Page 179 of Becoming Us
For a kiss? A hookup?
Atticus was on an athletic scholarship. From what I overheard the guys talking about, and what I could dig up from David, he was really high-strung and hyper-focused on sports. So what the hell was I expecting? Because even if he was interested, why would he ever be interested in me—other than for a one-night stand?
And I wasn’t looking to get rejected right now, which was exactly what this was shaping into. What if he was one of the no-kissing guys too?
Not fucking worth it.
I was letting this go.
I, Noah Rossi, wasnotgoing to obsess over this guy.
Period.
So… I ran into him at another party.
I’d had a god-awful day. One of my professors had pulled me aside and let me know I’d failed the class—for nonattendance. Just like that. I’d actually been trying, making an effort, but the class was already a lost cause. I called my academic advisor to set up a meeting, and the guy could only fit me in next Monday. He didn’t even sound hopeful on the phone.
I could’ve stayed home. Could’ve downed a whole bottle, the way I was feeling. But I didn’t. Holly invited me to out, and I went—not really expecting to see him again. Not even looking.
But when I stepped out for a smoke, there he was.
Sitting on a ledge, alone. A little sweaty and absolutely scrumptious.
It would’ve been rude not to say hi.
“It figures you’d be hiding out here,” I said, letting him know I was there.
Atticus looked up, eyebrows arching in surprise. “Hi.”
I settled beside him, careful not to sit too close—not wanting to scare Bambi off too fast. He muttered something about being too hot, and I wholeheartedly agreed. His face was flushed, his shirt damp and clinging.
“Have you been drinking, Atticus?” I teased, drawing what seemed like the obvious conclusion. My heart picked up a little. This felt like a window cracking open.
You’re not supposed to be hitting on this guy, remember?
“Yeah, I guess,” he said.
Shit. I wasn’t going to be able to hold back.
What if I played this right? I could walk out of here with him. My stomach fluttered at the thought.
“Well, good. You should be. Congratulations on the win.” I threw in the bit of intel I’d picked up from casuallybrowsingColin’s socials.
He nodded, and just like that, silence slipped between us again.
My nerves were shot. I wasn’t used to flirting on the sidelines like this. I hated the waiting, the guessing. Normally, I’d just ask point-blank if he wanted to come home with me. But he didn’t seem like the type, and it kept holding me back. I didn’t want him to reject me.
I reached for my flask, trying to steady myself.
His eyes followed the motion, and a small crease appeared between his brows.
I offered it to him with a tilt.
“No thanks.” His voice was flat.
“Suit yourself,” I muttered, stung by the tone.
Jesus. This guy. He ran so hot and cold it gave me whiplash.
