The Mistake

I take a long sip of coffee, eyeing her over the rim of my cup. Then I set it down and say, “I can’t do that right now.”


Distress lines her forehead. “Why not?”

“Because I think we need a break. We’ve spent every waking hour together since the first grade, Ramona.” Frustration clenches inside me. “But we’re in university now. We should be branching out and forming connections with new people. And honestly, I can’t do that when you’re around.”

“We can do it together,” she protests.

“No, we can’t. The only friends I made last year were Jess and Maya, and I don’t even like them. I just need space, okay? I’m not saying we’re never going to talk again. You were a huge part of my life for so long, and I don’t know if I want to throw all that away over a stupid text message. But I also can’t go back to the way things used to be.”

She goes quiet, chewing so hard on her lip I’m surprised it doesn’t start spurting blood. I can tell she wants to argue, to force a reconciliation, push her friendship on me, but for once in her life, Ramona defers to me.

“Can we still…I don’t know, text? Have coffee sometime?” She sounds like a little girl who’s just been told the cherished family dog has been taken to “the farm.”

After a beat, I nod. “I’m okay with that. Starting off slowly.”

Her hopeful expression returns in full-force. “How about coffee, then? We can meet here again.”

Despite my lingering resistance, I offer another nod.

Relief floods her face. “You won’t regret this. I promise you, I’m not going to take you for granted ever again.”

I’ll believe it when I see it. For now, I’ve made all the inroads I’m willing to make with her.

We exchange a brief and incredibly awkward hug, and then she leaves, saying she needs to get to class.

I’m too sad to move, so I simply sit there, absently stirring the stick in my coffee. I feel as if I’ve just broken up with someone. In a sense, I did.

But I meant every word—I do need a break from her. She was holding me back last year. Freshman Grace was a confined bird that only got to soar when Ramona decided to let her out of the cage.

Well, Sophomore Grace is going to fly all over the place.

The sadness in my chest disperses, replaced by a twinge of excitement. I already feel like I’m soaring. I love my new roommate, I’m enjoying my classes so far, and I’m looking forward to my new job at the campus radio station. Morris, the junior who runs it, gave me the producing job on the spot when Daisy and I came in at the beginning of the week, and as of next Monday, I’ll be working on an advice show hosted by a frat boy/sorority girl team who I’ve been warned are “dumb as posts.” Daisy’s words, not mine.

Also, that Morris guy seems pretty fucking cool. And he’s ridiculously hot—that delicious factoid certainly didn’t escape me when I met with him.

The bell over the door dings loudly, and my head involuntarily swivels toward it, then immediately swivels back. I hunch over, hoping my hair will shield my face from view of the newcomers.

The newcomers being Logan and four of his friends.

Crap.

Maybe he won’t notice me. Maybe I can sneak out before he does.

I don’t want to draw any attention to myself, so I don’t get up right away. Logan and his buddies approach the order counter, and every gaze in the coffee house hangs on their every move. Something about these guys changes the air in the room on a molecular level. They’re larger than life, and not just because they’re all tall, strapping hockey players. It’s the confidence with which they walk, the good-natured insults they toss back and forth, the easy grins they flash to people.

I know I should be skulking off, but I can’t look away. It’s almost criminal how attractive he is. Granted, I’m only looking at the back of his head, but it’s a very sexy back of the head. And it’s so easy to pick him out as an athlete. The long limbs and toned muscles beneath his cargo pants and snug T-shirt create a drool-worthy package that my fingers itch to unwrap.

Argh. I need to drag my head out of the gutter. Lusting over him is too close to liking him, and I’m not ready to open that door yet. If ever.

But common sense comes too late, because Logan is now moving away from the counter and marching in my direction.

“Hey, gorgeous.” He slides in the seat across from me and places a chocolate-chip muffin on the table. “I got you a muffin.”

Damn it, I guess he’d noticed me right when he’d walked in.

“Why?” I ask in suspicion, and without saying hi.

“’Cause I wanted to get you something, and you already have coffee. Ergo, muffin.”

I raise one eyebrow. “Are you trying to buy your way into my good graces?”

“Yup. And excellent pun, by the way.”

“I wasn’t punning. My name just happens to be a homonym.”

His blue eyes gleam as he downright smolders at me. “I love it when you talk homonyms to me.”