The Whys of Us

7

The next day, Andy couldn't concentrate.

When she woke up, she immediately grabbed her phone, checking to see if there were any messages from Rhysand. When she found none, she pouted, contemplated on sending one—even going as far as typing the good morning, have a nice day message—but deleted it immediately and left it alone. She didn't want to be needy. They haven't even talked yet.

So Andy spent her day as usual—going to lectures, daydreaming in class, doodling on her papers, trying very hard to ignore her phone. At least work at Baked! gave her the distraction she needed.

But then a message came from Rhysand, ten minutes before her shift ended. I'm outside. Stop bringing cheese tarts.

And that message sent a jolt through her system—and she found herself nervous. More nervous than she's ever been knowing he actually likes her. And kissed her.

When Andy met him, she didn't look him in the eye. "Hi!"

Rhysand opened the passenger door. "How does takeout and a movie at home sound?"

Andy grinned. "That sounds amazing."

And it did. Until Andy realized that Rhysand meant—takeout and a movie alone. Without Jenner.

His roommate wasn't home when the pair of them walked in with their bags of food, and shakily, Andy asked, "Um, where's Jenner?"

"Not joining us," was Rhysand's short response, taking the food to the living room.

Andy had to spent two minutes in the kitchen trying to calm her heart.

And now, seated on the couch with the lights off, having finished dinner twenty minutes ago, she still can't concentrate on the movie. She doesn't even know what movie they're watching—not when her heart is beating so quickly because Rhysand is seated next to her.

Seated next to her—but not touching her. Still, she's sure he can hear her pulse.

Rhysand keeps his respectable distance, and there hasn't been any changes with the way he treats her. He hasn't tried to hold her hand, or kiss her cheek, or make her blush at all.

Was she dreaming last night? Or is she just expecting too much?

"Stop thinking so hard," Rhysand drawls lowly. "I can hear your brain screaming. You're not even paying attention to the movie."

Andy sags against her seat on the couch. "Sorry."

Rhysand pauses. And then, "Let's date. Exclusively."

Andy chokes on her own saliva. She coughs, and hammers her hand into her chest. "H-huh?" she stutters, eyes wide.

Rhysand only watches her, raising one eyebrow as he puts his head on top of his fist, arm slung around the back of the couch. "I'm not going to repeat that again."

She takes a deep breath and looks away. "Okay."

"You don't sound like you particularly want to."

Andy huffs. Her cheeks are pink, she knows. She doesn't want to talk about this, but—"I don't know. I mean, you kissed me last night, and you told me that you like me, oh, I like you too, by the way, I don't think I said it back last night. Did I? Oh, I don't think I did. Anyway, but, um—"

"The only reason why I haven't been touching you," Rhysand cuts her off, giving her a piercing stare, "is because I'm not sure if you changed your mind after last night. And I didn't want to pressure you. Or scare you off."

Andy blinks at him. "Oh."

Rhysand shifts, so his upper body is facing her completely. "So I want to make shit clear. And give me an honest answer, sunshine."