Page 22 of Campus Crush
Heart pounding, I typed:
BigBear88:
Crazy idea…what if we met up sometime?
No pressure or anything. Just…thought it could be cool to actually hang out. In person.
I stared at the message for a full minute before hitting send.
Immediately, nerves twisted in my gut.
What if this changed everything?
THIRTEEN
BigBear88:
Crazy idea…what if we met up sometime?
No pressure or anything. Just…thought it could be cool to actually hang out. In person.
I stared at the screen, my mouth opening and closing as my brain raced with how to respond.
The idea of meeting BigBear in real life was both terrifying and thrilling in equal measure.
What if he didn’t like me when he saw me?
What if I wasn’t who he expected?
What if this ruined everything?
I was still frozen, phone clutched in my hand, when the front door opened and Samantha breezed into our apartment.
“You’re tutoring Foster Kane?” Samantha squealed as she closed the door behind her.
I blinked, completely caught off guard. “How’d you know?”
Samantha dropped her bag on the floor and kicked off her sandals before joining me on the couch. “Celeste saw you guys walking out of the tutoring center and overheard him say he’d see you next week. I can’t believe I had to find out through the grapevine that my best friend is tutoring one of the hottest guys on campus. And of all the hockey hotties, it’s Foster. Does this mean we can finally go to some of the hockey house parties this fall? Next to the football house, they’re some of the best, I’ve heard.”
I felt like I was experiencing déjà vu because going to a party was exactly how the most humiliating night of my life happened.
“Sam, I’m not asking him to invite us to a party.”
“Why not?”
I gave her a look because she of all people should know exactly why not.
Her face fell. “Wait, are you serious, Abby? Are you still upset about what happened freshman year?”
“Are you kidding?” I asked her. “It was humiliating.”
She sighed and looked at me with sympathy. “Abs. You know I love you but what happened that night was?—”
I cut her off. “Embarrassing. Humiliating. Mortifying. Pick a synonym.” She gave me a look, so I continued. “Sam, he fell asleepwhilewe were making out. I was in the middle of kissing him and he just conked out. Who even does that?”
She opened up her mouth to speak, but I held my hand up.
“And worse, he doesn’t remember me.” I hated how my voice broke on that sentence. Nearly two years later, that memory still haunted me, but it wasn’t the memory that hurt as much as it was learning I was forgettable.
