“Rowe,” I say, my lips pushed tightly as I try to hold in my frustration with Ty. I’m frustrated because he’s right. And I might still be a little drunk. And I might just be imagining how I felt when I ran into her in the hall.
I mutter a few swear words under my breath and take my laptop back over to my bed to write Rowe back.
I forgot I have something in the morning. Won’t be back until after lunchtime. You free in the afternoon? Or maybe going to the mixer? Let me know.
- 57
“Asshole,” I say, tossing my closed laptop down by my feet and pulling my pillow up over my eyes to block out the light…and to block out Ty.
“Just your angel of responsibility, my brother. That’s what I’m here for,” he chuckles; I give him the finger before I fall asleep and dream about Rowe and those damn cotton panties.
Chapter 4
Rowe
I feel like an idiot. I’ve been sitting in the hallway next to the elevator for twenty minutes now, and I’ve watched about a dozen more students move their belongings in. Almost every room is full, and parents are nagging their sons and daughters and some are crying about leaving. The whole thing is making me appreciate how fast my parents were with this process. But they had different motives—if they stayed too long, we all would have bailed on the plan. And I would never grow up.
Paige and Cass were dead to the world when I woke up. That’s another element of the sleeping medication—when it’s done doing it’s job, my eyes are wide and ready, no matter how badly I’d like to keep them closed.
I woke up a little after seven. My hair had dried overnight, so I just put on some eyeliner—to make myself look older than twelve—and slipped on my running shoes to go exploring. Being outside makes me nervous. Ross says I have a slight agoraphobia brought on by my trauma, and the best way to overcome it is to push myself a little more every day. I have four days until classes start, and if I want to show up to any of them, I have to push myself out the front door of our dorm. So that’s what I spent the first three hours of my morning doing. I paced the area around the front desk. Then I sat in the lounge. Eventually, I went outside and stood on the steps, forcing myself to count to fifty. By the time my breathing slowed down, I did a full lap around the building, and soon it was almost eleven. I’ve been sitting here ever since.
He isn’t coming. What has me upset is that I’m surprised he isn’t coming. I’m starting to think I dreamt the entire thing. The Ambien makes me do that sometimes—and the dreams feel so real. I pull out my phone to check my Facebook messages and see if that conversation is even in there, but while I’m waiting for it to load, a folded up paper airplane lodges itself under my knee.
“Hey, mind throwing that back?” I look down the hall and my eyes are met with a face that’s oddly familiar. He looks just like Nate—or what I imagined Nate to be? But this guy is older, and he’s in a wheelchair. His smile is disarming, and I’m starting to feel like someone is pulling a trick on me.
Getting to my feet, I bring the plane into my hands and look it over for bends in the folds before squinting my eyes to line it up in his direction. I give it a push, and it sails several feet past him, which for some strange reason makes me really happy. Yes, if airplane throwing were an Olympic sport, I would surely take home the gold.
“Hey, nice toss. Thanks,” he says, wheeling back to pick it up again. I smile and nod, tugging down my shorts and the back of my shirt, which have crumpled from sitting in the corner by the elevator for so long. I’m about to slump back to my room when Nate’s mystery twin stops me.
“You’re Rowe, right?” It’s strange how my heart speeds up just by his question. Maybe I didn’t dream any of this at all?
“That’s me,” I say, folding my arms around myself and squeezing my stomach for strength.
“You must not have gotten Nate’s message.” He’s coming closer to me now, and the closer he gets, the more familiar his features are. His face is almost an exact replica of the one I saw last night, but his eyes are a little different, and his cheeks are fuller. All I can do is shrug in response.
“Nate had workouts this morning. I think he sent you something on Facebook,” he says, and I’m unable to stop myself from swiftly pulling out my phone to check. I’m sure I look desperate, but whatever—I’m not good at this. No sense in pretending. When I tap on my Facebook app, his message alert is the first thing I see.
“You know what? Why don’t you come out with me? We can see where our classes are, and then I’m heading to the gym. Maybe Nate will be done by then,” he’s already heading back to his room with his keys out. I can’t get my voice to work, so I just look from him to my room and back again, constantly calculating if I have enough time to run. Cass squashes that plan, though, when she’s suddenly next to me in her full workout clothes.