I was fucking rambling. Christ. Yet I couldn’t stop the word vomit from spewing everywhere.
Mila laughed. “Cor, you’re rambling.” I snapped my mouth shut. So much for her not being able to notice I was nervous. I never fucking rambled. Yet there I was, rambling like a fucking lunatic.
Reaching forward, Mila grabbed my hand, linking our fingers together. And fucking hell, my heart tripped in my chest. “I do suck at math, and yes, it will take me forever to get through the homework, but if I remember correctly, you’re good at math, right?”
Was she asking for my help? Was Mila, the girl I fucking destroyed, giving me an opening to make things right?
I was snatching it with both hands.
“Yeah,” I croaked, hating how raspy and weak my voice sounded. But this girl had always had the power to tear down my defenses. “I’m still good at math.”
“Good!” she beamed at me. “You can help me. We’ll stop by the dorm, grab your stuff, and then, we’ll steal a room in the library to do some homework.”
I let her tug me along, her smaller frame easily dwarfed by mine. That protectiveness I’d always felt for her surged to life in my chest, and I tightened my fingers around hers, never wanting to let go.
And when she turned her head to smile at me over her shoulder, giving my fingers a gentle squeeze in return, I was pretty sure my heart grew wings.
Eight
Mila
When Coralie’s alarm went off the next morning for class, I rolled out of bed with her. I didn’t have classes—thank fuck—so I could’ve slept in, but I didn’t want her facing the day by herself. She wasn’t anywhere close to being one hundred percent yet, and I was worried about her. Coralie was putting up a good front, but she couldn’t fool me. Even yesterday, when she’d picked me up from my class with coffee, she’d tried appearing confident and smooth, but she’d been a nervous wreck. And when she’d been helping me with homework, it was clear she was terrified of scaring me off.
The Coralie I knew wasn’t afraid of anything. And she certainly didn’t get nervous. She definitely didn’t get lost in her head, like she was now.
She looked up in surprise when she noticed me standing by my bed, stretching my arms above my head. My shirt rose a little, exposing part of my midriff. She trailed her eyes over me, something warm and needy filling her eyes. My breath hitched in my throat as I slowly lowered my arms back to my side. Her eyes lingered on the spot where my skin had been revealed before she blinked, seeming to snap out of whatever trance she’d fallen into.
Did Coralie feel the same way about me that I did about her?
Her gaze slid away from me when her alarm started going off again. With a sigh, she reached over and grabbed her phone, turning the alarm off. Then, she looked back at me, our eyes meeting.
“I thought you didn’t have classes today,” she said, her voice rough with sleep. It sounded sexy as fuck, and just like when we were in high school, waking up together after a sleepover, the sound of her sleep-soaked voice had my belly clenching and warmth spreading through my veins.
I shrugged one shoulder, offering her a small smile. “Thought I’d walk you to class. Might hound Brittany afterward to get coffee with me. We both have a paper to work on anyway. Might as well utilize the library while it’s still quiet.”
A scowl started to twist Coralie’s lips—the first sign of the real her I’d seen since the night I got drunk—and it made me smile a little. She was slowly coming back to me—grumpiness and all. I hated that she’d spiraled because I finally told her the truth. Hated that her knowing what had really happened that night to fuck everything up had sent her on a self-destructive deep dive into her head.
“You don’t have to do that,” she told me once she’d schooled her features again, hiding her distaste of Brittany. She’d have to get over that though if she wanted to remain a part of my life. Brittany was my best friend, and she’d been there for me through one of the roughest patches of my life. On my worst days, Brittany was my rock. I wasn’t pushing Brittany aside just because Coralie didn’t like her. And her reason for not liking my best friend was so fucking stupid, I had to fight to not roll my eyes.
Brittany and I were not into each other. At all. While we were both queer, I was not Brittany’s type, and she wasn’t mine.
“I want to,” I assured Coralie. “Now come on.” I turned to face my closet. “Get up. Go shower. Your first class is in an hour, and you still have to grab coffee before then.”
She groaned like it was the end of the world but heaved herself from her bed with a sigh. I grabbed my things quickly and took a moment to double-check that I had all my clothes and toiletries as I waited on Coralie to get her things together, which was slow going. If I left the room before her, she’d just crawl back into bed and skip all her classes.
I wasn’t much of a morning person, but Coralie? If it was before noon, she was not happy. Why she put classes on her schedule that involved her getting up at eight AM was beyond me.
Silently, I followed her out of our dorm room and down the hall to the bathroom. We stepped into separate stalls to shower this time, though that didn’t stop my imagination from running wild. As I stripped out of my clothes, I thought of Coralie’s body—how slim and toned it’d been but still soft. The way the dip in her waist had flared out to slightly wider hips. Her breasts had been just large enough to fill my palm—small but not itty-bitty. Perfect.
She was gorgeous, and her body had changed so much in the months we’d been enemies. I loathed missing the transformation happen. She’d somehow gone from a teen to a woman seemingly overnight.
Sighing, I stepped beneath the water and quickly set to work on washing my hair and bathing. When I got out, Coralie was standing at the sink, brushing her teeth, her wet hair wrapped in a towel. She was wearing a pair of loose, black sweatpants and a hoodie. No doubt, today was going to be a lazy day for her. But she still looked like a fucking runway model. Coralie had always been the girl that effortlessly looked pretty all the time without ever having to actually try.
And it was when she didn’t try so hard that was honestly my favorite version of her. She usually went makeup-free, hair in a sloppy bun. She was always prettiest in her most natural state, which was also when she was most comfortable.
After we’d both brushed our teeth and dried our hair, Coralie throwing her hair up into a bun on the top of her head just like I thought she would, we deposited our things back in our room. I waited by the door as Coralie gathered her things for class.
And without a word, just like yesterday, she reached out and clasped my hand as we left the building, linking our fingers together like it was the most normal thing in the world for us.