“I know, but I wanted to. Consider it a small peace offering.” I hand her the cup. “Peppermint mocha with an extra shot.”
She looks over at me, her hazel eyes looking almost gold today, scanning my face for something she can’t seem to find.
"You remembered," she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers brush mine as she takes the cup, and I feel that familiar spark of electricity. "Thank you.”
I watch as she takes a small sip, her eyes closing briefly. When she opens them again, there's a softness there that wasn't present before.
"So freaking good," Madison murmurs, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
I feel my own lips curving upward in response. "I'm glad," I say, fighting the urge to reach out and tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Listen, Madison, about the other night?—"
But before I can finish, the professor strides in, calling the class to order. Madison's walls seem to go back up, but not quite as high as before. As she turns her attention to the front of the room, I catch her sneaking a glance at me from the corner of her eye.
It's not much, but it's a start. And for now, that's enough.
The professor clears her throat, commanding the attention of the class. "Alright, everyone. I expect you all read through thesyllabus and understand we will be moving fast through the material this semester. If you fall behind, I suggest you drop before the cut off, as I do not grade easily or on a curve of any sort.”
Madison slinks down farther into her seat. I swear, I hear her curse under her breath.
“Are you behind? It’s only week two,” I whisper.
“In case you don’t remember, math hates me more than I hate it.” She bites back. “Not all of us enjoy numbers.”
“Easy there, Mads. Why don’t I help you study?” I ask, shrugging it off like it’s no big deal. “Just like old times.”
Madison pauses, her pen hovering over her notebook. For a moment, I think she might refuse, but then, she gives a small nod. "Fine. Text me when you're done with practice, and we can set something up.”
I nod, trying to hide my excitement. "Sounds good. I'll let you know."
As I turn back to face the front of the lecture hall, I can't help but steal another glance at Madison. Her brow is furrowed in concentration as she scribbles notes, a strand of dark hair falling across her face. I resist the urge to tuck it behind her ear.
The rest of class drags by, my mind wandering to thoughts of our upcoming study session. When the professor finally dismisses us, I stand and stretch, my muscles still sore from yesterday's practice.
"See you later, Mads," I say, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.
She looks up, those hazel eyes catching the light. "Yeah, later."
I head out of the lecture hall, my mind already racing ahead to practice. As I push through the heavy doors into the sunny afternoon, I catch sight of my teammates gathered near the fountain in the quad. They wave me over, and I join them.
"Hey, Montgomery!" calls out Derek, one of our tight ends. "Ready to run some new plays today?"
I nod, falling into step beside him as we make our way towardsthe athletic complex. "Always. Coach mentioned he's got some tricks up his sleeve for the game against Nor Cal next week."
The conversation flows easily as we walk, discussing upcoming assignments and weekend plans, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Madison. It's been years since we've spent any real time together, and I can't help but wonder if she's still the same girl I knew back then.
As we near the locker rooms, I pull out my phone and quickly type out a text to Madison. Guess we’ll see if this one breaks the streak of it being a one way thread.
Practice ends at 6:30. Library at 7?
I hit send before I can overthink it, then shove my phone into my locker. As I change into my practice gear, I try to focus on the plays we'll be running today, but my mind keeps wandering back to those hazel eyes that have haunted many of my late nights.
Coach runs us hard, drilling new formations and testing our conditioning. By the time we finish, my muscles are screaming and sweat is dripping down my back. Running a towel over my face, I check my phone as soon as I'm back in the locker room. Five unread messages, but only one I want to open:
Mads
Seven works. Don’t be late.
“Solid work today, Michigan.”
