Page 45 of Unloved

We aren’t friends—I don’t think. I’ve made that mistake before, hoping we were friends and realizing with overwhelming embarrassment that it was all one sided.

The driver’s-side door opens and Freddy hops in, suddenly handing back two personal-size pizza boxes to me.

“One cheese and one supreme—I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I grabbed both.”

I blame my multiple breakdowns for how quickly tears start to gather in my eyes at the kindness of it. He didn’t ask if I’d already eaten, didn’t ask if Iwantedanything… he just did it. For me.

It’s quiet for the most part as we drive back. Sarah asks a few general questions—like “What’s your major?” and “Where areyou from?”—which I field with ease. But I’m distracted slightly by Freddy, who isn’t doing anything really, but he’s enigmatic, and it’s nearly impossiblenotto be drawn to him.

The way he drives is annoyingly attractive, one hand on the wheel and one free, currently smoothing over his plump bottom lip. When he backed up, he lifted his arm to rest on the passenger headrest, looking over his shoulder and giving me a wink before concentrating on the steady stream of weekend traffic.

His muscular thighs are obscenely on display again in shorts, and spread enough that I can see where the side of his right one presses hard against the center console. And that damn butterfly…

He checks the rearview mirror often, eyes meeting mine like quick check-ins. And for every tentative smile I give him, he repays me tenfold. The three of us fill the ride with lighthearted stories, most of them funny. He listens to Sarah talk to me, occasionally adding little quips and jokes. The smiles lines in his face stretch and expand at the laughter he gets from us, like a kid receiving exactly what he wished for on Christmas morning. As if our praise and attention is the gift he’s waited for all year.

We pull up to an off-campus apartment complex I’ve never been to before. For a moment, I manage to pull my focus from studying him.

Sarah gets out and smiles at us, hand on the door.

“Tonight was great, Freddy. And Ro, it was so nice to meet you. Hope your night gets better.” The last sentence is said with a smirk and wink that makes my face flush.

“Don’t, Sarah. She’s my tutor,” Freddy says, still grinning, but there’s a hardness to it. An underlying sternness. “I’m serious.”

She crosses her heart and gives him a little salute before flouncing toward the staircase behind her.

“Sorry I ruined your date,” I blurt.

“Not a date.”

“Still, I didn’t mean to mess up—”

“Rosalie, I promise, you didn’t,” he says, his tone brokering no argument. “Now, why are you still back there?”

He leans back and grabs my hand, pulling me gently to crawl awkwardly—bumping my head a few times for good measure—over the console and into the passenger seat.

CHAPTER 17Freddy

Ro’s hand feels warm, soft, and delicate in mine. I don’t want to let go.

“Take Care” by Beach House plays through my speakers that desperately need some love and care. I’ve brought us to a park between downtown Waterfell and the dorms, refusing to take her home just yet.

She’s eaten half of the first pizza. I’m not hungry, but I watch her nearly soak her pizza crusts in garlic butter and savor them most. Her tears have stopped now, but the pain is still there—buried under marinara, cheese, and a desperate need to make me smile.

This I know because she keeps peeking up at me with the same grin I give when I’m trying to decipher if someone is upset. If I need to please them somehow, to make it better.

I want to ask her what happened. Instead, I offer, “Do you want to watch something?” Because I can’t take another gentle glance from her like she’s done something wrong. I fumble for my phone, setting it up like I have a thousand times on my dash—a perfect, precarious balance. “Do you want to watch your movie?”

“My movie?” she asks, brows furrowed and mouth full enough that the words mush together, almost incomprehensible. Her blush is immediate as she chews—mouth sealed tight—and swallows.

“Yeah,” I laugh, pulling up one of my streaming apps;Ever Afteris already queued. “I downloaded it for my next away game. Figured I could watch it on the bus. I fell asleep the other night, so I didn’t finish it.”

Hazel eyes alight on mine, more steadily than they have all night, and I feel a wave of deep relief at the beautiful sight. She grins as the opening starts playing, watching it as intently as I am watch-ing her.

After a few minutes, I’m sucked into the story easily—a princess story for the girl I’ll always call princess feels almost too perfect.

“Do you have a comfort movie?” she asks quietly, as if we’re in a movie theater and she’s afraid to speak too loudly and disturb the other patrons.

I consider her question for a moment but shake my head, resting my elbow on the center console so our arms touch. “Not really. I mainly watch YouTube videos—I likeGMM.” I don’t say that I watch them all the time, often to fall asleep or when I first wake up; it weirdly makes me feel not so alone.

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