His Royal Highness(35)

“Ready to go?” I ask, nodding toward our parked bikes.

Ryan tosses his ice pack in the trash before we start the ride back home. The autumn air cools my cheeks as we race down the road, laughing when Ryan makes a joke about “catching some air” as he lifts his front tire in a faux BMX move.

I try the same thing myself and manage to lift my bike only a fraction of an inch. Ryan, of course, acts like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.

“You’ll go pro, for sure.”

We turn the corner back to my street together and my dorm looms in front of us. I suggest we race to the finish, and Ryan agrees. We pedal fast, but then my gaze catches on someone sitting outside on the curb, a few yards ahead. Right in front of my building.

I slow down.

In the moonlight, I can tell the guy is tall with dark hair. I squint to make out his features, hoping—then berating myself for it.

My stomach dips right as Ryan turns back to ask, “Is that…”

“Derek.”

He has his elbows propped on his knees and his head bent down. I know it’s him even before we’re dismounting and unbuckling our helmets. He glances up and our eyes meet. A familiar tug pulls me in his direction, and it’s painful to resist. He looks sad, though I doubt anyone else would notice. It’s the subtle way his dark brows are only slightly downcast, a shallow furrow between them. His full mouth is perfectly straight, and yet I swear he’s frowning.

He’s wearing jeans and a Miami Heat t-shirt, the most casual I’ve ever seen him. His dark hair is rumpled and when he stands, my eyes follow his body. He’s just as athletic as Ryan, and though he’s taller, he carries himself with more grace and fluidity. It’s self-assurance, I think, confidence in who he is and what he wants.

In his hands, there’s a hardback book. He sees me notice it and then tucks it under his arm.

I yank off my helmet, attempting to control the insane mess of waves that were stuffed underneath. No doubt, it’s hopeless. I give up and let them fly.

Ryan’s the first one to speak. He’s the only one of us currently capable of speech, I think.

“Derek, hey.” He sounds out of breath. We both are. “What’s up?”

Derek glances over at him and his scowl deepens. “What happened to you? Are you bleeding?”

Oh right, the golf ball.

“If you can believe it, I got a golf ball straight to the face courtesy of an eight-year-old. Don’t worry though, Whit here took good care of me.”

Ryan laughs and looks at me like we’re sharing a private joke. I guess we are.

“We were playing mini golf,” I explain, sounding guilty.

There’s no protocol for this situation. No one knows who to defer to. Ryan glances between me and Derek. Derek studies the building across the street. I keep my focus pinned to the ground.

“Well…” Ryan says, finally. “Looks like you guys need to talk. I’ll call you later, Whit, yeah?” He turns and kisses my cheek, catching the edge of my mouth.

I watch Derek, trying to decipher if I’ve wounded him. The idea is ludicrous. I’m projecting what I want to see, not what’s actually there, visible in his dark brown eyes. Those eyes might compel me to spill the truth, but they do the exact opposite for Derek. A well of dark brown so deep I get lost searching for answers. I don’t even think to acknowledge Ryan until he’s wheeling the bikes away, yards down the sidewalk from where I stand.

I throw a half-hearted goodbye in his direction, disappointed in myself. I had fun with him tonight. He deserves better.

“I thought you said you and Ryan were just friends?” Derek asks once I turn back around to face him.

I shrug. “We are.”

“So that wasn’t a date?”

“It was mini golf. Call it what you want.”

Suddenly, I’m mad at Derek for being here, for ruining a perfectly good evening. I’ve suffered through his sour moods all week at work and now he’s here, after hours, reminding me of what will inevitably await me come Monday.

“What are you doing here anyway?” I ask, sounding accusatory.

My arms are crossed over my chest. I try to stand an inch taller.

“I want to talk.”

“Then talk,” I shoot back.

In an instant, I become aware of where we are. Out here, voices carry. I’m sure students inside the dorms can hear us. I would tell him we should save this for another time, but I want to hear what he has to say. It’s clearly important or he wouldn’t have been out on the curb, waiting for me.

I sigh and nod my head toward the back door of the dorm. It’s co-ed, and there aren’t real parameters around who is allowed in as long as they sign in at the front desk. Still, I bypass that step and sneak him up the back stairwell, toward my room at the end of the hall. It feels better once we’re inside, safer now that we’re away from curious eyes.

I wish we were somewhere else, though. I never intended on ever bringing Derek into my dorm. It’s my personal space and he’s invading it. After setting his book down on my small dresser, he takes in my makeshift kitchen and desk. My twin bed has a simple white duvet and two pillows. Nothing else will fit. My books (some of which are his) are stacked beside my bed. I want to run over there and swipe the stack so it crumbles to the ground, preventing him from reading the spines, but it’s too late. I pray he doesn’t remember he ever lent them to me in the first place.