It was that, or keep dreaming about love, and working toward helping others find it, while never letting myself risk it.

Despite making my decision with Ainsley, I put it off for longer than I intended. Throughout the next school day, I kept waiting to run into him in the halls, but the one time I caught sight of him he was so far away there was no point trying to get to him. Then, that night after school, I kept starting and erasing texts. Finally, I decided I needed to talk to him in person, and resolved to find him the next day.

It was easy to find Brougham on a Thursday, at least.

I stood in the empty, abandoned halls after school, not far from locker eighty-nine, working up the courage to go and speak to him. Apparently, at some point, talking to Brougham had become terrifying. My hands were trembling. Trembling. Over Alexander Fucking Brougham.

It occurred to me as I started to pace in front of the pool entrance that I didn’t know Brougham’s middle name. Just that it was, almost certainly, not “Fucking.”

I glared at my hands until they stilled, then pushed open the door.

Brougham was swimming freestyle in the lane closest to me, with another student I didn’t recognize over in the far lane doing a backstroke.

Brougham slowed to a stop as soon as he noticed me, and swam over to the edge of the pool. “Hey.”

I dropped down to a crouch, careful not to let the hem of my skirt touch the wet ground. “Hey. Can we talk?”

He bobbed in the water, considering. “Yeah, I can spare a few minutes.”

Gee, how generous. I hopped backward while he hoisted himself out of the pool, and did my very best not to stare at the water droplets dripping down his torso, running over the smooth curve of muscles on his slim back.

He snatched a towel from the stands and rubbed it over his body haphazardly before slinging it over his shoulders. If this is how he dried himself off, no wonder his clothes were soaked through the day I’d met him. “What’s up?”

I lowered my voice. It was an unnecessary precaution, given I was pretty sure the person swimming in the far lane couldn’t eavesdrop with his ears underwater, but it felt respectful anyway. “I’m sorry about the other day.”

Brougham’s face was, as usual, expressionless. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

He paused, and I realized after a beat he was waiting for me to say something. That was fair. I had told him I’d get back to him, after all.

But instead of speaking, I totally froze.