Page 15

I wave to Sanderson before slipping inside my dorm building, unable to wipe the small smile from my face. As soon as the door closes behind me, exhale.

What just happened?

I'm not the kind of girl who goes on dates with hockey players. I'm not the kind of girl who enjoys drive-in movies with mint chocolate chip ice cream that someone carefully packed in dry ice. I'm not the kind of girl who can't stop smiling after saying goodnight to a guy whose brother she dated less than two weeks ago.

Except, apparently, I am exactly that girl now.

"So? How was it?"

I jump at the voice, my heart racing. Lennox is sitting in the dorm lobby, curled up in an armchair with a book that I'm certain is just a prop.

"Have you been waiting here this whole time?" I ask, pushing off the door.

"Just the last twenty minutes or so," she says, closing her book. "I saw his car pull up on my way back from the library and decided to hang around. So, spill."

"There's nothing to spill," I say, heading for the stairs. "We watched a movie."

Lennox follows, hot on my heels. "A movie where? The theater's been closed for renovations all week."

"The old drive-in."

She gasps. "The abandoned one? How did he even manage that?"

"Apparently he knows people." I push open the door to the fourth floor, fishing my key from my pocket.

"That's actually really romantic," Lennox says, following me to my room. "What did you watch?"

"Jurassic Park."

"Not exactly a classic date movie."

"It wasn't a date," I insist, unlocking my door. "It was an extended social interaction."

Lennox snorts. "An extended social interaction? Is that what you’re calling it?"

I roll my eyes, tossing my keys on the desk and flopping onto my bed. "It was my term, not his. He wanted to call it a date."

"And God forbid you admit you went on a date with Sanderson Connolly," she teases, sitting beside me.

"Exactly."

"So, what did you do besides watch dinosaurs in an abandoned drive-in?"

"Nothing," I say, then add, "He brought ice cream. Mint chocolate chip."

Lennox's eyebrows shoot up. "He knows your favorite flavor?"

"It came up during our ice cream…thing."

"Your ice cream 'thing,'" she repeats, making air quotes. "You're really committed to not calling these dates, aren't you?"

I throw a pillow at her. "No."

"Admit it," she says, dodging the pillow. "You had fun."

"It wasn't terrible," I concede, echoing what I told Sanderson earlier.

"Did he kiss you?" she asks, flopping down beside me.

"No," I say, and there's a hint of…is that disappointment in my voice? "He said he never makes a move on the first date."

"Extended social interaction," Lennox corrects with a grin.

"Yeah, so no moves will be made."

"So, there's going to be a third date?"

I laugh, considering. "He seems to think so."

"And you?"

That's the question, isn't it? Do I want to see Sanderson again? Do I want to keep exploring whatever this strange, unexpected connection is between us? Do I want to risk the complications, the potential drama, the inevitable collision of our different worlds?

The answer surprises me.

"I don’t know," I say softly. "Maybe."

Lennox squeals, bouncing on the bed. "I knew it! You like him!"

"I didn't say that," I protest.

"You didn't have to." She pokes my side. "It's written all over your face."

"It's just…different with him," I try to explain. "He's not what I expected."

"He’s not?"

I struggle to find the words. "He's thoughtful. He listens. He remembers things I've mentioned in passing, like my favorite ice cream flavor or the music I like. And he’s persistent."

"Sounds like a keeper to me."

"It's complicated, Lenny."

"Because of Cade?"

"Because of everything." I sit up, hugging the pillow to my chest. "His reputation, his brother, the fact that we met under the most bizarre circumstances imaginable. It's like the universe is telling us to stay away from each other."

"Or," Lennox counters, "the universe brought you together in the most memorable meet-cute of all time."

"There was absolutely nothing cute about how we met. Jesus, Len."

She chuckles. "Horrifying-meet-cute, then. But still, you have to admit it's a story you'll never forget."

"That's putting it mildly." I pick at a loose thread on the pillowcase. "What would you do if you were me?"

"Me?" She laughs. "I'd climb that boy like a tree and not look back."

"Lennox!"

"What? He's hot, he's sweet, he brought you to a private movie screening. I mean, come on."

I roll my eyes, but she has a point. Sanderson did go through a lot of trouble for our "extended social interaction."

"I just don't want to rush into anything, and have it blow up in my face," I say. "I need to be sure."

"You can never be sure, Han. That's what makes it exciting."

"I don't like exciting. I like predictable. Safe."

"And how's that working out for you?" she asks gently.

I don't answer. We both know the truth—my carefully planned, predictable life led me straight to the most unpredictable situation imaginable.

My phone buzzes, and my heart does a little flip when I see the puck-head emoji name on the screen.

Just wanted to make sure you got inside safely. Thanks for tonight. I had fun.

Then, a second later: Even without hot fudge.

I can't help the smile that spreads across my face.

"Is that him?" Lennox asks, watching my expression.

I nod, typing a reply: I made it inside. Thanks for tonight.

His response is immediate: Hannah Banana.

I smile again, and Lennox leans over to read the exchange.

"Hannah Banana? Oh my god, that's adorable."

"It's not."

Sanderson.

I put my phone down, aware of Lennox watching me with a knowing smile.

"Not a word," I warn her.

"I didn't say anything," she says innocently. "But if I did, it would be that you're absolutely smitten with hockey boy."

"I am not smitten."

"Your face says otherwise."

I throw another pillow at her.

She stands, heading for the door. "I expect a full report on this third 'extended social interaction' when it happens."

"If it happens," I correct her.

"When," she insists, closing the door behind her.

Alone in my room, I fall back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzes again, and I can't help the immediate flutter in my stomach, thinking it's Sanderson again.

But it's not. It's Cade.

Can we talk?

My good mood evaporates, replaced by a tight knot of guilt and anxiety. I haven't thought about Cade all night, not once during the movie or the drive home. Not once while texting his brother. The realization makes me feel even worse.

I put the phone down without answering, suddenly exhausted. This is exactly why getting involved with Sanderson is a bad idea. It's messy and complicated and bound to hurt someone.

But as I get ready for bed, my mind keeps drifting back to the drive-in. To Sanderson's smile when I chose Jurassic Park. To the mint chocolate chip ice cream he so carefully preserved. To the way he didn't try to kiss me, didn't push for more than I was ready to give.

I fall asleep with dueling images in my head—Cade's text message and Sanderson's smile—and the uncomfortable knowledge that one makes me feel guilty while the other makes me feel…

Something I’ve never felt before.

This is so not going according to plan.