Misadventures of a College Girl (Misadventures #9)(55)

“And what about your scholarship to UCLA?” he asks. “You don’t care about that? If you think I’m gonna pay your way at U of Miami with all my millions, you’re sorely mistaken, you mooch.” He smiles.

I blink back tears. “But I don’t remember how to be happy without you, Tyler.”

Pain washes over Tyler’s face. “You’ve got a destiny to fulfill, sweetheart. Every bit as much as I do. We both know that. We’ve always known it.”

I stare at him for a very long time, my lower lip trembling. He’s right. My brain knows he is. My dreams require me to eventually wind up in New York, not Miami. But my heart simply doesn’t want to accept today’s triumph will likely be our undoing. “Can I come visit you this summer?”

“I’ll be at training camp this summer. You know that.”

I hang my head, defeated. “I’m sorry. I’m honestly elated for you. The three-days thing just threw me for a loop.”

“Babe, I know you’re elated for me. There’s no doubt in my mind about that.” He pulls me into him and I crumple, literally and figuratively, against his hard chest.

He wraps his strong arms around me, and I clutch him to me while Dave Matthews serenades us with his soulful, bittersweet song. And for the first time ever—even though by this time I’ve heard “Crash into Me” more times than I can count—it suddenly occurs to me how eerily prescient Tyler’s selection of this particular song was all those months ago. This beautiful boy crashed into me like a ton of bricks from the moment I first laid eyes on him. And now, it seems, fickle Fate is demanding I finally suffer the inevitable…burn.





Chapter Thirty-Five





Tyler puts down his carry-on suitcase and hugs me one last time before heading into the airport security line. “Don’t forget to send me photos from rehearsals,” he says. “I want to see your costumes. Oh, and the first time they drench you in blood at rehearsal, you’d better Snapchat me that shit or I’ll never forgive you.”

“Only if you promise to send me a selfie when you’ve got your full Dolphins uniform on for the first time. I want to see your name on the back.”

He looks like he’s getting choked up.

I touch his cheek. “Babe, there’s no crying in football.”

He nods.

“I’m just a text or phone call away. Any time you want to talk, I’ll be here. Any time you want to watch an episode of The Office with me on FaceTime, I’m in. Any episode you want, as long as it’s not from season eight or from before Pam and Jim get together.”

“Well, duh. I’m not a complete moron, Zooey.”

We share a sad smile.

I lift my face to him, and he presses his lips against mine. “I love you, beaver,” he whispers. “I’ll love you as long as I live. Always know that.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Please don’t say it like that. It makes it seem like this is goodbye forever. It’s not. I’m coming to your first game, remember? And I’m sure I can make it to games you play on the west coast. And there’s always Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks. This isn’t goodbye.”

I don’t know why I’m babbling like this. We’ve already talked about all this, several times. And when we did, we both came to the stark realization the actual opportunities for us to see each other will be so few and far between, and likely so short and unsatisfying when they do occur, they might actually feel more heartbreaking than uplifting. In fact, after we looked hard at the reality of the situation, it was me who suggested we shouldn’t be exclusive any more. It’s just too hard to make long-term commitments when we know Tyler will probably be in Miami for the next four years at least, and I’ll be here in LA, followed by chasing my Broadway dreams. And so, we’ve made the mature and rational decision to be friends who love each other deeply and who might get to see each other on special occasions and quite happily fuck each other’s brains out when they do. But we are officially no longer in a committed relationship. And we are officially not going to be sad about it, because this new chapter in our lives came about thanks to Tyler’s lifelong dreams coming true. Which is totally and completely awesome.

“You’d better go,” I say. “You don’t want to be late for your flight.”

Tyler nods. “Oh, hey, I almost forgot. Look at this nifty shirt I had made for the occasion.” He unzips his fleece to reveal the phrase I Love Beaver! emblazoned across his broad chest.

I’m aghast. “Tyler.” I look around, half expecting someone from TMZ to pop out from behind a luggage cart and snap a photo. “Cover that up, babe. Someone might see.”

He laughs.

“Thanks for the sentiment, but you can’t wear that. Someone will take a photo, and it’ll go viral and the whole world will think Tyler Caldwell is the biggest douchebag pervert sexist in the world.”

Tyler chuckles again.

“I’m not kidding, love. Your branding is really important now. You’re on a national stage. You have to think about that kind of thing now.”

“Relax, little freshman, I’ve got a change of shirts in my bag. I just wanted to see you freak out over it. Mission accomplished.”

“Very funny.” I bite my lip. “And very sweet. Thank you.”