The Sophomore (College Years #2) - Monica Murphy Page 0,78

him for thinking he forgot me, but I got over that fast.

“I never want you to think I’d forget you. I was so tired. I just—when I fall asleep, sometimes I sleep hard. And that’s what happened. I didn’t mean to be late.” He takes a step toward me, his hand reaching out, but he lets it drop before he makes actual contact. “And then I acted like a dick toward you. And your—friend.”

There it is. That tiny glimpse of jealousy. I’m tempted to smile. Worse, I’m tempted to ask him about it, but I keep that particular question to myself. “He’s fine. Don’t worry about him.”

“If you say so.” He doesn’t sound so sure. “Are we fine?”

“What do you mean?”

“Me and you.” He takes another step closer, and this time, his hand makes contact with my arm, his fingers warm on my skin. “I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“Fuck what up?” I ask, suddenly breathless.

“I don’t know. Whatever it is we’re doing right now.” His hand drops from my arm to my waist, pulling me in until we’re flush against each other. “Your roommates home?”

I shake my head. “No—”

He kisses me before I can finish the sentence, and I’m lost. To the sensation of his mouth moving on mine, his tongue searching. His hands gripping me close. I wrap my arms around him and hang on for the ride, never wanting this to end. I could drown in him, in this, in us so easily. But I need to keep my head. I have to remain smart.

I don’t want to get hurt.

We kiss like this for minutes. Until I’m finally pulling away, needing to breathe, to gather my thoughts. “We should probably get going.”

“Yeah.” He exhales loudly, leaning in, pressing his forehead to mine. “I don’t want to though.”

Excitement races through me at his confession. “We’re running out of time.”

“You’re right. Practice starts at four.” He releases me and takes a step backward, running his hand through his hair. Trying to regain his composure. “You ready?”

I go to the mirror that’s on the wall right next to the front door, checking my hair. I run my fingers through it, noticing there’s not a bit of gloss left on my lips. I chance a look at Jackson, who is currently sporting a few flecks of glitter on his pretty mouth.

Ha. I marked him.

“Let’s go,” I say.

Once Jackson settles up with the mechanic, we go out to the parking lot and I climb into my car to test it. The engine starts right up, and I reach out to pat the dashboard, murmuring, “Good girl,” under my breath, feeling completely ridiculous, but serious.

I need this car. It’s practically my lifeline. The only thing I own and I can’t lose it. And now I’m completely in debt to Jackson since he just forked over almost nine hundred dollars to fix it.

The car probably isn’t even worth that much.

“Engine sounds good,” Jackson tells me when I roll down the window and offer him a thumbs up.

“It does. Thank you again for paying for the repairs,” I say, my voice sincere, my gaze never straying from his. I wonder if he knows how much it means to me, what he did. “I want to pay you back.”

“Ellie. I know you don’t have a lot of money.” His smile is sweet. “I don’t mind.”

“I do, though. That’s the thing. And I don’t want to feel like I owe you so much money. I’d rather pay you back. In small chunks, because that’s the only way I can manage it,” I explain.

“Whatever makes you happy,” he says, his entire demeanor easygoing. “That’s all I want.”

I take his words to heart. And of course, my heart soars, because it’s stupid and a big believer in true love.

“Have fun at practice,” I tell him, not wanting him to leave.

“Have a good night at work,” he says, acting like he doesn’t want to leave me either. “Since we’re leaving tomorrow for the game, I probably won’t see you until Monday.”

My soaring heart crashes, just like that. I momentarily forgot that they’re leaving. I suppose I could invite him over to my place after work. I should.

I totally should.

“Good luck at your game,” I say, instead of inviting him. “I’m sure you guys will do great.”

“They’ll do great,” he says, his voice light, his gaze full of disappointment. He blinks and it’s gone. “While I’ll sit on the bench.”

He hates that. I know he does, and there’s nothing I