“Get me off this floor,” she says quietly. “I’m getting cold.”

  I help her up in one swift yet gentle move. I don’t want to jostle her. We walk back to my room slowly, our arms bumping with every step. I want to take her hand but I’m pretty sure that’s off limits right now. Both because of the sickness and the douchebaggery.

  Once we’re in my room, Brooklyn doubles over in pain. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” she whispers rapidly.

  Her agony rips at me. I feel helpless and anxious.

  “What can I do?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” she grinds out miserably. “I have to wait for it to pass.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know. Considering how much I ate, awhile.”

  “What can I get you?”

  “Nothing. I don’t want to put anything in my body. I want everything to leave my body. It’s like I ate a big, doughy demon and he’s clawing his way out of my anus.”

  I snicker, trying not to laugh. “That’s vivid.”

  “I want to die, Butler. Please kill me. Let me die.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You fucking suck.”

  “I know.” I nudge her farther into the room. “Get in bed. Lay down and relax. I’m going to the store.”

  “To buy a gun? To kill me with?”

  “Yep. And a few other things.”

  “Hurry back,” she gasps sarcastically.

  I grab my wallet, going for the door.

  “Is that the pineapple?” she asks quietly.

  She’s staring at my desk where a framed picture of me and Mama sits next to a jar full of pens and a little yellow pineapple.

  “The one and only,” I confirm.

  “You kept it?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course I kept it. Hot girl in the bathroom in Vegas takes off her shirt and gives me her number? That’s a keepsake I’ll have when I’m seventy. I’ll tell my grandkids that story.”

  “That’s weirdly romantic.”

  “Try to remember that when you’re thinking about what a shithead I was tonight.”

  “You did suck,” she laments.

  “I did. I do. More often than not. I had sex with a girl in the pantry at a party earlier this year. We did shit to some of the food and never told the guy, so that was… probably… not…”

  “A great thing to tell me?”

  “Yeah,” I exhale sharply. “It sounded—in my head it wasn’t so—It illustrated a point.”

  “Right. That you’re the worst.”

  “Not the worst.”

  “But definitely not the best.”

  “No. Fuck no. Those PopTarts—they—”

  Brooklyn scowls. “How would you even—”

  “It’s not a proud thing—”

  “Did you learn it on a video you saw or are you an innovator? How did you even—”

  “I was leaving,” I remind her. I back away quickly to end the conversation that has clearly slipped out of my control. “To get things for you. To make you feel better.”

  “That’d be great. Thank you.”

  “What would help?”

  “If you left.”

  “Ouch, but okay.”

  The lobby is filling up with people. They’re coming home to escape the rain. It’s really coming down now. I’m soaked within a block. By two I’m a dripping wet dog. I’m drowning when I get to the convenience store four blocks away, but I’ve had time to Google gluten allergies to get a better idea of what I can bring back to help Brooklyn.

  It’s uglier than I expected. The bloating sounds like the most painful part so I grab Gas-X first. Pepto too. Gatorade for the aftermath of dumping everything in her system down the drain. Ibu for the headache that’s coming. A bag of Skittles and a Milky Way because I’m not sure what her sugar of choice is, but sugar makes everything better.

  Neither candy has gluten. I checked.

  Twice.

  The girl at the counter with pink dreads frowns sympathetically as she rings me up. “Rough night?”

  “A friend is sick.”

  “That sucks. It’s cool you’re taking care of him.”

  “Her.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “A friend.”

  She smiles. “That’s really nice of you.”

  “I’m a nice guy,” I reply dryly.

  When I get back, Brooklyn is putting her shoes on like she’s about to leave.

  “Not a chance,” I tell her. “Get back in bed.”

  “I’m fine, really. I should go.”

  “It’s dark, raining, and you feel like shit. Sleep it off and wait until morning.”

  She sighs, looking up at me from her perch on the edge of my bed. “I’m seriously sick and I’m not comfortable sharing a room with you right now.”

  “You won’t have to.” I toss the bag of goods on the bed next to her. “I’m sleeping in the lobby on the couch.”

  “No. That’s crazy.”

  “It’s fine. I’ve done it before.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it was my first month here, I was wasted, and I couldn’t remember what my room number was. You want some sweats?”

  “Butler, I don’t—”

  “Stop arguing and answer me. Sweats. Yes or no?”

  She looks at me like she wants to fight, but then she glances at what’s fallen out of the bag on the bed. The Gatorade rolled out when I tossed it. So did the Pepto and the Milky Way.

  She picks up the candy bar, giving it a weird look. “Uh… sweats. Yeah. Thanks.”

  I give her my softest sweatpants. I even change my pillowcase for her, adding a fresh one before she lays down.

  “Thank you, Butler,” she says as I turn off the lights.

  “You’re welcome, B.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The next morning, my alarm goes off at five.

  It takes me a second to figure out where I am. My face is stuck to vinyl by sweat and probably a little drool. My back is killing me. My left hip feels like it’s been bashed in.

  I forgot how shitty these lobby couches are.

  Groaning, I sit up slowly to kill my alarm. The lobby goes eerily quiet. Just the ticking of the giant clock on the wall and that farting sound vinyl makes whenever you move on it. I feel instantly restless like I should be doing something or moving toward something, but there’s no workout today. We have a rare day off and I have no idea what I’m going to do with it.

  Footsteps echo down the staircase. They sound bouncy. Too perky for this time of morning. I’m surprised when the girl with the donuts and coffee pops out the door into the lobby.

  She stops abruptly when she sees me. Her face is scared for a second, but then she laughs. “God, you scared me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

  “I slept down here last night.”

  “Why?”

  “I let a girl have my room.”

  She smiles. Her mouth is full of straight white teeth. They look expensive. “Was that on purpose or on accident?”

  “On purpose, I guess. Giving her the room was. Her getting sick – that was an accident.”

  “How’d she get sick?”

  “She ate bread.”

  The girl’s lip curls up over her teeth. “Gluten intolerant?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yikes. I’m not, but a friend is. It seems shitty.”

  “Yeah, it looks it.”

  “So, you’re just going to hang out down here until she wakes up?”

  “I guess.”

  “That could be hours.”

  I look her over, taking in her black leggings and oversized sweater. She has bright red rain boots on her feet. “What are you doing up this early?”

  She smiles again. “Insomniac. I can’t sleep past four-thirty. I was going to walk to Starbucks and get a coffee. You wanna come?”

  I hesitate, glancing at my phone. It’s five-fifteen. The girl is right. I could be sitting here for hours waiting for Brooklyn to wake up.

  “Yeah, sure,” I grunt. My hip pops as I stand. “Why not?”

  The donut girl’s name is Ashlyn. It makes me a little homesick. I knew an Ashlyn in high school. She was a rich bitch who treated everyone like they owed her something. Everyone hated her, but the name still gets me.

  We walk through fog that feels like rain. It mists our coats. Our hair. Her shiny boots. There’s no one else around. Not even a car on the street. There’s this weird, otherworldly feeling in the air and I have the wild thought that maybe I didn’t actually wake up yet. Maybe this is a dream I’m having on that uncomfortable couch in the lobby.

  “Where are you from?” I ask Ashlyn.

  “Colorado. What about you?”

  “South Carolina.”

  “I like your accent.”

  “Thanks.” I barely have one right now. I haven’t been home in too long. “So, you’re an RA in the building?”

  “I am. You’d know that if you actually slept there sometimes.”

  I glance at her, surprised by the jab.

  She smiles up at me. “It’s my job to notice. Don’t get freaked out.”

  “Why would I be freaked out?”

  “I don’t want you worried that I’m stalking you or something. Everyone knows we have one of the football players in our building so everyone notices that you’re never there. People look for you.” Her brow creases. “Is that why you don’t stay there? Because people fanboy over you?”

  “Nah, I don’t care about that.”

  “Do you like it?”

  I shrug. “Kinda. Yeah. It feels good to be noticed, you know?”

  “I guess. Being an RA is enough visibility for me. I get flagged down all the time in the halls but never for anything good. It’s always the internet is too slow or the toilet is clogged. Someone lost their key. Again. For the fiftieth time.”

  I put my hand on my heart. “I promise to never lose my key.”

  “You’re instantly my favorite.”

  We fall into silence. Her boots thump on the ground in an easy rhythm that feels muffled by the fog.

  “You’re all anyone was talking about yesterday after the game,” she says suddenly.

  I think she doesn’t like the quiet. She has a compulsive need to fill it.

  It’s too bad. I was kind of enjoying it.

  “Were you there?” I ask.

  “Yeah, of course. It was fun to watch. You’re going to be impressive this year.”

  I roll my shoulders. They feel tight. Aching. “That’s the goal.”

  “Are you going to go pro?”

  “If I can.”

  “Some guys don’t want to, right? They want to play college level and quit for a normal life?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Oh.” She seems surprised. “I thought… I don’t know. I heard somewhere that some of the players aren’t focused on the NFL.”

  “The ones who know they can’t make it aren’t. It doesn’t mean they wouldn’t go if they could. Saying no to the NFL would be like some starving actor turning down a movie role from Paramount or someplace. It wouldn’t happen.”

  “Who are you hoping to get picked up by?”

  I shake my head hard. “I don’t think about it like that. I can’t. It’s something I have zero control over and the Draft is full of surprises. If I get my heart set on a team, I’m setting myself up for disappointment.”

  “That’s a very mature approach.”

  “Last season, the coaches brought in this pro quarterback, Domata. He got drafted a few years ago. He walked us through everything. Answered a ton of questions. It changed the way I look at the Draft. I guess I’m a lot more realistic about it now.”

  “Do you still think you’ll go?”

  “First round. No doubt.”

  “You don’t feel like you’re being overly confident?” she asks doubtfully.

  I smile. “I said I was realistic, Ash. I never said I was humble.”

  ***

  When we get back to the dorms, I tip my rapidly cooling coffee cup to Ashlyn in the stairs and cruise slowly down my hall. It’s quiet. The sky is still dark, but it’s lightening slowly. People will wake up soon. Even on a weekend, six is not an obscene hour to get up to go running or grab an early breakfast. Not on a college campus. It’s like Vegas – always open. Always busy.

  I knock on my door softly, even though I have my key. “Brooklyn? Are you awake?”

  I’m surprised that she answers.

  “Yeah. Come in.”

  She’s sitting on the bed with her shoes on her feet. She’s wearing her clothes again – not mine. Mine are folded neatly in a stack on the desk.

  Brooklyn sees me notice them. “I’m sure you want to wash them, but I don’t know. I felt weird putting them in your hamper.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She feels awkward. Ask me yesterday if I thought Brooklyn could feel awkward and I would have told you no, she’s too confident for that, but right now she’s off her game. She’s shaken and it shows.

  I lean back against the far wall, prepared to tread lightly. “How are you feeling?”

  “Embarrassed,” she chuckles. Her eyes quickly roam the pictures on my wall before landing on me. “Tired. Gross. I need a shower and an exorcism. I’m never eating bread again.”

  “Have you said that before?”

  “I’ve never meant it as much as I do right now.”

  I reach for my phone. “Do you want me to take a picture that I can send to you whenever you’re feeling weak?”

  “I want you to put your phone away. Now.”

  I smile, amused by the venom in her voice. “It’s gone,” I promise.

  She nods to my cup. “Is that coffee?”

  “Yeah, but it’s black.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll take it.”

  “I didn’t actually get you one,” I say, wincing apologetically. “You kept saying last night that you didn’t want to put anything in your body. You wanted everything out.”

  “I get that it’s your coffee. I still want it.”

  “You didn’t say the magic word.”

  “Give me the fucking coffee, Butler.”

  “Damn,” I mutter, handing over the cup. “You’re rough in the morning.”

  She grunts in agreement. “You have no idea.”

  I watch her practically shoot the entire half-cup that’s left. She drinks it like it’s water or tequila, I can’t tell which. It’s something to see, though. Whether it’s impressive or off-putting, I don’t know, but it is something either way.

  “You want me to get you another one?” I offer.

  She shakes her head. “No. Thanks. I need to go home.”

  “You don’t wanna get breakfast? Maybe some pancakes? Waffles? There’s a place about a mile from here that makes amazing biscuits and—”

  “You were sweet last night,” she reminds me. “What happened to that? Who’s this asshole listing off every breakfast food he can think of that has wheat in it?”

  I grin. “Sorry. I’m rough in the morning too.”

  Brooklyn releases a small, breathy chuckle. It sounds tired. She looks tired as she stands slowly from my bed.

  I need to lay off.

  A nice guy would lay off.

  “The Whole Foods nearby has great bagels,” I tell her. “I can get ‘em delivered.”

  “Sounds great. Order three, at least one jalapeno, and tell the delivery guy to shove them up your ass when he gets here.”

  “I think they have a box for that in the Special Instructions section.”

  She smiles, the warm glow of a new morning dancing across her face through the window. “You’re set for the weekend, then.”

  Shit, she’s hot. Even looking ragged like she does, her hair and makeup messed up, she’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.

  I whip out my phone, take a hasty picture of her, and stow it in my pocket again before she can stop me.

  Her jaw drops in outrage. “What the hell did you just do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I told you not to take my picture.”

  “I know.”

  “Butler.”

  I shake my head calmly. “I’m keeping it. Not to post or anything. It’s for me. I gotta know you were real, ‘cause when you walk out of here, I’m gonna doubt it. There’s no way a girl like you spent the night in my room, in my clothes. You didn’t eat dinner with my friends. You didn’t come down to my game to watch me play. You couldn’t have. You wouldn’t. I’m gifted with a lot of shit, I’ve had a lot of luck in my life, B, but there’s no way I’m that lucky. You here right now, that’s too good to be true.”

  “Butler.” She says my name again; quieter this time. Gentler. Kind of like she’s pleading with me but about what, I have no idea.

  “Let me keep it,” I beg just as gently.

  She winces. “Fine. No posting it.”

  “No posting.”

  “Oh my God,” she sigh. “I’ve got to get out of here. You’re… I have to go.”

  We walk slowly down to the lobby together. I pray for it to be empty so I don’t have to share her with anyone, and my prayers are mercifully answered. We’re alone in the parking lot when we say goodbye, too. The air is cold but the fog is lifting. I can see her clearly. She feels warm and real as I touch her elbow, slowly leaning in to kiss her cheek. I think about going for her lips, but she’s telling me no. Her body language, her eyes, the way she holds perfectly still as my mouth brushes lightly over her skin.

  This is a line I’m not welcome to cross.

  Not yet.

  “Drive careful,” I tell her as she slips into her car. As her scent fades slowly away into the cold morning.

  She smiles. She’s stalling. Drawing out the moment. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Later today?”

  “No,” she laughs. “Later.”

  “Fine. Later.”

  I’ll take what I can get.

  “Call me tonight?” she asks.

  “Call me when you get home.”

  “I will.”

  I watch her drive away, her taillights fading slowly. It’s less than an hour drive to Corvallis, but I feel the distance in my gut with every passing minute once she’s gone. I feel it in every step up the stairs to my room where my pillow smells like her, and yeah, I sniffed it. I’m that kind of weirdo.