What I don’t know is why I answer the way I do. “No, I haven’t been very friendly lately.” Distance, Saylor, I chide. I’ve never slept with Kyle, and I think Beck knows that. I also think he knows I just admitted to the fact that I haven’t been with anyone else since him. Not something I planned for him to have any inkling of.

His response is an anticlimactic nod as we walk along Lancaster’s central path. It’s a Sunday, so campus is pretty quiet. Just a few overachievers hustling to the library, too concentrated to give us more than a second glance. Still, I’m not willing to take any chances.

I duck into the student center, which houses study rooms, along with the post office, a smattering of offices, and the campus store, my current destination. Beck follows me, looking around the open space containing every item you could imagine Lancaster’s logo being embroidered on.

I don’t think I’ve been in here since I visited campus for my recruitment trip. Being on a national-championship-winning team, I’ve been plied with more free Lancaster apparel than any one person could wear. I find the hat section easily, grabbing a navy one and heading up to the register.

“Good morning,” the middle-aged woman says pleasantly.

“Morning,” I respond. “Just this, please.” I set the hat on the countertop.

The phone next to the register rings. “One moment,” the woman says, lifting the receiver. After listening to whatever is being said, she covers the speaker. “Stephan! Can you cover the register?”

A baby-faced boy with brown hair appears from around a t-shirt display. His eyes widen when he sees me. “Wow. You’re Saylor Scott, right?” he asks.

“Yes,” I reply. There’s a sound of amusement to my left, but I don’t look over at Beck.

“Uh, you don’t need to pay for this,” he tells me.

“It’s fine,” I reply.

“No, I mean it. If my supervisor knew you’d come in and I made you pay… seriously, take it.”

“Fine,” I say. Arguing doesn’t seem worthwhile. “Thanks.”

He nods eagerly.

Beck laughs as we leave the store. I shove the hat at him. “Shut up,” I grumble.

He pulls the tag off and puts the ball cap on. The sight of Beck in a Lancaster University hat sends a pang of yearning through me. What would it be like if Adler Beck had just been a guy in one of my classes? If he was just a hot guy who’d sat next to me? Not a world-famous one revered, beloved, and fantasized about?

“I kind of wanted to go to university,” Beck informs me as we leave the student center and start walking along the brick path that cuts through the center of campus.

“It’s not all that great,” I tell him. “Classes, essays, exams? I’d rather just play soccer.”