Page 57 of Guarded Love

I look over at him briefly and say, "I'm fine," but I’m not. I just don’t want to have to deal with being even closer to him on top of everything else.

I hit play on a random playlist and try to lose myself in the music and ignore everything else around me. It doesn't work. Instead of focusing on the lyrics, all I can think about is how Blaise shifts in his seat every few minutes and how his fingers occasionally drum against his thigh as if he wants to get off this plane just as much as I do. What I do appreciate is that he’s not trying to crowd me on this already space-constricting plane.

A memory flashes unbidden: Leo sitting next to me on his couch, his arm slung possessively around my shoulders, fingers digging in just a little too tight. Always hovering, always controlling, always performing. Even when we were alone.

Blaise shifts again beside me, and his elbow brushes mine. He immediately pulls back, giving me space. The contrast is so stark it makes my throat tight.

Leo never gave space. He took it.

No. I am not doing this. I am not comparing them. I'm not thinking about either of them that way. However, my thoughts return to Blaise when I watch him unbuckle his seatbelt and rise to his feet.

I do my best to hide the fact that all my attention is on him when I spot a sliver of skin peeking out from underneath his hoodie as he rifles through what I assume is his bookbag in the overhead bin. It only takes him a minute tops to pull a paperback out of his bag and settle back down in his seat. When he starts reading, I find myself counting the seconds between each pageturn. Seventeen. Twenty-two. Nineteen. Either he reads at an inconsistent pace, or I'm losing my mind.

Probably both.

I turn my attention back to my phone and try to find a podcast to listen to, but it irritates me more than anything. I return to music, something with a heavy bass that might help me drown out my thoughts. It doesn't work.

When I feel a tap on my left shoulder, I already know who it is. I take out one of my EarPods and say, “Yeah?”

"Are you always this restless?" Blaise asks quietly.

It takes me a second longer than it should to come up with a response. "Are you always this observant?" I toss back.

I can see a smile starting to form on his lips before he stops himself. "Occupational hazard. Defense means watching everything."

I don't know what to say to that, so I say nothing. I put my EarPod back in its rightful place and return to my phone, but my brain is still doing too much and not enough at the same time.

And we still have three more hours until Puerto Rico.

17

WILLOW

When my feet hit solid ground after being trapped on that plane from hours, I swear I could cry from the relief.

Not because I hate flying. I don’t, besides having to deal with takeoff. However, being stuck in that middle seat for four hours and having to deal with Tyler’s snoring and Blaise’s existence? The latter I quickly left behind because I didn't want him to start up another conversation with me. I was starting to think this was a social experiment designed to test the last bit of my patience.

Not that I have any left. Especially now that twentyish students and two professors have to make their way to baggage claim in a completely different climate than we’re used to in Virginia this time of year.

Yes, Puerto Rico isn’t as warm this time of year as it is during other months, but it’s warm enough for me to be thankful I stuck my winter coat in my checked luggage and decided a hoodie was all I needed until I got here. I take off said piece of clothing and tie it around my waist.

"Everyone!" Professor Wallace's voice is somehow louder than the airport announcements playing in both Spanish andEnglish. "We'll proceed to baggage claim as a group, then board our shuttle to our hotel!"

I fall into step with the group, deliberately positioning myself near the back. The less social interaction required, the better. My brain feels like it's running on emergency power only. The faster I can get to my room, where it’ll hopefully be just me and Madison Hollins for at least a couple hours so I can calm my nervous system down, the better. Of course, that’s when someone laughs too loudly to my right. Another person is FaceTiming their parents already. Tyler is still half-asleep, and I watch as he almost stumbles into someone else who looks equally disoriented. I’m slightly jealous since I wasn’t able to sleep at all on the plane and that would have helped tremendously.

"Hey, are you Willow?"

A girl with wavy blonde hair and warm brown eyes slides into step beside me as we follow the group toward baggage claim. She's wearing a Crestwood University sweatshirt and has an easy smile. Her vibe somehow doesn't irritate me on sight.

"Yeah, that’s me." I give a small nod. "Apologies, but I don’t know your name."

"Madison. Maddie for short." She extends her hand for a quick shake. "I figured I should introduce myself before we're stuck sharing a hotel room for a week. Professor Wallace pointed you out."

I appreciate the directness. "Good call."

"I did want to let you know that I'm a morning person, but I promise not to be obnoxious about it," Madison says. "And as far as I know I don't snore, so there's that."

"Already better than Tyler on the plane," I mutter.

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