Page 49 of Palm South University: Season 3

“So, how do you sayhelloin Portuguese?”

“Olá,” I answer. “Or oi, or alô.”

“At least you got some useful information out of your favorite game. I only learned how to curse at a young age. Stupid Hasbro.”

I chuckle, but then silence falls over both of us. I got her to answer, but now that I have her on the phone, the sharp ache in my stomach is rolling strong. Because I don’t really have her, but I want her so bad it hurts.

“Here’s another one in Portuguese. Desculpe.”

“And what does that mean?” she asks.

I swallow, inching up to lean against my headboard and balancing my phone in one hand. “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t respond, so I continue.

“I really was just making a joke at the dodgeball tournament, but I also knew what I was doing. I wanted to get under Grayson’s skin, and I was gloating off the win. I was an asshole, and you didn’t deserve to be stuck in the middle of that.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, then she sighs. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have had dinner with you the night he bailed on me. We’re a couple, we’re going to have fights, and I shouldn’t have found comfort in you when he let me down. That’s not fair to him.” She pauses. “Or to you.”

The knife in my side twists in a little deeper, and I shift at the pain.

“But I want to be there for you… I always have been. We’re friends.”

“I know,” she answers quickly.

“But he doesn’t want us to be, does he?” I finish for her.

“Can you blame him?”

I can’t, but I hate it all the same, so I don’t answer her question.

“Have you slept with him?”

She scoffs. “Wow. That is none of your business, Adam.”

“I’m sorry. Shit, I’m sorry, don’t hang up.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to shake my way through the drunken fog clouding my head. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about you. Not since that night on Spring Break. And I know you’re with Grayson, and I know you care about him, but it doesn’t change the fact that I want you.”

She inhales a stiff breath. “Adam…”

“I want to know everything about you, Cassie. Everything. Your fears, your secrets, your hopes, and your dreams. I want to know how many kids you want or if you even want any at all. Do you want to travel the world or stay in the same small town forever? And who are you when no one is around, when it’s just you and your favorite playlist? What’s playing, who’s singing to you when you’re sad, and who do you dance to when you’re happy?”

There’s a sniff on the other end, but I can’t stop.

“I want to know all of that and more. Does he? Does he know the real you? Does he want to?”

I hear her sniff again and my heart clenches. Sitting up straighter in bed, I close my eyes, trying to reach for her across the airwaves. Does she feel me? Is she reaching for me, too?

My answer comes in the form of a soft click, and then the sniffling is gone, and the fountain is muted, and it’s just me alone in my bed again. In the morning, I’ll be hungover.

In more ways than one.