#twisterballet #newbestfriends #karateinthebasement #suckityoga #therightwaytosunsetpic #livingourrealestlife
Grannism—Don’t give anyone the whole map, and only trust a few with directions.
Laney
“He’s going for it,” some guy announces to my right as I stroll through campus. Following his line of sight, I turn to see another lovestruck sucker as he drops to his knees under the Era Tree.
“Another one bites the dust,” a guy mumbles in amusement crossing his arms while grinning at the spectacle.
“Yep, he’s proposing,” another says.
The Era Tree is a sprawling oak with ridiculously long branches that trace the ground around a giant trunk. The ancient oak is a campus landmark and is also the setting of a TGU tradition. Legend has it, if you walk under the Era Tree alone, you’ll walk alone forever, but if you walk with your college sweetheart, you’re cemented together for life.
And I avoid it like the plague.
The guy grips her hand in his, and the girl nods before he stands and hauls him to her while she squeals in his arms.
“I think it’s sweet,” the girl next to me says shouldering her purse and clapping along with the rest of the gathered crowd.
True love exists. I’m a believer in it, but maybe just not for the women in my family.
We’re too loud, independent, and opinionated.
Or maybe I’m hangry.
“Better them than me,” I say before turning on my heel and slamming into a talking rock.
“Couldn’t agree more.” Large, muscular hands are the only thing keeping me from sprawling into the asphalt.
“Sorry,” I say before looking up…into the sun. Squinting, I see thick lips, brilliant straight teeth, and amused bright-blue eyes. “Sorry,” I repeat as he comes into view shielding the blinding light with his massive presence. Rusty blond hair, unbelievable build, a killer smile. My reaction is immediate. “Nope,” I say, sidestepping him.
“Nope?” He asks with a chuckle. I’m another step away when I realize he hasn’t unhanded me.
“That arm belongs to me,” I say softly, eyes trained on my boots.
Don’t look up. DO. NOT. LOOK. UP.
My eyes lift on their own accord, well technically it’s my evil self-sabotaging Va-Gina.
Damnit, Gina!
A feeling I’m all too familiar with spreads through me as I drink him in. I may be on the wagon, but I can still appreciate the perfect male specimen.
Poison Ivy is pretty too, Gina, we’re done here.
“All yours,” he says, hesitantly taking his hands away.
Don’t linger. Do not linger. Don’t give him an opening. But they’re there, the butterflies are flapping away ready to take flight…as I linger.
“Thanks for saving me a trip,” I reply evenly.
“Anytime.”
“Good day,” I say with a ridiculous little curtsey before skittering off, determined.
Two steps. Three. Four.
And then he sounds up next to me. “Do you mind telling me what that nope was about?”