Page 36 of Mr. Brightside
Cory
Heleftthesidedoor unlocked for me. So even though Clinton’s closed nearly an hour ago, I let myself in, then lock it behind me.
I was wary when he texted and said to meet him here. I’ve been avoiding Lia as much as possible, relying on short texts and insisting I’m stressed about school to keep her off my case. She knows something’s going on with Jake and me, but nothing more than that. And since we agreed to tell everyone together once it was official, I’d rather avoid putting myself in a situation where I’d have to lie by omission.
The end justifies the means. I want to be a man of my word. I want to keep my promises. I want to be faithful to my husband.
When I walk into the restaurant, I know right where I’ll find him. He doesn’t hear me approach, which gives me a few seconds to admire the guy I’m going to marry tomorrow.
I still can’t believe I’m doing this. But the idea of not going through with it seems even crazier than the reality of what I’ve committed to.
He’s leaning up against the back bar, looking down at his phone. His brows are pulled together in concentration, creating the cutest little indent in the center of his forehead. My hands twitch with the urge to smooth it out and massage away the concern. I could tease him about premature wrinkles, but it’s pretty pointless. He’s got such a baby face—he’d be hot as hell with a few age lines to go along with that dimple.
“When’s your birthday?” I ask, loving the way his head snaps up at the sound of my voice.
He grins, jutting his chin in my direction as I approach. My feet move a little faster, eager to close the space between us.
“May fifth.” He pushes off the ice machine to meet me around the bar. Instead of joining him, I lean forward near the opening. It’s not lost on me that our positions are similar to how we were standing just a few nights ago when he first invited me over to his place. Except this time, I’m standing too, facing him head-on. We’re on equal footing, about to embark on something new and crazy and potentially amazing together.
“When’s yours?” He leans forward farther, getting so close our foreheads almost touch.
“December twenty-fourth.”
His eyes light up. “I guess the holidays will be extra special this year.” He smiles again, blinding me with those dazzling white teeth, before pulling back a fraction and giving me room to breathe.
“How are you?” he asks, sounding like he genuinely wants to know.
I blow out a breath and decide to be honest.
“Not great. Abuela is on my case about moving out, and I’ve had to avoid Lia all week. Plus, when I went up to Holt the other day, I found out that they unenrolled me from all my classes since my tuition is past due. I’m low-key stressed about not getting back in to the classes I need to stay on track for my degree.”o
Jake’s eyebrows pinch together again. “Seriously? They’re the ones who canceled your GA thing! What sort of asshat decided to pull your classes, too?” He glowers as he waits for my reply.
Oh. He’s pissed. My happy-go-lucky, hot as hell soon-to-be husband is pissed on my behalf. Why is this such a turn on?
“It’s okay,” I assure him, fighting the increasingly persistent urge to touch him. “I think it was an automated thing, honestly. Once they changed my student status, it looked like I hadn’t paid for the semester. It’s just an administrative issue I’ll have to figure out.”
He doesn’t look convinced. He stands up straighter but keeps his arms spread long on the bar. God, he has the best arms. What is it about his tattooed forearms, muscles, and veins for days that turns my insides to mush? It’s August, so he’s also super tan. Our skin tones almost match, thanks mostly to the fact that I haven’t had time for fun this summer.
“We’ll get it taken care of tomorrow.” He looks me straight in the eye. “Or tonight, if it’s something you can do online. Do you have to write a check? Or can we put it on a card?”
“I—” I don’t know how to respond to that.
He waits, not filling the silence for once, which gives me a second to process my thoughts.
“I assumed I’d just take care of it next week once we’re officially married.”
He rolls his teeth over his bottom lip, assessing me in a way that makes me squirm.
“Would you rather it be handled now?”
Of course I would. This thing has been a nightmare, and I already know I’ll have to email my professors individually and beg them to put me back on their class rosters. There’s a sequence to the courses I have to take to earn my master’s, and knowing I don’t have my perfectly planned schedule secured is enough to give me mild hives.
“Well, yeah,” I answer honestly.
“Then it’s settled.”
Something about this doesn’t feel right. How can he just trust that this is all going to work out?