Page 181 of Wish You Were Mine
The idea twisted in my chest, and I blinked down at my notebook, the words on the page suddenly blurring together as I tried not to feel sick.
Sure, it had been a month since we ended things, and he probably had already set up said date before everything that happened last night at The Garden. But was he really ready to move on?
Because I certainly wasn’t.
Ever since Theo had told me he’d seen Owen at my meet on Saturday, I’d been holding on to the ridiculous hope that maybe once I graduated, my dad would come around and we could try again.
Once I was no longer Owen’s student or even enrolled at this university, maybe…just maybe…we’d be in the clear to pick up where we’d left off.
Yes, it was probably delusional. But still…I’d hoped.
Was it possible he’d simply gone to my meet because he’d fallen in love with the sport and…I don’t know…just wanted to see what the regional championships looked like?
And the only reason he’d followed me outside at The Garden and saved me from Brody was because it was the “right” thing to do?
I hoped not.
Because I really liked the fairytale idea of my prince being patient enough to wait for me.
But maybe it had been just that. A fantasy. One that I’d told myself to get through the ache.
I forced myself to glance in his direction again, bracing to see him walking toward another woman. But instead of disappearing down the hall or joining someone for dinner, he sat down.
Just twenty feet away. In the seat he used to claim on Monday nights like it belonged to him.
Like he belonged here.
And then, as if he could feel my gaze on him, he looked up again.
Our eyes met.
And this time, the smile he sent me wasn’t just friendly—it was soft. Open.
Hopeful.
My heart thudded, and I tried not to jump to conclusions about why he was here. But if he was here—if he was smiling at me like that—it must mean something had changed, right?
When my study group finally disbanded for the evening, I packed up slower than usual, pretending to fish for a missing pen so no one would notice the way my hands shook. Quincy, Mason, and Beckett waved their goodbyes, and I gave a quick “good luck on your projects” as they filtered out.
But even as I pretended to be focused on packing up my things, my eyes kept flicking toward Owen. Because even though ten minutes had passed since he’d first walked in, he was still here, sitting in the same chair. Like he belonged to the rhythm of my Mondays.
I adjusted the strap of my backpack over my shoulder and walked toward him—each step slow and hesitant, like I was tiptoeing across thin ice.
When I stopped in front of him, I swallowed. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he said, his expression warm as he stood. “Can I talk to you?”
“Um…” I glanced around quickly, suddenly nervous that my dad might have spies watching me before nodding and saying, “Sure.”
The student lounge was dimly lit and relatively deserted at this time of day, but it wasn’t exactly private. And just down that corridor, maybe fifty yards away, was my dad’s office.
I had no idea if he was still working or if any of the administrative staff were lingering late, but I wasn’t about to risk it.
“Let’s just go somewhere else,” I whispered, brushing Owen’s arm as I passed him. “This way.”
I led him into a side hallway, then kept going until we turned into a tucked-away alcove nestled between the campus theater and the faculty lounge.
No one should see us here.
