Page 83 of Campus Heat

He ran his fingers through his hair, clearly conflicted and debating how honest he wanted to be.

“I was serious when I said it,” he finally said.

I allowed my heart to clench ever so slightly. “But?”

He gave me a kind of loving look that I hadn’t seen from him before. “But I don’t know if I still am.”

I studied his face, trying to see what was written between the lines. He was obviously hiding something, and I needed to find out what it was before it ended up crushing me.

“Why not?” I eventually asked.

He shrugged lightly, but it didn’t look as casual as he was clearly trying to go for. “Because things change. Because I might’ve jumped the gun. And because maybe I should just see the season finish.”

I stared at him, not knowing what to make of his answer. “Really?”

He gave me a small, half-smile. “Don’t look so shocked.”

I wish I could, but this was the last thing I expected to come out of his mouth. I was still trying to process it, let alone understanding what brought him to this conclusion.

“I’m not shocked,” I said quickly. “I just—”

I stopped myself before I could say something I would end up regretting. I just what? Hoped for a future between the two of us? Wanted him to stay and give us a chance? The thoughts made my cheeks warm up.

Ethan watched me for a moment and then chuckled softly. “You look like you’re trying to solve a math problem.”

“I hate math,” I said automatically.

“Exactly.”

I sighed, but the tension in my chest refused to ease up. I so desperately wanted to give in to him, but with Ethan, I also learned the importance of keeping my feelings shrouded because I never knew when he’d decide to throw everything away.

“Seeing the season out,” I repeated. “That sounds… reasonable.”

“That’s high praise coming from you.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m being very serious.”

“I know.”

There was something about the way he said it. It was gentler than usual, and because of that, I couldn’t look at him. The heaviness that hung between us earlier had faded and was replaced by something lighter. So both of us went back to studying. Or at least that was what we were pretending to be doing.

Within fifteen minutes, Ethan started doodling football plays in the margin of his notebook. And I caught myself watching him instead of working through my own material. Then he flicked a folded piece of paper at me, and I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing out loud.

Eventually, the library grew quieter as the students started leaving. I stood to grab another book and stretched my stiff arms as my eyes scanned over the rows.

“Looking for something specific?” Ethan asked.

“Political theory,” I mumbled. “Unfortunately.”

He grimaced. “That just sounds painful.”

“Trust me. It is.”

I slid a book free, turned around and nearly collided with him. Ethan had followed me into the narrow aisle between the shelves. We both froze for a second. The space was tight because the tall bookcase was boxing us in, creating a little pocket of shadow away from the rest of the library. My back brushed against the shelf behind me as I tried to put some distance between us.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“Studying,” Ethan said, moving closer.