Page 7 of Triple Play
He kisses me one more time—soft, almost tender.
“Tomorrow,” he says. “We’ll figure this out tomorrow.”
I nod because I don’t trust my voice.
Tomorrow feels like a promise, like the beginning of everything.
Present day. September.
Tomorrow never came.
I’m unpacking in my new room, trying not to think about that night—and failing spectacularly.
My hands shake as I hang my grandmother’s photo on the wall. She was the only family member who never looked at me like I was a disappointment, the only one who believed I could be more than my mother’s resentment and my father’s absence.
She died last year. I didn’t tell Grant. Didn’t tell him anything.
Because Grant Wilder went back to Crestmont after that Christmas break and proceeded to act like that kiss never happened. No texts. No calls. Radio silence for two years while I watched him date half the eastern seaboard through Instagram posts I told myself I didn’t look at.
Spoiler: I looked.
A knock on my doorframe makes me jump.
Grant leans against it, arms crossed, still shirtless. Apparently, that’s just how he lives now.
“Settling in?” His tone is carefully neutral.
“What do you want?” I don’t turn around. I just keep unpacking as my heart tries to break my ribs.
“We should establish some ground rules,” he says.
“The university already did that.”
“I mean between us.”
Now I turn and look at him dead-on. “What’s there to establish? We’re roommates. That’s it.”
His jaw ticks. “Right.”
“Unless you have some other interpretation of our relationship I’m not aware of.”
The words land as I intend. I see him flinch. It’s small, but I catch it.
“This doesn’t have to be awkward,” he says.
I laugh, unable to help it. The sound is sharp and bitter, and I watch it hit him.
“Awkward? You think this is awkward?” I grab a stack of textbooks and slam them onto my desk harder than necessary. “You kissed me two years ago, Grant. You kissed me like I was the answer to every question you’d ever asked. Then you ghosted me for twenty-four months. So yeah, it’s a little fucking awkward.”
His expression shutters and goes cold. “That kiss was a mistake.”
The words shouldn’t hurt. I knew they were coming. I’ve known for two years.
They gut me anyway.
“Got it.” My voice comes out steady, and I’m proud of that. “Mistake. Noted.”
“Elise—”
