What If We Did | ✔️ COMPLETED

Chapter Two

He takes one look at me and mutters, "Nice."

I feel a blush spread from my toes to the tips of my ears. It's even worse when his gaze lingers. For a brief moment, I let myself believe he's spent the last six weeks daydreaming about me too.

It dawns on me that he doesn't realise he said "nice" out loud, so I don't comment. But his eyes stay on me, inspecting me more intensely, and I feel myself go even pinker.

This is my chance to shine. I will myself to say something—anything—to break this hallway stand-off. But I can't. I just stand there like Slenderman, silently staring at him. Then he smiles. A real, genuine smile. It's incandescent—more stunning than I know what to do with.

"Are you ready?"

"I—" I swallow.

There isn't a single intelligent part of me functioning—I'm completely out to lunch. No thoughts. Just pure feral hormones. If scientists opened my skull right now, they'd find two tumbleweeds caught in a hurricane. What makes it worse is I've spent the last six weeks imagining how we'd reunite. I'd lie awake, inventing dozens of romantic scenarios.

This is not that. But it's better than nothing.

"Yes," I say. "I'm ready. I think..."

He pushes off the wall. "Okay. Let's go."

I realise with a start that I don't actually know where we're going. He must sense my hesitation, because he turns to me.

"Um," I start. "Ready for what?"

He laughs. "Battle of the halls, remember? It's a drinking game. Well, multiple drinking games actually." He starts leading me away from my room.

"What do we do?"

"We drink."

"What do we win?"

"Getting drunk."

"But..." I frown. "How is it a battle?"

"It isn't really. It's just a way to get everyone together on the first night so people can make friends."

"Right."

I follow him happily. Even his walk is attractive. He's taller than me, and his hand hangs just above mine—his fingers are long, his hands large. I briefly wonder what it would feel like if he touched me. Would our palms fit perfectly?

"Have you got a drink?" he asks, making me jump. My eyes snap to his face.

"Water," I answer quickly.

He chuckles. "No. An alcoholic drink?"

"Uh," I say. "No."

He shrugs. "That's okay. You can share mine."

I hesitate. Not because I don't want to but because the thought of mum flashes through my head. I can practically hear her voice, sweet and concerned: Just don't go mad when you get there, alright? Keep your head.

She doesn't drink. Never has. Said she saw too many people lose too much to it. And here I am, not even twenty-four hours into uni, following a hot boy toward a room full of strangers, about to drink something I didn't even bring myself.

I want to tell myself she'd understand—that she'd want me to live a little—but the truth is, I don't actually know if that's true. There's a tiny part of me that feels like I'm already letting her down.

Still, I hear myself. "Oh, that's very kind. Thanks."

He gives me a heart-stopping grin, "No worries. It's this way."