Meet Cute(40)

I’m already involved, Beverly has made sure of that, and beyond wanting to make partner, it’s clear Daxton needs the support, and frankly, so does Emme. I can relate to what they’re both going through, and it makes it both easier and more difficult to insert myself into their lives like this. I push aside the worry that I’m crossing lines I shouldn’t. “You’re not putting anything on me if I’m offering.”

“I did tonight.” He traces my thumb with his own. “I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“I’m glad I was able to help.” And I mean it. How sweet he is with his sister, how caring, this is more in line with the person I got bowled over by in the quad that first day at law school. I just don’t know which version of him to trust.

“Me, too.” His smile softens. “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?” There’s a shift in the air. A warm breeze ruffles his hair and sends mine fluttering around my face. I feel ridiculously girlie as I tuck it behind my ear, my skin suddenly hot.

Dax waits until I meet his eyes before he continues. “I had a thing for you in school.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“That day I met you in the quad—”

“As if that wasn’t humiliating enough when it happened. I’d prefer to leave that memory buried in the past, thanks.” I try to pull my hand free from his again, but he tightens his hold.

“I thought it was pretty great.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, because I drooled all over you like an idiot.”

“If you think about it, it was the perfect meet cute, and if I hadn’t had my head up my ass at the time, I would’ve done something about it.”

“The perfect what? Did you just refer to me as cute meat?”

Dax laughs, “No, meet cute, m-e-e-t. It’s when the hero and the heroine meet in a movie, or sometimes a book.”

“Oh, that’s significantly better than being called meat, but it was still embarrassing, and then I fell on you again less than twenty minutes later. I figured you thought I was stalking you, and then your friend made that comment.” I duck my head, reliving that humiliation all over again. All my visualizing success didn’t seem to do much for me back then.

“My friends were assholes.”

“I think that’s pretty typical for college guys. They’re all swagger and balls and zero tact.”

“That about covers it.” He looks down, playing with my fingers, tracing the curve of my nails with the pad of his thumb. “That first day was the only time I ever saw you like that.”

“Like what?”

“Unsure of yourself. It was like I got this peek into who you were that no one else did. But in the classroom you were spectacular.” His smile is impish. “I loved debates because I knew you’d have an opinion and it would be grounded in fact and conviction. Watching you in class was…enthralling. You pushed me to work harder. You set the bar and we all had to follow. I just wanted to beat you.”

“Well, you got your wish in the end, didn’t you?” I don’t want to rehash this with him, not when I finally feel like I’ve been able to let it go.

“If it’s any consolation, I was rooting for you.” His expression is strangely genuine.

I pull my hand free and shift away, confused. “Oh, come on, Dax.” I can’t tell if this is all an act, or what. “If you were rooting for me, why did you hand in my paper late?”

“What?”

“Just before finals I ran into you on campus and asked if you’d handed in your term paper yet. It wasn’t due until the next day, but I knew you had a habit of handing things in early. I asked if you could hand mine in for me because I had to miss class the next day.” I remember how frantic I’d been and how perplexed Daxton looked at the time, much like he is now, likely because most of our conversations took place in the form of classroom debates.

“I handed them both in that afternoon, though.”

I remember the day I got the paper back with the late marks taken off. The paper was worth 50 percent of the final mark, so the deductions were a huge blow to my pristine record. I was so confused at first, until I noticed when it had been handed in. “It went in a day late. It was stamped, Dax. There’s no point in lying.”

“But I—” Daxton’s eyes fall closed and his jaw tics. “Fucking Felix.”

“Who?”

Daxton rubs the space between his eyes. “My friend Felix McQueen. He was in our class.”

I recall the name, but not the face that went with it. “That doesn’t really explain anything.”

He sighs and looks at the sky. “Not to you, but it does for me. I remember that day, because I was shocked that you’d ask me for a favor like that, knowing how much your grades meant to you. I was actually hoping to run into you because I’d finally grown some balls and I was going to ask you if you wanted to exchange numbers or go for coffee or something. But you seemed so upset, I figured I’d wait, and then I didn’t see you again until I walked into your office with my parents.” He huffs a little laugh and grows serious again. “Anyway, after class, Felix said he was handing in his paper, and I had study group at the library. I wanted to get the papers in before the office closed for the day, you know, because of the stamp.” He shakes his head a little. “So I gave them to Felix, yours and mine.”