Page 9 of When Javi Dumped Mari

I can easily picture it: an older version of Marisol stretched out on a rug as her adoring puppies climb all over her and she laughs in pure joy. There must be a dopey grin on my face because Marisol stops and asks what I’m thinking about.

“Nothing,” I say, my gaze falling to the ground.

Cut it out, Javi. Head in the game.

We continue toward Staley. Beside me, Marisol swings the staple gun in her hand.

“So what do your parents do?” she says.

I want to ask her why it matters, but I bite my tongue. I’m going to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she’s just making conversation. “My dad’s a clerk at City Hall in Manhattan. Helps people fill out the paperwork so they can get married. My mom’s an elementary teacher.”

Marisol blows out her cheeks. “Your mom must be a saint. I mean, I was a devil in grade school.”

“You?” I say, tilting my head back. “I can’t imagine.”

She narrows her eyes at me, a smile dancing on her lips, then shoves me away from her. “I bet I’d like your parents. They raised a good egg.”

“You would. They’re the best.”

“Any siblings?”

“Two older brothers. Not the best.”

She stumbles to a halt, her eyebrows lifted in anticipation of some juicy family gossip. “Did they gang up on you when you were a kid?”

I relax my jaw. There’s no point in getting riled up about them.

“Something like that.” When I peek at Marisol’s face, I notice the wariness in her expression, so I quickly add, “Jesus, they didn’t hurt me or anything.

Physically, I mean. We just…went our separate ways before I started college, mostly because they weren’t there for me when I needed them. ”

“I’m sorry. Unfortunately, there’s a lot of that going around.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Marisol shakes her head. “What’s your relationship with your brothers like now? Do you see them often? Is it weird? Or tense? Or—” She takes a deep breath. “Sorry. Hunger’s got me a little loopy.”

She’s bombarding me with questions before I can formulate my own.

That’s an impressive superpower. I give her a slow smile, a breather for us both, before answering.

“No need to apologize. It’s just…there’s not much to it.

We aren’t as close as I’d hoped. They’re older and only a year and a half apart from each other in age.

Kind of always felt like it was them against me. ”

“That sucks. I’m an only, so I wouldn’t know the first thing about sibling dynamics.”

“You’re lucky,” I say, chuckling and absolutely meaning it.

“Didn’t always feel like it, though.”

I’d like to find out why, but we reach Staley Commons before I can dig into her statement.

Another day, maybe. In the meantime, we weave through the crowd of people hanging outside the dining hall.

I can’t help noticing how the guys track Marisol’s movements, their gazes darting to her and away as if they’re trying to be cool about checking her out.

We make quick work of our last few posters, then stare at the final one as if we didn’t design it ourselves.

A guy appears out of nowhere and throws his arm around Marisol’s shoulder. “What’s this?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, Spencer,” she replies, shrugging out of his hold.

“A date auction?” he shouts. “Holy shit, are you saying I’ll be able to win a date with you?”

“I’m sure there’ll be someone else you’re interested in,” she says, grimacing.

“Not likely, babe,” he says, reaching out to touch her face.

On instinct, I block his hand and slowly lower his arm. “Chill, man.”

He jerks his head back, his eyes bulging in surprise when his gaze lands on me. “Oh, I see how it is.” Then he leans in close. “For now. But you won’t last, you know. They never do.”

“Bye, Spencer,” Marisol says, glowering at him.

He smirks at us and saunters back to his posse.

Marisol grabs my T-shirt and pulls me close, her eyes pleading. “If he bids on a date with me, please promise you’ll step in and beat him to it.” She licks her lips. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, right?”

She’s not asking for much, but it feels important to close off the possibility of anything romantic between Marisol and me, even if the attraction I’m sensing is only in my head.

After all, she’s one of the most popular students on campus.

And I’m…the opposite of that. She attracts people; I repel them.

If I could leave Belmont without anyone ever knowing my name, I wouldn’t care one bit.

Marisol needs someone on her level; I can’t even step on the platform.

So believing there could ever be something between us that doesn’t end with my heart on the floor would be foolish.

I know what it’s like to be left behind, and I’d rather not be the reflection in someone’s rearview mirror ever again.

“I can’t,” I say, gently lowering her hands. “I have a girlfriend, remember?”

“Oh, right,” she says, twisting her lips to the side as she considers her predicament.

“But don’t worry,” I add, wanting to ease her stress, “I’ll make sure that Spencer kid doesn’t win a date with you.”

She raises her brows, a question in her eyes. “Oh yeah? How?”

“No clue,” I say, shrugging. “But I’ll figure something out.”

“Well, then, I’m counting on you, friend,” she says, poking me in the stomach.

“ Are we friends?” I ask.

She nods, her direct gaze pinning me to the spot. “If you’d like to be. We can begin by grabbing some lunch together if you want.”

I study her for a moment, my lips pressed together.

Damn. Spending more time with Marisol is not good for my mental well-being.

My brain’s synapses go into overdrive when I’m around her; it’s as if I’m experiencing literal sensory overload.

So I hesitate to answer and she notices, her eyes widening in surprise, then narrowing in annoyance.

“Oh, c’mon, Javier,” she says, lightly punching my arm, “I don’t bite. We’re just sharing a meal. We can talk about the auction details if you’re worried about what your girlfriend would think.”

Marisol’s point penetrates the chaotic thoughts in my head.

She’s right. And now I feel ridiculous. I’m acting as though she’s some kind of siren hell-bent on tempting me, which isn’t fair to her and is actually fucking shitty on my part.

By focusing on my attraction to her, I’m undervaluing Marisol’s best trait: her personality.

She’s fun and funny and fearless. Plus, she’s that rare individual I can tolerate for longer than a few minutes.

I don’t need to be with Marisol to enjoy the best parts of her.

So I place my hands on her shoulders and steer her in the direction of Centennial Walk.

“Yeah, friend , let’s get you fed. I can hear your belly growling from here. ”

“Shut up, Javier,” she says, leaning into my side as I throw my arm over her shoulder.

“It’s Javi.”

She looks up at me with a wide smile. “Javi it is, then.”

“Sounds good…Mari.”