College newspaper beat writer Cameron Evans wants nothing more than to be crowned editor-in-chief, but she gets more than she bargained for when she meets the subject of her latest article; the brash, stubbornly aloof new star hockey player, Luce Fl...
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REN MEETS ME AFTER THE CROWD IN THE ARENA DISPERSES, and we walk the five blocks home from the game together, ducking and weaving through throngs of inebriated students ready to start a short-lived street party. Ren is one of the student volunteer mascots, so the soft nose of the Grizzly head keeps bumping into me as he walks, cradling it against his side.
A shirtless drunk dude high fives his massive paw as we pass.
"I thought we were supposed to keep your identity a state secret."
"We are, but it's too muggy tonight and everyone blacked out after the new girl scored, so please consider this my one hall pass to break mascot commandments."
I feign zipping my lips and smile up at him. His faded pink buzzcut and thick fur costume is a beacon as we cut away from the crowd and onto our quiet side street.
"Speaking of hall passes—"
"Nope. Negative." Ren cuts me off with a knowing look beneath his thick eyebrows. It's expected, but still stings a little. When my face falls, he nudges my shoulder. "Cameron, we're just trying to look out for you. What she did was super fucked up."
I shrug, kicking a loose pebble down the cobblestone. "Maybe a summer in Europe changed her."
"Your right. All those mid-day sangrias and Barcelona nightclubs definitely made her a noble saint," Ren quips, earning an eyeroll.
"I just—" I sigh. "I know it's stupid, Ren. But what if I need to know for sure that it's nothing before I move on?"
"Dude, she fingered you in a tent and then ghosted. We've been back on campus three weeks, and she still hasn't texted you, has she?"
"She's been—"
"—don't say busy."
"—busy," I finish with a resounding groan, dropping my head in my hands.
It did sound bad when Ren put it that bluntly, which only served to make me feel worse about the fact I was still thinking about that stupid night in said tent – all tipsy kissing and fumbling jean buttons – four months later. In fact, I'd let light a bonfire in my amygdala all summer.
Yes, I do know all the fancy parts of my brain. That's the unintended perk of having a neuroscience major as a roommate. Maya's roped me into flash-card study sessions with her every midterm season since freshman year.
Ren softens as we tread across our lawn. The grass is dewy and seeps into my toes.
"All I'm saying is be careful," he murmurs, rubbing his buzzcut with his paw. "I know you think you know her in a way none of us do, and maybe that's true. But from the outside looking in, Steph's a revolving door of girls, and you deserve more than being just another one of them."
So, yeah. That Steph.
It wasn't an unrequited crush if that's what you're thinking. It's hard to be unrequited when the girl in question had her tongue down your throat more than a few times last semester. But it is true that she avoided me all summer, apart from one 3AM 'miss u' text and the promise of a facetime that never happened.
