It had become a ritual, their trip down to the vending machines for Coke and M&Ms. Aidan came by the university every day at her class break, and side-by-side they dragged the walk out as long as possible, the breaking point at her classroom door becoming this awkward moment of suspended animation, in which they both seemed to realize that neither wanted to be the first to walk away.
It was the best part of Sam’s day, hands down. Better than dragging Erin out of bed, whipping together sack lunches for everyone, commuting and hustling across campus to make her first class. It was better even than her favorite lines of iambic pentameter. Better than the words that flowed off her pen when she sat down at her bedroom desk each night. The bright white slice of Aidan’s smile; the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth; the way the razor never really took his beard stubble down to the skin. The way he smelled like wind and wildness, and the careful curve of his rough fingers around her elbow, like he was afraid he might break her or spook her.
She didn’t want to fool herself about what this was – God knew he wasn’t the type to take things slow and chivalrous, so he must not have wanted her sexually. But the unfolding easiness between them kept growing, kept tucking new dimensions into their conversation and lending them a familiarity she didn’t think either of them had expected.
Today, he was already propped up against the outer wall when she left the classroom. Hands in his pockets, hoodie zipped up against the chill beneath his cut. He needed a haircut, and his eyes were tired, and she drank him in visually.
“My next class is cancelled; I’m letting them take the day off and work on their papers. So we can actually have coffee today.”
He nodded and pushed off the wall, his smile just as weary as his gaze. “It’s cold out. That sounds good.”
Sam buttoned up her jacket and slid an arm through his offered one. It always sent a pulse of awareness through her, feeling the solid hardness of his biceps through his clothes. A gorgeous boy, a playboy…but a strong one, too.
The breeze rushed over them, as they pushed through the doors into the sunshine, and Sam leaned in a little closer.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, and it was an obvious, stiffly told lie.
“Girl trouble?”
He snorted.
“Family trouble?”
No comment.
“So club trouble, then.”
He made a sound that was neither yes nor no, but she understood it.
“Talking about it might help.”
He sighed…and then pulled her tighter beside him as they walked, holding her against his side, his gaze downcast. “Do you ever just know something’s going to blow up in your face, but you’ve got no idea what to do about it?”
“Yes. Though, in my case, it’s a metaphorical explosion. And with you, there might well be a real bomb involved.”
He chuckled. “You think?”
“There’s no telling.”
He nodded. “Yeah, well…this is a metaphorical one – damn, listen to how you have me talking – at least, I think it is. Mostly.” A frown pressed a deep groove between his brows. In a quiet undertone: “I really fucked up. A lot. And I’ve got no idea how to fix it.”
Okay, so whatever this was, it was serious.
They reached the coffee cart and she motioned toward a bench a few feet away in a sunny patch. “What do you want and I can join you in a sec?”
“Nope.” He dug out his wallet, its chain rattling. “I’m buying.”
“You don’t have to do keep doing that.”
“I’m taking up your time, so I’m buying your coffee.”
“Aidan–”
“Not listening.”
It wasn’t their usual back-and-forth. This was tight, colored with his disquiet.
