Page 35 of Office Hours
Dylan snorts. “That’s one way to put it. You’d think he was still up for tenure or something.”
I want to ask about the tenure thing, but I’m too busy thinking about the word “pleasure” and the way Liam said it, as if he meant me and not the woman on his arm.
We step out into the cold, and the wind cuts through my tights. Dylan pulls me close, his hand steady, warm, real. For a moment I let myself imagine that this is enough, that being with someone who wants me this way will be the cure for whatever uncertainty Liam left in my veins.
I know better, but I pretend anyway.
As Dylan opens the car door for me, I look back through the restaurant window, just in time to see Liam and Claire seated comfortably at a table. He’s talking, she’s laughing, her hand on his arm. The light catches his face, and for a split second, he’s looking straight at me, as if he knew I’d be watching.
My cheeks go hot. I duck into the car and shut the door.
Dylan gets in, slaps the steering wheel with a grin. “You want to go somewhere else, or call it a night?”
I pause, then shake my head. “Let’s just drive for a bit.”
He shrugs, turns the key, and the car rumbles to life. We pull out of the lot, headlights tracing two bright lines down the empty street. The world is quiet, cold, waiting.
In the rearview, the Olive Branch sign glows blue and gold.
I close my eyes, and try to remember what it feels like to be invisible.
The rideback is mostly quiet except for Dylan’s taste in music, which runs exclusively to playlists called things like “Epic Pre-Game Jams.” I nod along, but my mind is elsewhere—out in the cold, pacing a sidewalk with a mouthful of angry words I’m too cowardly to spit out.
We park in front of my dorm, the lot nearly empty. Dylan shuts off the car but doesn’t move to open my door. He looks at me, eyes a little glassy, and asks, “Did you have a good time tonight?”
I could lie, but he deserves better. “Yeah. It was nice.”
He bites his lip, then looks down. “You ever feel like you’re only pretending to be normal? Like, everyone else got the rulebook, but you’re just winging it?”
I blink. It’s the first truly honest thing he’s said all night, and for a second, I see the scared kid behind the swimmer’s grin. “All the time,” I say. “But I think everyone’s just faking it, some better than others.”
He nods, relieved. “Cool.” Then, “I’d like to see you again.”
There’s a crash of loneliness inside me, sudden and sharp. “Me too,” I say. And it’s true, in a way.
He leans in, but stops an inch from my face, giving me space to decide. I kiss him, soft and gentle, tasting a faint tang of tomato and leftover dessert. It’s not fireworks, but it’s not nothing. We hold the kiss for a moment, then break apart. Sadly, my heartbeat is completely normal, and I feel nothing.
“I’ll text you?” he says.
I hesitate but then smile.
“Sure,” I say. “Goodnight.”
He waits until I’m inside the lobby before he drives off, headlights painting the glass with quicksilver stripes. I watch until his car is out of sight, then take the elevator to my floor, each step heavier than the last.
Andie is already back, sprawled on her bed in a haze of makeup remover and cheap sheet masks. “Hey, babe,” she slurs, voice muffled by a mouthful of Skittles. “How was swimmer boy? Did you get laid?”
I kick off my shoes and flop next to her, the mattress creaking under the combined weight of our expectations. “No sex. But Dylan’s nice.”
She peels off her mask, making a show of disgust. “Don’t tell me you’re getting soft on me. That’s how you end up married to an insurance actuary in Iowa.”
I snort, the laugh surprising us both. “He wants to see me again.”
Andie leans on her elbow, squinting. “Is that what you want, though?”
I start to answer, but my phone buzzes. It’s Liam.
Meet me. Now. Five minutes. Loading dock behind student center. Come alone.
