We should come up with some terms. Duration: one month. Times we need to hang out per week: 2–we can use those to work on the project. We can split those hangouts between our places, although I’d prefer that my teammates are included as much as possible since they’re the whole reason for this. Should probably keep the hanging out to public places so people see us together and we use the most of our time. We’ve already said, no sex. PDA is okay when it feels appropriate to the situation. Anything you want to add?

Jesus. A list of dos and don’ts is a real mood killer. Seems like she needs this, though, so I roll with it. Mostly.

A month is too short. How about two? And I want at least one night a week that isn’t spent studying.

Maybe I’m crazy for wanting to extend this out longer, but I don’t exactly think it’s going to be a burden.

Two months is overkill. If they don’t like me in a month, I doubt another month is going to make a difference.

Right, I keep forgetting this is about her teammates.

Six weeks and all bets are off on PDA.

I move up to the list above where she started to list things she knows about me and add a third.

3. Likes PDA.

To emphasize my point, I drop the pen and lace our fingers together. Her hand fits perfectly in mine, and we both sit back and listen to Professor Sanchez for the rest of the class. When he finishes, I realize I have no idea what we discussed in class, but I had a damn good time while he yapped for an hour.

“What time you wanna hang?”

“Oh.” She busies herself with her backpack as she searches for words… probably to blow me off.

“We can do whatever you want,” I offer.

She straightens. “Whatever I want?”

12

NATHAN

Chloe told me to meet her at Ray Fieldhouse at eight. It’s Friday night, so the place is quiet as a morgue. She’s waiting for me just inside the side entrance for athletes. Leaning on the wall with her phone in hand, she’s slow to raise her head from the screen, which gives me a couple seconds to take her in.

Tight black shorts that are… well, they can hardly be called shorts they’re so short—and I’m in no way complaining about that—and a white off-the-shoulder t-shirt that comes just to the top of her not-shorts.

“Hey.” She pushes off the wall. Her eyes do a slow perusal of me and she smirks. “Ready?”

“Depends. Gotta say, I’m intrigued. I’ve never had a chick tell me to meet her at the gym on a Friday night.”