Unhinged. That's the only way I can think to describe my behavior last night. Spencer keeps calling, and I keep sending him to voicemail. He's persistent. I'll give him that. We have nothing to talk about. Not now, not ever.
"You sure you don't want to answer that?" Bryce questions as he's whipping up the most amazing-smelling breakfast.
No Bryce. I don't want to answer the guy who's calling to confront me about sneaking out of your dorm room at an ungodly hour, banging on his door, and making a scene—hard pass.
"Just my brother." I lie a little too easily. You're turning me into quite a good liar, Spencer.
I silence my phone, tossing it aside before walking up behind Bryce, wrapping my arms around his waist. "Not to mention, I'm a lot more interested in whatever smells so amazing over here."
"Oh, that's easy. It's me." He turns to me and winks. This man is gorgeous. It really should be a crime for someone to look like this.
After I was the one to initiate coming back to his dorm, he didn't push me when I changed my mind. Instead, he made sure I still had an incredible night watching movies and playing games. He makes me laugh, a lot. I like it.
"You do smell really nice, just not as enticing as that French toast." I break off a piece from one of the finished slices and then leave him to finish the rest.
My phone rings again, and this time, I decide to respond.
"Stop calling me. I don't want to talk to you."
"Olivia, wait."
"Leave. Me. Al—"
"I told Kennedy." He yells out, and I want to scream. Scream and throw something... at his head."
"What did I ever do to you, Spencer? Why do you hate me?" I try to keep my voice down. I don't want to drag Bryce into this drama; it's already a little crowded with a party of three.
"That's why I've been calling. I wanted to warn you." His voice softens, but I don't care. He's the literal bane of my existence. If I'd never met Spencer James, I'd only be better for it.
"You know, it doesn't even matter whether or not you hate me, because I definitely hate you." And I mean it. I can't stand his stupid freaking existence. It brings nothing but misery.
"We need to talk, Olivia." There's an authority to his voice. He's not asking me; he's telling me.
"You need just to disappear." I cover my mouth even though he can't see me. I didn't mean to say that out loud.
"What?" Now he sounds irritated. Welcome to the club, buddy—a constant state of frustration.
"Nothing. I'm busy right now. Stadium at two. We can talk there." I hang up the phone. The longer I play his game, the better chance he has at winning. I'm done with his little game and him.
"Breakfast is served," Bryce calls out. I throw on my best smile and head back to the kitchen.
"A man of many talents, I see."
"I could show you quite a few things, Olivia."
His eyes trace over my body. I'm sure you could, Bryce. And I should let you. Yet, at the same time, I want to correct him and tell him to call me Liv. Everybody calls me Liv. Spencer calls me Olivia.
Enough. This all ends, today.
"You intrigue me, Bryce Matthews." I bring a fork full of eggs to my lips, parting slightly to take a bite.
"I could say the same about you, Olivia." He bites into the French toast, darting his tongue out to lick up the trace of powdered sugar left behind.
"Liv. You can call me Liv."
"Okay, Liv." He picks up his cup, taking down a swig of orange juice. This room is full of tension, but a different tension— one I can't explain.
My insides don't feel like they're being set on fire. I don't feel like I can't breathe. But it feels, nice? It feels good.
Breakfast continues with small talk, and I learn that Bryce absolutely has no intention of being in college any longer than he has to. In a perfect world, he'll carry LSU to a title, enter the draft in June, and get drafted by his dream team, the Toronto Raptors. Apparently, his mom is in Canada , so he'll be closer to her that way. Sweet. Would he truly be a D1 athlete if he wasn't doing all of this for his mother?
"Louisiana is a far way from Canada. How did you end up here?" I ask since his mom is in Canada.
"Lived here my whole life. My dad played for the Pelicans for most of his career, so Louisiana became home. My parents are from Canada, but my mom followed my dad here. He couldn't keep it in his pants, and she went home. It's really an uninspiring story." He looks genuinely unphased. Not missing a beat as he continues to eat his breakfast.
"I'm sorry to hear that." How else is one supposed to respond to that?
"No biggie. I like them better apart. Dad is a great dad, and she's a great mom. They were shit together." He shrugs. Makes sense, I guess.
"What about you? Louisiana native too?"
I almost choke on my water. "Not even close. Cali girl, actually."
He pauses for a second, looking at me. "I can see it."
Whatever that means.
"So, how do you know Kennedy?" You would think I just said something terrible the way he darts his eyes up at me.
"Same high school." He keeps his response short and looks almost... pained? A falling out, maybe? I should probably mind my business. Prying into Kennedy's life feels wrong. If she wants me to know, she'll tell me.
"You guys been friends for a while?"
"I actually just met her at the beginning of summer, but I feel like I've known her forever—a true angel."
"Yeah." He grabs up our plates and begins to wash them off. He mumbles something else, but I can't hear it.
"Well, I have to get going." I pause, waiting for him to respond. "But, I'd like to see you again? Soon?" I nervously add on.
"I'd like that." He turns and smiles at me. "After all, I do have a few things to show you." He smirks before walking over and grabbing me up into a hug.
It's nice. He feels nice.
"Call me later?"
"As long as I'm not getting the same treatment as whoever was blowing you up earlier." He jokes.
"You? Never." I tease him.
"Bye, Liv." He tucks a curl behind my ear, and I smile up at him. I really do hope he calls.
I have a few hours to kill, and I decide to go into the studio. Dancing for a few hours to clear my head is exactly what I need. Not to mention, I can't possibly go back to my dorm and risk running into Kennedy before I know exactly what Spencer told her.
I scroll through Instagram on the walk there, and I see Simone posted a story. She is out by a lake, and I don't see the face, but I know the voice. She's with my brother. I guess his shy phase is over.
Time flies as I mark through a few of our routines and even come up with a new one of my own. I thought taking on choreography would be too much as a freshman, but this reminds me of how much I love it. I take a look in the mirror, and I'm a sweaty disaster, but it doesn't matter. I'm going to have my last conversation ever with Spencer James. My appearance couldn't matter less.
The walk to the stadium is short but heavy. I'm a little late, but to my surprise, when I get there, I don't see him. So he's trying to implode my life and decides to keep me waiting. This is precisely why this will be the last time he and I speak.
A few minutes pass, and there's still no sign of him, so I decide to call.
"Hello?" I hear him almost too clearly. Then, I feel him. Of course, I do.
I frustratedly hang up the phone and slowly turn, preparing to meet his eyes that I have no doubt are burning a hole right through me.
"I'm sorry I'm late. My parents popped up for a surprise lunch. I should've texted you." He seems sincere enough, and suddenly, I want to know more about his family.
"I guess lunch with Mr. and Mrs. James is a good enough excuse." I accept his apology.
"Carter." He responds, and I look at him, confused because there is no one here named Carter.
"Mr. and Mrs. Carter." He corrects me as we walk to take a seat on the bleachers.
"Oh, sorry. I just assumed."
"All good. I have the same last name as my da- as Corey. My pops, his last name is Carter. My brother was young enough that D'Angelo is the only dad he's ever known. Then there's my little sister. They're all Carters. I just couldn't see myself as anyone other than Spencer James... even if it meant keeping Corey's last name." It's like he placed himself in my mind and answered every question that was running wild in there.
"Oh, wow! How old are your siblings?" For a moment, I forget why we're here. I want to know everything there is to know about Spencer.
"Dillon is in middle school, and Capri is 5. Don't tell anyone, but she's my favorite." He pretends to whisper. I know I don't know him, but it seems like him to be completely obsessed with his baby sister.
"That's sweet. It's just Jordan and I. I've always wished there was at least one more of us."
"You want a big family?" He seems genuinely interested in what I'm saying.
"I think so." I laugh. "I don't know a lot these days." I look at him, and his eyes tell me he relates to what I'm saying.
"Do any of us?" He offers me a smile.
"So... Kennedy?" I hate to ruin our moment, but I can't ignore my best friend forever, so I need answers.
"She asked me what was up with you and me. I didn't really have a choice; I had to tell her something. So I told her about the party, and that I kissed you. I mean, that is what happened"
"Sure, in the SparkNotes version." I arch my eyebrow at him. "If you hadn't kissed me, I would've kissed you. You didn't have to take all the blame."
"Well, that doesn't matter because I sealed the deal. Everything in the middle doesn't matter." He plays with his hands.
But it does. Everything in the middle matters because everything in the middle is what made me want nothing more than to feel his lips on mine.
"Spencer, I think we need to stop pretending like this was just a drunken kiss at some party. We've never talked about it." I may regret opening this particular door, but it can't be any more anxiety-inducing than this avoidance game.
"You're right. I went home that night with your every feature ingrained in my mind. I could hear your voice, see your smile, and feel your laugh."
"And I spent almost every moment of every day until I returned to this campus thinking of you. Wondering the name of the guy who made everything go quiet just by looking at me, who set my world on fire with his touch."
"You did?" He turns to me, and unless he's the best actor on this planet, which given his performance at the cafe the other night, we know he isn't, he's actually surprised that he could occupy my thoughts.
How could he possibly think I couldn't feel the electricity between us that night. I didn't want to leave him. I shouldn't have left him.
Thinking that causes my heart to shatter. Leaving him the moment his phone rang led me to Kennedy. Knowing I had Kennedy is what kept me from having a complete breakdown about moving 2,000 miles away from the only home I'd ever known. This is messy, complicated, and painful.
Incredibly painful.
"Spencer—"
"Olivia." He stops me. "I like her. I really do—a lot. But I— seeing Bryce's hands on you made me physically ill. I don't even know you, not really."
"I know you like her, Spencer. I see the way your eyes light up when she's around. You're good for her, and she's good for you. But Spencer, you saw Bryce's hands on me once. I see you all over her every day, and I hate myself for how it makes me feel."
"I don't know what to do, Olivia."
I rest my head on his shoulder, and I know I shouldn't, but I need this. I need him for just this moment because once I give him up, and I will, this moment is all I'll have to hold on to.
"We shared something. We're not pretending anymore. But Spencer, you obviously feel something with her too, and you made a commitment to her. See that through. You guys both deserve to see what you have with one another." His hand searches for mine, and I give it to him.
Slowly his fingers wrap around mine, one by one. Maybe Spencer and I deserved to see what was brewing between him and me. That's the thing about moments. They're fleeting. Our moment passed, and it's not fair to steal Kennedy's even if doing so may give me everything I want.
The only thing holding Spencer and Kennedy back from having something incredible is me. The first time I saw them together, I couldn't deny how happy they make each other. Spencer and I drive each other mad, and choosing madness over happiness is insanity.
"How do I stop thinking about you?"
"One day at a time. At least that's what I do." I squeeze his hand.
"And how is that working out for you?"
We both laugh. He doesn't push me for an answer. He knew when he asked the question that I'm failing miserably.
One of these days, it will work. It has to.
So they finally have an honest conversation and Liv made the sacrifice. They're playing it safe.