Page 86 of After the Snap

You spent your Saturday taking the MCAT and now you’re going to bed early.

Responsibly.

I head into the bedroom, still smiling at how ridiculously easy it is to talk to him like this. Neither of us has anything important to say, and there’s no real reason for the conversation beyond the fact that he texted me and I wanted to answer. I plug in my phone beside the bed as the screen lights up again.

Missed you today, Pea.

My hand stays curled in the comforter as I read the message again, waiting for the joke or insult that usually gives me somewhere to hide. When nothing else appears, the smile pulling at my mouth becomes harder to fight because Jubal told me he missed me without trying to make the admission smaller afterward.

More than once today, I caught myself wanting to tell him something before remembering he was hundreds of miles away. My thumbs hover over the keyboard, trying to decide how much I’m willing to give him when even admitting it to myself feels like more than I intended to tonight.

It’s been like twelve hours.

The answer comes almost immediately.

I didn’t say it was reasonable.

Some of the pressure in my chest loosens because I can work with unreasonable. I can tease him about being dramatic and pretend the stupid smile on my face has nothing to do with knowing he spent part of his day missing me after seeing me less than twenty-four hours ago.

Either way, I still missed you.

My smile lingers as I stare at his message. I gave Jubal an easy way to turn his admission into a joke, but he ignored it and told me again because he wanted me to know. Wanting him has never been confusing. My body figured that out in Houston before I knew his name, and even liking him stopped being something I could reasonably argue against a while ago, but sitting here as he tells me exactly how he feels asks something different of me.

I read his message again, expecting some part of me to question whether he means it, but the doubt never comes. I believe him enough that another joke suddenly feels less like teasing and more like hiding.

Maybe I missed you a little too.

The typing bubble appears so quickly that I barely have time to regret it.

Knew it.

I laugh, dropping backward onto the mattress as the tension breaks beneath the sheer force of his smugness.

I take it back.

Too late. Screen-shotting it. Framing it. Hell, I might even show the team tomorrow.

I will deny everything.

Good night, Pea.

My smile softens as I roll onto my side, settling into the pillow with the phone held close enough that the charging cord stretches across the nightstand.

Good night, Old Man. Go win tomorrow.

Yes, ma’am.

I set the phone back on the nightstand and switch off the lamp, but sleep doesn’t come as quickly as it should. Wanting Jubal has always felt like something I could handle because it belonged to me, but believing him gives him access to something I’m not nearly as comfortable handing over.

When I wake up Sunday morning, Jubal’s last message is still waiting on my phone. I’ve had a perfectly planned study schedule waiting for me, but the MCAT is over, leaving me to figure out what most people do with an entire Sunday. I’m still considering the possibilities when my phone vibrates beside me.

Old Man

Are you planning to watch the game?

I’ve known all morning that their game starts at one, but until Jubal asks, kickoff has been nothing more than a time on the clock. Watching football used to be woven so thoroughly into my childhood that Sundays were arranged around whatever game mattered that week. I stopped forcing myself to care about something tangled up with too many things I didn’t want anymore a long time ago, and I haven’t voluntarily sat down to watch a game on TV in years. But Jubal doesn’t know any of that, which should make it easier to tell him no. Instead, my fingers move over the screen before I can settle on a reason not to.

Maybe.