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I slow my pace. “How do you play basketball if you don’t have long legs?”
“I’m a point guard. Don’t need them.”
“Mhm.”
As we approach our dorm, I catch my reflection in the glass doors—hair a mess, wearing Jax’s hoodie, last night’s mascara barely hanging on. But there’s something else, too. A glow maybe? Or maybe it’s just the way the morning light hits the glass. Either way, I can’t help but wonder if Jax is awake yet, ifhe’s thinking about me, if he’s going to text. And for once, I’m not sure which answer scares me more—that he will, or that he won’t.
Back in our dorm,I take a quick shower. It’s Saturday—no class, but two quizzes to study for. I head to the gym for a workout and a run first. I have a bi-weekend since we got back from Texas, but I still need conditioning and some arm care after the last few games. I’m sitting at a little over three hundred pitches for the week and desperately need some relief.
The NCAA only allows so many hours for sports-related activities. All that really means is we hit the weight room, run, take batting practice, and pitch on our own to get in the work—no team coaches.
After my workout, I grab lunch and study in the dining hall. And check my phone a billion times to see if Jaxon’s texted.
Nothing yet. Why am I so obsessed with him texting me?
Probably because if he’s texting me, he’s not texting her. I can’t stop wondering if he replied to her messages. What if he’s not texting me because he’s meeting up with her? What if they’re having coffee?
Oh my God, stopppppp.
Sitting at the table, I watch rain slide down the windows, little rivers merging and splitting apart. It's just after 12. He has to be up by now, so why hasn’t he texted to ask why I left so early? Did he not care? Did he not have a good time? We literally slept together all night. Like, actually slept.
He said he missed me yesterday.
But clearly not that much if he's not texting me today. Maybe when he said he missed me, he meant sexually, not me specifically?
Ugh. I cover my face and drop my phone next to my book. My brain is exhausting. Literally draining me to the point my head feels like it’s going to pop and my heart is tight and constricted.
As I’m leaving the dining hall, I run into Jaxon. Actually. I come around the corner, he’s doing the same, and we nearly collide. He’s with Jameson and Kingston, so I keep my head down and do my best I-don’t-know-you-in-public glance.
Remember the rules.
Don’t act like you know each other in public. Very important.
Another rule: In public, we’re friends. Nothing more.
He surprises me and puts his hand out as I'm walking by. He doesn’t touch me, but blocks my path by leaning into the wall as his friends head into the dining hall. “Where ya heading?”
“I... uh…” I’m completely caught off guard. We haven’t had any public interactions in months. This is against the rules. Trying to breathe, I glance at his hand on the wall, veins visible beneath his rolled-up sleeve, then quickly look at his face—because if I stare at his arms, I’ll get distracted. “What?”
His eyes are curious. Flirty, but definitely curious. “Where ya going?”
Maybe that was a question about rushing out of his dorm this morning? I don’t know, but I also don’t know what to say. “Huh?”
“You’re leaving?”
“Oh, yeah. Well, I’m done studying and eating. Soooo.”
“I’ll walk with you.” He nods at his friends, and they turn toward the dining hall, leaving me alone with Jaxon.
“Oh, okay,” I say, and start walking.
Jaxon walks beside me in silence, opens the door, and then we’re out in the rain, hoods up, with a comfortable, yet worrisome, quiet between us.
“Want some coffee?” He nods at the stand.
“Sure.”
We get coffee at the Starbucks cart, and Jaxon finally breaks the awkward silence by bumping my shoulder. “Sooo, what happened this morning? Where’d you go?”