He changed once we got home into cream-colored Bermuda shorts and an olive-green t-shirt that makes his eyes pop. The black ink that covers his corded arms and large hands looks fucking amazing against his golden tan skin.
My gaze trails up to his, taking in the days’ old scruff he has covering his face, noting that the hoop in his nose is black today instead of his usual silver, before finally locking on a pair of forest green eyes outlined by thick, black lashes that are already checking me out.
“Hey,” he finally says, moving to set his phone and wallet down on the dresser.
My skin feels like it’s electric being in his vicinity right now, heart thrumming rapidly behind my ribs. I clear my throat, strolling over to the bed and sitting down. “Hey.”
The bed dips as he sits down, his knee brushing mine, and my body tingles at that contact. We both spend a moment just taking the other in, not saying anything, but instead reveling in the feeling of simply being near one another without me being a complete mess.
I blurt out, “Look, I—” at the same time he says, “I was thinking—” Both of us freeze.
“Sorry.” He laughs. “You can go.”
“No, no. That’s okay. You go.”
He shifts his weight on the bed, turning his body more toward me. He’s chewing the inside of his cheek and his posture is stiff. He’s nervous and I don’t know why.
Is he ending this?! Oh, God. This is it.
“Whatever it is, it’s okay. Just say it,” I urge him on.
“Okay, yeah. Um… I’ve been thinking a lot about this over the last week and—”
“You’re ending this, aren’t you?” It feels like there’s a golf ball lodged in my throat, making talking and swallowing nearly impossible.
“What?!No!That’s not—wait, is that what you want?”
“No! Absolutely not. Sorry, I thought that was where you were headed. Continue.”
He lets out a nervous laugh, fumbling with his hands in his lap. “I think you should go to therapy,” he blurts out in a rush, almost like if he doesn’t get it out quickly, he won’t be able to.
“Therapy?” That’s not where I thought this was headed.
“Yes, therapy, Crew. You’re in the very early stages of sobriety and you have a lot of unresolved issues with football, your parents, and now Kalen’s death you had to witness. It’s a lot for any one person to deal with, and I think therapy—and possibly group therapy for recovering addicts—may help a lot.”
It isn’t something I’d thought of myself, but I have to admit, he makes a good point. “I think I’d be open to that…”
“Really?” He lets out a deep breath, eyes widening a little before he schools his features.
I shift uncomfortably on the bed, unable to meet his gaze. “Well, yeah. I don’t have the slightest idea where to start, but I’m sure I can figure it out.”
“I’ll help,” he offers. “I’m sure we can find someone around here who can work around your school hours.”
“Uhm, yeah…” I finally look up and find him watching me. “About that.”
His head cocks to the side as his brows pinch together. “About what?”
“I, uh, was thinking about, uh… trying to transfer… to, uh, WSU.”
“What? Really?!” I can’t read him at all. Can’t tell if he loves or hates the idea, and it’s making my skin itch with nervousness.
“Yeah. I mean, it’s the school Iactuallywanted to go to before the accident, and it would be closer to you, and our friends. I could try to get a room in the dorms or something. I don’t know. Maybe it’s a stupid idea.”
His warm hand finds mine, squeezing. “It’s not stupid.”
“No?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I wanted to suggest it, but didn’t want to upset you or stress you out. I wanted you to do what you felt comfortable doing. I think it’s a great idea, actually. My dad knows the Dean, so I’m sure he could pull some strings and get the admission process sped up, since classes start soon.”