More Than Maybe - Erin Hahn Page 0,23

do with them, and that means Zack. And Zack doesn’t like to keep secrets from Cull since they have this whole ‘always tell the truth’ policy.”

“Yikes.”

“Right.”

“So…”

“So, I guess I’m the odd one out, and maybe I should make some new friends, but I’m eighteen and moving away, and honestly”—he scratches at his hair, ruffling it and pulling it behind his ear—“I’m a bit of an introvert. God,” he says, looking at the ceiling. “I sound pathetic, don’t I? I’m a third wheel.”

“Not totally,” I say. “I mean. If you’re an introvert, you’re a high-functioning one who danced in front of hundreds of strangers. Besides, I get it. Alone in a crowd, remember?”

“Yes! Exactly that,” he insists excitedly. “I don’t need to be locked up away from everyone, but I don’t need to talk to them.”

“But you’re talking to me just fine,” I offer.

“Well, you’re different.”

“How so?” I should stop prying, but I can’t seem to help myself. I’m not usually this nosy. I leave that to Meg.

“You’re … Vada,” he says simply.

“It’s true.”

“I don’t know.” He laughs, and the sound makes me want to cuddle into my jacket. It’s coaxing and rich. “I’ve never felt different around you. Maybe it’s the hair. I’m predisposed to favor gingers.”

Goodness, I’ve never been so happy to have red hair.

The server chooses that moment to interrupt and drops off our check. I glance at my phone, and I grow a little sad. It’s getting late. “We should head home.”

“Yeah. Let me take this on our way out.”

Luke pays, patently ignoring the bills I’m holding out to him, and I tuck them back into my pocket, vowing to buy him something when the mood strikes. We’re quiet on the way home. Which feels right.

He passes me his phone, and I play music from his collection of playlists and try to not think too much about how much every song makes me hyperaware of his warm body near mine, or the way his soothing voice croons under his breath, or how his long fingers tap on the steering wheel.

Or how very much I want to kiss him. Still. Even after leaving the club and sitting under the harsh halogen lights of the diner. Even when the magic of Other fades, I’m still vibrating with interest in the cool light of reality.

I’m taut as a bow by the time he pulls into my drive, minutes early. I can see my mom’s shadow as she peeks out from behind the curtains and know she’s watching, so before my limbs get any ideas and try to wrap themselves around every inch of Luke or anything, I reach for the handle.

“Thanks for coming tonight, Vada,” he says.

I settle back into my seat for a moment to look at him. “I had a blast. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Always,” he says, then shakes his head. “Er, I mean, anytime.”

I huff out a nervous laugh and immediately lunge out of the car, trotting up to the door. When I make it, I spin and give a wave. He waves back, his lips moving, but I can’t make out what he’s saying in the dim light. And then he reverses, headed home.

I’m suddenly wrung out and haven’t forgotten it’s a school night, so I kiss my mom good night and head upstairs to my room. It’s so quiet after the loud ringing of music, my ears feel almost tender. My feet sinking into the soft carpet, the old floors beneath creaking ever so slightly, is extra soothing. I pull on warm pajamas, brush my teeth, and wipe away my makeup. I fold myself into bed and pick up my phone. Before I can change my mind, I shoot off a text. It’s probably too much, but I’m feeling a lot and, well, fuck it. It’s just a song.

Of course, nothing is ever “just a song” with me, and I get the feeling nothing is ever “just a song” for him either, but, whatever. Too late.

VADA

YouTube: Led Zeppelin “Thank You”

When I wake up the next morning, his single-line response is there.

LUKE

“There would still be you and me.”

Are you there, God? It’s me, Smitten.

9

LUKE

The morning after the silent dance party is a drudge to get through. It wouldn’t have been so terrible, but I stayed awake thinking about Vada’s text long after the rest of my house rumbled with my dad’s leaf blower snores. I knew the song she referenced without even listening to it, though I can’t tell you when I last heard it.