Page 91 of My Pucked Up Neighbor
"You’re really in study beast mode tonight," he jokes, trying to cut the tension with a smile.
"The bar isn’t going to pass itself."
He walks over and kneels next to my chair, resting a hand on my knee. "How about kiss hello? I missed you.”
When he leans in to kiss me, I turn, pretend I’m reaching for my pen.
The moment passes. Awkwardly.
He says nothing, but I can feel it: the confusion, the quiet disappointment.
Still, he doesn’t push.
And I can’t concentrate.
My mind is a spinning reel of social media comments, Allison’s voice, the blonde in the photo, and the way that woman at the meet-and-greet looked at me like I was temporary.
Like I was irrelevant.
I stare at the same paragraph for fifteen minutes.
After one hour, I pack up and try to leave.
Nate is at the kitchen table going through mail. "You done already?"
"Yeah. I should get back. Early start tomorrow."
"You sure? We’ve barely…"
"I just need to be in my own space tonight."
He stands, watching as I zip my bag. "Okay. Want me to carry your bag over?"
I shake my head. "It’s fine."
I sling the strap over my shoulder, move toward the door.
"Night, Mandy."
"Goodnight."
No kiss. No hug.
He stays in the doorway as I walk down the hall.
I close the door behind me, press my back to it, and exhale shakily.
I don’t know if I’m overreacting... or waking up.
Twenty minutes later, my phone lights up with Nate’s name. I hesitate, but answer.
"Hey," I say quietly.
"You in your room?"
"Yeah."
There’s a pause. Then, more gently, "Are you okay?"
