headway. Talon is starting to open up to me! He was super close to spilling some major scoop the other day, I could tell. And since then we’ve spent exactly forty-two minutes alone. Not all at once. Just here and there. Like yesterday, when we walked to the restrooms together after class. One minute and thirty-seven seconds of nothing but Talon. It was heaven. I’m sure he felt it too, even though all we talked about was how our sixty-year-old Professor Summers had a hickey on his neck. Good for him.
This trip back home will be the best thing that ever happened to us!
Step 7:
When Given Opportunities to Spend Time Alone, Don’t Talk About Something Stupid
(And don’t sigh every twenty seconds!)
Two weeks’ worth of clothes: check.
Toothbrush: check.
Two boxes of wheat crackers, a bag of frosted animal cookies, and a six-pack of Arrowhead water: check, check, and check.
And nerves?
Humongo
check. I may puke out all my insides.
I thought fifteen minutes in the car alone with Talon was nerve-racking. Now I have thirteen freaking hours in front of me—the car ride Wesley hooked me up with.
“Wesley, help!” I cry, flying back on my bed and slapping my arm over my eyes. I need a list of topics of conversation, and I need it memorized by tomorrow. If I sit there like an awkward, crushed-out dinkus, I will spend the entire winter break crying in my room, watching rom-coms, and throwing popcorn at the TV whenever things work out for the movie stars and not me.
Wesley chuckles and sits next to me on the bed, holding his acoustic guitar in his arms, strumming the strings lightly. “You’re so needy. What happened to the whole ‘Talon and I are soul mates’ thing? I’d think soul mates would be able to find things to talk about without help.”
The second he sets the guitar down, I throw a perfect elbow to his gut. He rolls into a fetal position and half laughs, half whines.
“Jerk. I’m helping you with
your
car ride.”
He shifts on the bed so that he’s leaning against the wall. His hand goes over the spot where I elbowed him, rubbing the pain out, before he brings his acoustic back on his lap. He’s probably using it for armor now. “Honestly, I think Reagan and I will be sleeping more than talking.”
“Bor-ing.” I slide up so I can sit with him. “Don’t you want to take advantage of it? That’s what it was all about, right?”
“I guess. But I’m not all that smooth when it comes to her. You should’ve seen mefumbling after you guys left last week. Sleeping may be my best bet.”
I almost spout off my snarky comment about how that’s because his mouth is closed when he sleeps, but I stop myself when I see how sad he looks. Damn it.
“Reagan said she had fun with you.” That’s a total lie, but she didn’t say she didn’t have fun. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”
He rolls his head to the side to give me a you’re-full-of-shit look and strums his long fingers against the strings. “You know how you have this weird, uncontrollable sigh when it comes to Talon?” I punch his shoulder, and he lets go of the strings to shove back, but not hard. “Well, when I’m with Reagan … alone especially, I get this weird, uncontrollable stare.”
“What?”
He goes back to playing. “I stare at her. Like I’ve gone brain dead. She says something, but I don’t hear it even though I see her mouth moving. Then she looks at me like no one’s home.” He taps his forehead, then covers his face with his long, bony fingers, the room suddenly very quiet without the background music.
“So you space out. Everyone does that.”
“Yeah, but it happens so much I know I’m making her uncomfortable.”
“Nothing makes Reagan uncomfortable.”
That seems to make him ease up. The dimple on his chin gets a little more prominent as he smiles through the hand still covering half his face. “Yeah, you could be right about that.”
“I’m right about everything.” I shove off the
This trip back home will be the best thing that ever happened to us!
Step 7:
When Given Opportunities to Spend Time Alone, Don’t Talk About Something Stupid
(And don’t sigh every twenty seconds!)
Two weeks’ worth of clothes: check.
Toothbrush: check.
Two boxes of wheat crackers, a bag of frosted animal cookies, and a six-pack of Arrowhead water: check, check, and check.
And nerves?
Humongo
check. I may puke out all my insides.
I thought fifteen minutes in the car alone with Talon was nerve-racking. Now I have thirteen freaking hours in front of me—the car ride Wesley hooked me up with.
“Wesley, help!” I cry, flying back on my bed and slapping my arm over my eyes. I need a list of topics of conversation, and I need it memorized by tomorrow. If I sit there like an awkward, crushed-out dinkus, I will spend the entire winter break crying in my room, watching rom-coms, and throwing popcorn at the TV whenever things work out for the movie stars and not me.
Wesley chuckles and sits next to me on the bed, holding his acoustic guitar in his arms, strumming the strings lightly. “You’re so needy. What happened to the whole ‘Talon and I are soul mates’ thing? I’d think soul mates would be able to find things to talk about without help.”
The second he sets the guitar down, I throw a perfect elbow to his gut. He rolls into a fetal position and half laughs, half whines.
“Jerk. I’m helping you with
your
car ride.”
He shifts on the bed so that he’s leaning against the wall. His hand goes over the spot where I elbowed him, rubbing the pain out, before he brings his acoustic back on his lap. He’s probably using it for armor now. “Honestly, I think Reagan and I will be sleeping more than talking.”
“Bor-ing.” I slide up so I can sit with him. “Don’t you want to take advantage of it? That’s what it was all about, right?”
“I guess. But I’m not all that smooth when it comes to her. You should’ve seen mefumbling after you guys left last week. Sleeping may be my best bet.”
I almost spout off my snarky comment about how that’s because his mouth is closed when he sleeps, but I stop myself when I see how sad he looks. Damn it.
“Reagan said she had fun with you.” That’s a total lie, but she didn’t say she didn’t have fun. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”
He rolls his head to the side to give me a you’re-full-of-shit look and strums his long fingers against the strings. “You know how you have this weird, uncontrollable sigh when it comes to Talon?” I punch his shoulder, and he lets go of the strings to shove back, but not hard. “Well, when I’m with Reagan … alone especially, I get this weird, uncontrollable stare.”
“What?”
He goes back to playing. “I stare at her. Like I’ve gone brain dead. She says something, but I don’t hear it even though I see her mouth moving. Then she looks at me like no one’s home.” He taps his forehead, then covers his face with his long, bony fingers, the room suddenly very quiet without the background music.
“So you space out. Everyone does that.”
“Yeah, but it happens so much I know I’m making her uncomfortable.”
“Nothing makes Reagan uncomfortable.”
That seems to make him ease up. The dimple on his chin gets a little more prominent as he smiles through the hand still covering half his face. “Yeah, you could be right about that.”
“I’m right about everything.” I shove off the
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