22. Corey

“God, I’m starved,” Palmer says as we ascend the stairs of Nolan’s basement to the scent of pizza.

Hannah, Hudson, and Katie are already upstairs, making space for all the pizza boxes. We’ve been here since morning practice ended, and it’s now late afternoon. I check my phone again to see if Anna or Fallon has messaged me. Anna was told it would be a week or two before she received biopsy results, but it feels like I’ve been holding my breath since her surgery, and Fallon was supposed to confirm where we’re meeting to watch our first movie tonight after canceling on me yesterday when we were supposed to meet at my dorm.

There are no messages.

“Everything good?” Palmer asks.

I nod, pocketing my phone. “I have to meet someone for a class project soon.” I don’t know why I don’t mention that it’s with Fallon. Maybe it’s my bruised pride or my growing certainty she’s about to stand me up again.

“For Gaines’s class? Media Training?” Nolan asks.

I nod.

“I told you, you don’t have to do jack shit for that class. Read the CliffsNotes or pay ten bucks and buy the answers. I swear, the professor won’t read a goddamn word.”

By the time I leave Nolan’s, we’ve finished taping and mudding the outer walls. I still haven’t heard from Fallon.

I drive back to campus, my thoughts consumed by what might have happened if I hadn’t gone to Pops’s birthday party or if I’d followed Nolan outside to pull whatever prank he did on the men’s soccer team.

I don’t wait for the elevators. Instead, I take the stairs to the fourth floor. Everything about being here has felt different since Saturday when I learned Fallon lives in the same damn building as me.

I avoid looking at my phone before getting in the shower. Frustration and ignorance are better companions than rejection.

Somehow, hesitation and doubt follow me instead.

Fallon’s under my skin. I find myself dissecting her messages, replaying our exchanges, not just when I’m bored or trying to sleep, but constantly.

The reminder of her shocked expression at Pops’s birthday party has plagued my thoughts, worst of all.

My phone chimes with a text as I step out of the shower.

Fallon: Hey. Sorry, my practice ran late. Want to meet at the library?

Me: Which one?

Fallon: Barrons.

Me: I’ll meet you there at 7.

It’s a twenty-minute walk to Barrons, the main library on campus. Another library is closer to the dorm, which has me wondering if she chose Barrons because it’s usually the busiest, filled with students and study groups. I push open the door, knowing it won’t be busy tonight. During the summer, the libraries are deserted.

I spot Fallon standing off to the side of the second set of entry doors. She’s wearing black sweatpants and a gray tee that says Hale Painting. She doesn’t notice me. Her attention is trained on her phone. I lean back on my heels to prevent myself from touching her, an impulse that is so strong and instant it feels almost like muscle memory.

Eyes the same shade of blue as the ocean when you get out past the rough surf, jump to me, and then widen with recognition and what I think are nerves before Fallon slides her phone into her pocket and straightens her shoulders. “Hey,” she says, tucking some loose hair behind her ear. “Sorry. I was just catching up with Lexie.”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

The whisper of pink that crosses her cheeks reminds me of that night in the hotel lobby when I told her she’d be late if she fucked anything like she kissed. Blood rushes through my veins, carrying reminders of that night to the forefront of my thoughts.

I clear my throat and nod at the empty library.

Fallon grips her backpack and leads me inside. “I haven’t actually been here before,” she admits as her stomach emits a growl.

Her cheeks turn a darker shade of pink before her pace quickens.

I spent most of a semester here during my sophomore year when one of my professors insisted on quoting a book that couldn’t be checked out. I nearly tell her this unfiltered story but stop short, feeling that familiarity of eggshells under my feet.

We’re silent as we pass by the stained-glass windows that grace every one of Camden’s brochures. Fallon tilts her head, examining them, carefully skipping past me a couple of times before meeting my stare. I don’t try to hide that I’m watching her. She blinks but doesn’t smile or look away. Our eyes remain locked for a long minute before she turns and continues deeper into the stacks.

Fallon stops at a vacant table in the middle of the floor, but I shake my head. “Not here.”

“Why? It’s not like there’s anyone here to complain about the noise,” she says, spinning to take in our empty surroundings.

“Don’t you want the full tour?”

She smirks, and I think she’s going to say something sarcastic, but instead, she hitches her bag higher on one shoulder and waves for me to lead the way.

“Was Camden your first choice?”

I wait until she meets my stare again before admitting, “No.”

“But the facility, distance, and bet from your teacher convinced you?”

I like that she remembers too much. “My top choice was in New York, near where my dad works, but Camden quickly became my first choice when my dad started pulling strings for me to intern with him.”

“Where does he work?”

I cut a glance in her direction as I stop at a table against the wall. Fallon slides into the seat across from me. “A bank.”

“Was it him or the bank that you didn’t want to work for?”

“What’s this question worth?”

Recognition sparks in her gaze as she purses her lips. A look of pure determination greets me that dares me to kiss her compliant.

“My dad owns a painting company,” she says, pointing at her shirt. “That’s why I couldn’t meet you yesterday. He had a big job, and Mason and Gunnar were both busy.”

“Do you work for him often?”

Fallon shakes her head. “Between work, school, and soccer, I don’t have a lot of time. Mason and Charlie work with him full-time, and Gunnar will sometimes, but he hates it.” She offers this to me unabridged.

“I don’t want to work in finance or with my dad.” I lean back in my chair, meeting her gaze. “I want to get drafted.”

I expect her to laugh and remind me how cliché I sound, but instead, she leans back, mirroring my posture. “Why are you looking at me like you think I’m judging you?”

“Because people usually have two reactions when I tell them I’m hoping to be drafted. They either laugh and say something condescending or…”

“Act like you’re a celebrity and kiss your ass?” She nods. “My ex played football. I get it.”

I raise a brow, my jealousy so damn potent that curiosity has to race to keep up. “Does he still play?”

Fallon’s stomach growls again. “As far as I know.” Her gaze turns dismissive as she reaches for her bag.

“Where did you transfer from?”

Her gaze darts to mine and then away. “What’s this question worth?” she parrots, raising her eyebrows. Her stomach grumbles again.

“Did you eat dinner?”

“My practice ran late,” she reminds me.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I had a protein bar before practice.”

I vacate my seat. “How long ago was that? Come on. Let’s grab some food.”

“I’m fine. Really.” She waves a hand at me as she pulls out her laptop. “Most of these movies are on the streaming services I have.”

“We’re not watching anything until you eat.”

She shakes her head. “Truly, I’m fine.” But her stomach grumbles again.

I grab her bag. “This place is open until eleven. We’ll have plenty of time.”

Hesitation dances in her gaze as she remains seated, reminding me why we’re meeting here rather than in one of our dorms.

I push those thoughts away and turn, taking three strides before she calls my name. I pause. It’s the first time I’ve heard my name on her lips, and I swear it feels like she said some kind of goddamn spell. I want to hear her say it again. Say it while under me, over me, while I’m thrusting inside of her, and again while she unravels.

“Come on. I’m starved, too. I’ll sweeten the deal and gift you three questions.”

“Five,” she counters, finally standing.

“Deal.”