Page 111 of Wish You Were Mine
Disappointment.
And somehow, that made me feel even worse.
33
LUCY
I didn’t textOwen over the weekend.
Partly because I was busy. But mostly…because I had no idea what to say to him after the car ride on Friday night where he’d panicked about my age and decided he should just take me home.
All weekend I kept wondering if I’d imagined it all—the looks, the tension, the feeling that maybe he actually liked me.
I mean, it hadfeltreal. The way he’d opened up to me about his family and everything he’d been through had made me think that we were growing closer and that I was at least somewhat special.
But who knows. Maybe it hadn’t actually been that deep. Maybe he was just like that with everyone.
I told myself that I was giving him space.
But the truth?
I was bracing myself for the slow fade.
At my gymnastics meet on Sunday afternoon, I caught myself scanning the crowd, stupidly hoping that I’d see him. That even though he didn’t want to hang out in person, hemight still show up to support me—or just to hang out with Theo and pretend he wasn’t watching me.
But when I panned the crowd between each of my routines, I didn’t see him anywhere.
He definitely wasn’t next to Theo and my parents.
But hey, at least I’d nailed my routine. Even stuck the landing on my beam dismount, which had the crowd jumping to their feet, their cheers echoing in my ears.
And while I didn’t spot the one person I’d been hoping to see in the stands…I did catch Brody, on his feet and grinning, clapping like I’d just won Olympic gold.
That night, as I lay in bed mentally preparing for the week ahead, I convinced myself that whatever Owen and I had shared—whatever attraction or connection had lingered between us since the first time we met—was over.
It was pointless to keep hoping for something that clearly wasn’t going to work. Not when he thought I was too young for him.
Because even if we could somehow get around the other hurdles—the fact that he was my chemistry professor and my dad was the president of the university—there was no getting around the age gap. I couldn’t magically age several years overnight just to reach whatever number Owen had decided made me acceptable to pursue.
As I stared up at the ceiling, listening to the heater kick on in my dorm room, I made a decision. I’d try to go back to the way things were a few weeks ago. Before the late-night texts. Before I panicked and showed up at his door. Before the dinner where he told me about his mom.
I was just his student now. A girl he’d see in his lecture hall and lab for five hours a week. Nothing more.
So when it came time for my chemistry class on Monday afternoon, instead of arriving early and trying to catch his eyelike I’d done the class sessions before, I slipped into the back row just before his lecture began, took careful notes, avoided all eye contact and then slipped out as soon as class was over.
And even though we’d agreed he’d walk me home after my study group, I didn’t text to remind him. I figured that door had quietly closed.
When the study session wrapped up at six thirty that night, I grabbed dinner from the dining hall, then zipped up my coat and braced myself for the chilly walk alone back to my dorm.
But when I stepped back into the hall that led to the glass doors, I saw Owen sitting in one of the chairs just outside the student lounge.
Like he’d been waiting for me.
The second our eyes met, he stood up.
And my heart instantly ached at the sight of him. Because even though I was doing my best to avoid him—to not want him—apparently, three days of separation wasn’t enough to get over my craving for him.
“Hi,” I said, trying to play it cool as he approached.
