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Hartley

“ I mpossible!” I yell as I grab strands of my hair and pull harder than I should.

“The drama,” Liza retorts patiently as she continues to quiz me on the modern era of art history through color-coded index cards. Her usual study strategies have worked for the past few weeks, but I’m hitting a roadblock with this content. “You’re too wound up to focus on the key words.”

“Don’t even. . .”

Before I can finish she cuts me off by grabbing my sweaty hands and pushing deep into the crease between my thumb and pointer finger. “Pressure points and deep breathing.”

“We’re wasting time.”

“If centering you is what it takes to retain this content, we’ll stop as many times as we need.” She pushes harder on the spot that makes my toes curl and turns the loud noise circulating in my brain off all at once. “Deep breath for seven seconds.”

She counts off each second and then instructs me to hold the air in for three seconds before releasing it out. We repeat that five more times, and I have to admit, my mind isn’t as loud as it was before we started her silly exercise.

“How do you feel?” she asks with a knowing look.

I lean over my crossed legs to give her a kiss on her warm cheek. “Better.”

“I hate to say I told you so, but if the shoe fits.” She wets her tongue before licking the flavored gloss off her bottom lip.

“You have a knack for seeing past my antics. Where were we?”

In the next half hour, I manage to get a grip on most of the vocabulary words and timeline features that will be on the final tomorrow. I’m not aiming for perfection, just passing.

“You’ve got this.” Closing her binder made especially for me and my study routine, she lifts herself off the floor and places everything back in her book bag. “After your last final tomorrow, we can celebrate.”

I rub my hands together and bite my bottom lip at the thought of celebrating with Liza all to myself. “What do you have in mind?”

“I was thinking. . .” Chuckling and rolling her eyes, she slips on a pair of fuzzy socks to warm her perpetually freezing toes. “You. Me. Downtown Tap. Buy one get one margaritas and a dance floor.”

Dropping to one knee, I make a scene of opening up a fake ring box. “Will you marry me?”

She laughs so hard she snorts. “Get up!”

“It’ll be fun. We haven’t gone wild in a hot minute. I figured we’re due for a night of bad decisions.” I wink.

I wrap her up and swing her around in circles before dropping her back down. Goosebumps raise across her arm as I lean in to nip her earlobe, knowing it riles her up. “I love making bad decisions with you.”

She raises her chin to meet my gaze. “Only if you pass the final.”

“I wouldn’t dream of messing this up.”

Staring back at me on the screen are the results of my last final of the semester.

The key to a night filled with deliciously bad decisions with my girl relies on the percentage I’m about to unveil on the next screen.

The testing center is filled with students completing their online finals.

The great thing about an online final is the immediate results.

Before I click continue, I send up last minute prayers that this goes as well as I felt answering the questions.

Confidence in academics is a foreign feeling, but with the help of Liza and her non-traditional studying habits, I’ve grown to feel good about my ability to pass a test on my own.

The blue submit button bores holes into my tired eyes.

I hover the mouse over the button and click before I spend another minute worrying about the score on the next screen.

The page glitches for a moment before loading the results tab, and my heart thumps in my chest. I’m met with an 88% staring back at me.

I just got a B on a final. I can’t remember the last time I scored anything higher than a D on a high stakes test. Slamming my laptop shut, I stuff my materials into my backpack and sprint out of the testing center where I’m allowed to take my phone out.

Me: Looks like bad decisions are in order.

Goldie: What’d you get?! Me: You’re dating a B student. Not to brag or anything, but I’m kinda a big deal.

Goldie: kfajgjwnbpownagp HART, I’M SO PROUD.

Goldie: Heading back to the apartment?

Me: Come see me, babe.

Goldie: OMW

Liza

Thanks to the surprising lack of traffic, I beat Hartley back to his apartment.

I was so excited when he sent me the text about his final grade.

He’s worked so hard this semester and has taken all of my study tips and tricks in stride.

Now it’s time to celebrate. Jostling in my car with nervous energy, I glance over to see Hartley’s car pull in the parking spot next to mine.

His music booms through both cars and he’s dancing without a care in the world as he parks.

He shifts his gaze to mine and hurries out of the car, slamming the door in the process to reach my driver’s side.

He flings open my door and picks me up from the car seat to walk up the stairs, cradling me in his arms. The giggles won’t stop when he’s in a mood like this.

My arms brace around his neck as he takes the stairs two at a time, clearly in a hurry to reach the door. “Ready to make questionable decisions with your girlfriend?”

“Nothing—” He nips my ear. “—is questionable—” His tongue flattens along my cheek until he makes his way to my lips.

“—when it involves you and me.” Hartley’s breath feathers along my lips, so I lean in a half inch and kiss him so deeply.

I’m surprised the neighbors who just left their apartment aren’t rolling their eyes at us.

“I’m all yours. Tonight. . .” Rolling my head around in a circle, I hit him with slanted mischief in my eyes. “You call the shots.”

“Get ready for the best night of your life.”