Page 60 of Triple Play
“A mistake.” I repeat it. Flat. Empty.
“Yeah.”
“Like last time.”
“Elise—”
“Get out.”
“Listen—”
“Get. Out.” My voice shakes, but I keep it steady. “Go answer your phone. Go back to your distractions. Go do whatever you need to do to forget this happened.”
“That’s not—”
“I said get out, Grant.”
He stands there for one more second, looking at me like he wants to say something. Like there are words trapped behind his teeth.
Then he leaves.
Takes the stairs two at a time. His door slams hard enough to rattle the walls.
I sit there, shaking.
My lips are swollen. I can still taste him. Cedar and mint and regret.
Two years ago, he kissed me and called it a mistake.
Tonight he did it again.
I’m the common denominator. The mistake he keeps making.
My phone lights up. Text from Sarah.
Sarah: How’s the war going?
I stare at the message.
Me: I think I just lost a major battle.
Sarah: Want to talk about it?
Me: Not really. Want to get drunk and forget it happened.
Sarah: Rain check for when you’re home for break?
Me: Deal.
I set my phone down. Look at my textbooks. My careful notes. My fortress of knowledge that did nothing to protect me.
The nervous system, I read earlier, is responsible for sending signals throughout the body. For coordinating voluntary and involuntary actions.
Mine is currently screaming.
Every nerve on fire. Every synapse misfiring.
Because Grant Wilder kissed me like he was drowning.
