

Nina sighs. “Because that’s not what she wanted.”

I drop my backpack, collapse onto the couch, and recount it all—the late arrival of Vincent, the gifted cold brew I absolutely should not have chugged, the poetry analysis that somehow turned into what I can only describe as foreplay . . . and, finally, the way it all came crashing down.

“Are you sure they weren’t just grabbing coffee?” Nina asks.

“They didn’t even go up to the counter. And I saw one of them take out his phone and point it at us like he was taking a picture. Vincent definitely tipped them off.”

She sighs and scrubs her hands over her face. “What did he say when you left?”

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