You and Everything After

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” I say, doing my best to sound serious. Her arms are folded, her mouth is in a firm line, and her eyebrow is tilted up slightly in my direction. But she’s still with me, and she’s not giving me the finger. “I’m a little drunk.”

“Statement of fact,” she laughs. She laughed. Okay, at my expense, but also a good sign.

“Correct,” I say, holding one finger up like I’m somehow accentuating her point. What am I, in a boardroom? “That is a fact. I am drunk. Another fact…I am sorry.”

This stops her. Her face is still the same, and her arms are still guarding her body. But she’s looking at me differently now. I hope I say the correct words, just enough to prop that door open until I can do this the right way.

“I’m sorry,” I say it again, and this time, somehow by the grace of god, it comes out sober—sober and honest. “I am so unbelievably sorry. Sorry for what I said, how I reacted, for being a dick.”

“Yes, you were a dick,” she’s quick to jump on that.

“I know, another statement of fact,” I say with a smirk, once again holding up a finger. I look at my finger, and it makes me laugh, then I look back at her and she looks like I’m losing her. Pull it together, Tyson—slide the rock in the door. “I have a lot of groveling to do. And I’m in—I’m ready to do it. But if you could just give me the night, just…just wait for me to get my head on straight.”

“Just let you go home, vomit, and then survive your hangover you mean?” she says, but there’s a smirk. I see it. She’s smirking.

“One,” I say, holding the finger up again. I quickly put it down. “One, I don’t vomit. I can hold my liquor, baby.”

“Ohhhhh, definitely do not call me baby,” she says.

“Right, okay, baby,” I laugh, but she’s not laughing, so I stop. “Right. No baby. I’m just saying wait with me, until the morning, so I can say everything that needs to be said in a way you deserve to hear it.”

I’m not smiling anymore. No, I’m pretty sure I’m begging. Her arms are still crossed, but she nods to the dorm and I follow along, holding my breath until we get to her door and she opens it wide enough to let me inside.

She reaches under her bed and pulls a bin out with a big comforter and some extra sheets, tossing everything on the floor.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she says. “And I don’t have an extra pillow. And don’t use Rowe’s. I’d be pissed if she gave my pillow to Nate.”

“Oh yeah…floor, so…I’ll just be down here,” I say, leaning forward and picking up the big comforter that suddenly looks very, very thin.

“Yep. You’ll be down there. On the floor,” she says, shutting the closet door behind her so she can change.

I’ve slept on the floor before. I’ve slept here lots of times. No big. And I’m pretty sure I’ll be snoring in about two minutes, so I assemble my makeshift bed like a toddler camping out in his room for the night. Pulling myself from my chair to the floor, I tuck the excess pile of linens under my head. I’m awake enough that I hear the closet door creak open and see Cass’s feet stop just short of her bed while she stares at me.

“Goodnight, baby,” I say, unable to help myself.

“Don’t call me baby,” she says, and I smile and drift off to sleep, the door open and waiting for me in the morning.

Chapter 19

Cass

I’ve spent the last hour debating whether or not to wake him up. As drunk as he was last night, he was also incredibly sweet. I’m not sure what I’m going to get this morning.

I lay there and stared at the ceiling while he snored on my floor for hours. It was loud, but that’s not what kept me from sleeping. It was the watch—and that word. Always.

This conversation is going to happen, and it’s going to begin the second I wake him up. So, I might as well quit putting off the inevitable. I pick up the small circle pillow from my bed and toss it on his face.

“Morning sunshine,” I say. His watch is tucked in my palm, behind my back, as I sit on the bed and stare down at him.

“Ohhhh wow, yeah,” he grumbles, rubbing his hand harshly over his face and the stubble that is slowly morphing into an almost-beard. “So, I might actually be a little hung over,” he says, stretching his mouth out and moving his tongue around like he’s discovering new things about it. “Dry, so damn dry. Water?”

I leave his watch on my bed and roll my eyes as I stand. After I fill a cup with sink water, I hand it to him, and our fingers touch in the exchange. It still gets to me. He still gets to me. Our eyes lock, and I know no matter what he says this morning, I’m going to feel it.