Page 11

Chapter 10

Dina

H ave you heard of the morning after blues? Me too.

But surprisingly, I am not feeling any.

Nope. Not me.

In fact, I practically skipped to my first class this morning—yeah I know, weekend classes might sound bad, but I love mine.

Today was productive. My professor was constructively critical. But I leave my art class feeling good.

No, scratch that —feeling great.

I nailed my charcoal piece, my professor complimented my composition (which basically never happens), and for once, I wasn’t internally screaming about deadlines or customer complaints or whether mozzarella was technically a food group— it so is, by the way.

Today feels light.

Hopeful.

Easy.

Happy.

I am glowing with it, until suddenly, a big, fat shadow falls over me, blocking out the sun.

I’m halfway down the steps of the fine arts building, tote bag over one shoulder, still riding my little high, when I hear a voice I’d hoped I’d permanently muted.

“Dina, hey.”

I freeze.

No.

No no no.

I turn slowly and there he is.

Eric. The Human Dumpster Fire himself.

Complete with his signature backwards hat, smug grin, and that irritatingly casual stance like the world just owes him something.

He’s leaning against the railing like he’s starring in his own cologne ad.

If that cologne was Eau de Overconfidence and Shitty Taste in Clothes .

“Eric,” I say flatly, gripping my tote tighter. “What do you want?”

He flashes a smile that used to charm me, but now makes my skin crawl.

“I was thinking about swinging by Pizza Girls later. You know, we can catch up. Talk.”

His beady eyes rake over me from head to foot, and suddenly I feel dirty and not in a sexy way. More in a I want to take a shower right now way.

I blink.

“Talk? About what?”

He shrugs, stepping closer, too close , and drops his voice like he’s auditioning for a bad soap opera.

“Us, Deen. I mean, you can’t tell me you don’t still think about what we had.”

I hate that he calls me Deen. And I’m kind of stunned that he is really trying this nonsense.

I snort so loudly my professor, who is walking behind me gathering her things, glances over.

Oh great. An audience.

Exactly what I needed right now.

I force a polite smile because Professor Wren is literally within earshot, and I refuse to be that girl who causes a scene on campus.

“Eric, there’s nothing to talk about,” I say sweetly through clenched teeth. “You and I are ancient history. Fossils, even.”

He looks momentarily confused, but recovers fast with a lazy smirk.

“Come on, Deen. We always had chemistry?—”

“Nope. We didn’t, and I have nothing to discuss with you,” I cut him off, grabbing my bag more firmly. “Goodbye, Eric.”

I turn before he can toss out another pathetic attempt at rekindling and head toward the parking lot, with my pulse ticking a little too fast.

Ugh.

What a freaking joke.

If chemistry meant him forgetting my birthday two years in a row and treating me like an afterthought unless he was horny or hungry, then sure.

We were practically Einstein and Madame Curie.

I make it to my car and sit for a minute, willing the frustration to leave me.

I don’t need this energy in my space today.

Not when I have a real date with a real man tonight.

As if on cue, my phone pings.

Doug

[Image: dopey husky with its tongue out and crossed eyes]

When you accidentally open the camera app but still try to look cool.

Also me, getting ready for our date later.

I stare at the screen for a second, and then I’m laughing.

Loud, genuine laughter that bubbles up so fast it actually makes my eyes water a little.

God. He’s such a dork.

Immediately I reply with a laughter emoji.

Because this bit of silly nothing? It’s really, really endearing.

Eric never made me laugh like this.

Not once.

He made me self-conscious.

Made me feel lucky to have his attention, even when it came in breadcrumbs.

Being chubby meant I spent a long time in relationships convinced I should just accept what I got.

That I should be grateful for any scraps of affection because, well, I wasn’t anyone’s fantasy.

It took me years to unlearn that toxic crap.

Years of figuring out that I was worthy, and beautiful, and didn’t need to settle for assholes who made me feel small.

And yet sometimes that old doubt tries to creep back in.

But Doug?

So far, Doug makes it easy to ignore those voices.

He makes me laugh.

He flirts like I’m irresistible.

He checks in.

He wants to make plans.

For once, it’s not complicated or confusing.

For once, I’m not decoding texts or wondering where I stand.

For once, someone seems really into me.

I stare at his silly text and grin so wide it hurts.

Maybe this is it, I think, heart flipping as I find a meme that’s equally goofy and flirty to send back to him.

Maybe this thing with Doug is the start of something real.

Something easy.

Something worth it.

And tonight?

Tonight, I’m going to wear my favorite dress, style my curls, and walk into our date ready to see if my Wolfman really is as good in person as he is over the phone.

Spoiler alert: I really, really hope he is.