Page 25 of The Rookie

“What are your dreams, anyway?” I ask.

She shrugs. “So, there’s this scholarship. It’s called the Fulbright. I’ve been thinking about applying—it’s basically a program where you spend a year in a foreign country, studying something really cool. But…it’s pretty competitive.”

I raise a brow. “That sounds insane. In a good way. Where do you want to go? What do you want to study?”

She hesitates, like she’s afraid to say it out loud. Then, after a beat, she sighs and leans back, staring up at the night sky. “I want to go to Spain. Study international relations, maybe language immersion. There’s a program in Madrid that focuses on diplomacy, global policy with a side emphasis in international marketing. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

I nod, impressed. “Then why haven’t you applied?”

Her laugh is pained. The kind that’s not really a laugh at all.

I glance over, frowning. “What?”

She shakes her head, biting the inside of her cheek like she’s trying to keep something in. “Gavin,” she says finally, voice quiet. “In three months of dating, he never even asked me that. He told me I wasn’t smart enough.”

My stomach twists.

She blinks up at the sky rapidly, and it takes me a second to realize she’s trying not to cry.

“Do I really have this low of a self-conception?” she asks, her voice cracking. “I always do this. I sacrifice myself for my relationship. Every. Single. Time. I put their dreams first. I try to be the perfect girlfriend. And what do I get?”

I don’t answer, because I can tell she’s not actually asking me.

She sniffles once, then laughs softly—almost bitterly. “Next time…”

She trails off, shaking her head.

“Next time what?” I ask, watching her closely.

She looks over at me, eyes still glistening, but there’s a spark of something new in them. A decision.

“No more relationships,” she says, like she’s making a declaration to herself. “If I have something in the future, I havea new ideal. Just friends with benefits. None of thistrying to get marriedstuff. Just having fun.”

I stare at her, shocked.

There’s no way she means that. Not really.

I study her face, waiting for the punchline. But she just smirks, wiping her last tear away like she’s already moving on.

Something in my chest tightens. “That doesn’t sound like you,” I murmur.

She rolls her eyes, but it doesn’t have her usual bite. “Maybe it’s time I change.”

I open my mouth. Close it.

She’s talking about casual sex. With me. Am I hallucinating? Am I reading too much into this moment?

Does she have a crush on little oldme?

No.

Impossible.

She hates me.

Doesn’t she?

She looks away, wrapping her arms around herself like she’s trying to build a wall between us again. “I should get some sleep,” she says, her voice back to its usual guarded tone, like she’s reminding herself to stay in control. “It’s been a day.”

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